Free Strange Loyalties by William McIlvanney Page B

sorry,’ I said. ‘My name’s Jack Laidlaw. I’m Scott’s brother.’
    She practised breathing for a little.
    â€˜God,’ she said. ‘Your voices are so alike.’
    â€˜You knew Scott,’ I said, not one of my more illuminating remarks.
    â€˜Well, I didn’t just speak to him on the telephone.’ Then I sensed her realise she was showing too much of herself too soon. Her voice, when she spoke again, was like a woman who has readjusted her dress. ‘I taught beside him, you know.’
    â€˜Yes, I know. Could I meet you and speak to you about that?’
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’
    â€˜I’m sorry. This must sound pretty bizarre to you. But I found Scott’s death hard to take. I’m just trying to come to terms with it. Talking to people who knew him. You know? I thought maybe we could talk.’
    â€˜You’re right,’ she said. ‘It does sound pretty bizarre.’
    â€˜I thought it might.’
    â€˜What am I supposed to tell you?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Well, if you don’t, neither do I. All right?’
    â€˜Not really,’ I said. ‘Come on. Please. It’s not such a wild request.’
    â€˜Wild? Listen. As far as I’m concerned, it might have come straight from the Amazon jungle. Why don’t you go back there?’
    The conversation wasn’t going well. I felt myself within seconds of losing this hand. But a couple of things had registered with me: the remark about not just speaking to Scott on the telephone was an admission in code and she knew it; if she was as angry as she acted, why hadn’t she put down the phone? Her whole game-plan was set on keeping me away from her life. I understood that. I even sympathised. But I couldn’t afford to agree. I might need something that she could tell me. Her weakness was that she didn’t want to put down the phone until she was sure she had frightened me off. I knew there was only one card I could play.
    â€˜You live at 28 Sycamore Road,’ I said, reading from the phone-book. ‘I’m sure I can find it.’
    â€˜What? Listen, you. I’m a married woman.’ She thought about it, made an emendation. ‘A happily married woman. I don’t need you messing up my life. What would my husband say?’
    â€˜When does he come home?’ I said.
    â€˜6.30.’ She had said it before she realised the impertinence of the question. That made her angrier. ‘What the hell does it have to do with you?’
    â€˜Mrs Mabon,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to mess up your life. What good would that do me? I just want to talk. I can come in the afternoon. Nobody needs to know.’
    â€˜I do have neighbours.’
    â€˜We can stand on the doorstep.’
    â€˜What about the children?’
    â€˜Mrs Mabon, you don’t have any.’
    There was silence.
    â€˜This afternoon. Okay?’
    â€˜I don’t think I believe you.’
    â€˜Maybe you should.’
    â€˜No way. You can go to hell,’ she said and put down the phone like a punch on the ear.
    I sat holding the phone and feeling ashamed of myself. By the time I put down the receiver, I had decided I couldn’t go through with what I had threatened. I had no rights here. Katie was right. I was sifting ashes. Let them lie.
    Katie came back in with Buster. She looked as if she knew she was right. I was guilty about what I had been doing in her absence, feeling I had proved her case by being so insistent. It didn’t help that I had let the soup bubble over slightly. When Katie didn’t say anything but just adjusted the gas, I felt even worse. Buster was the most welcoming thing in the room. That made it time to get out.
    I went upstairs for my jacket. When I came back down, I looked into the kitchen. Katie was tenderising meat as if it was my head.
    â€˜That’s me away, Kate,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the