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<title>Chapter 2</title>
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<h2>6</h2>
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<p>Two nights after little Timmy Doyle went missing from the
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balcony high up in Latta Court Jack Fallon was no further forward.
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Superintendent Ronald Cowie was piling up the pressure and in one
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vitriolic session Jack had almost offered Cowie advice on where he
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could position the investigation with regards to his own person. He
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did not know what held him back, except for the fact that he had
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promised Angus McNicol he'd do his best, and he knew if Cowie was
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put in practical charge, then nothing would ever be solved. he was
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a politician more than a policeman, a rubber of shoulders, a shaker
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of hands, and a lifter of the left trouser leg into the
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bargain.</p>
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<p>Cissie Doyle was by now heavily sedated. Ralph Slater had been
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right about the fingerprints. There were none except those of the
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family on the balcony. The scrape marks on the concrete were a
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small mystery. They looked fresh enough, but could have been caused
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my anything, including the swing gantry of the maintenance machine
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mainly used by window cleaners, but not this week. That had been
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checked. The houses upstairs and below had been searched thoroughly
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by the teams organised by John McColl. Nobody had been able to
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object to that. The door-to-door men had uncovered half a kilo of
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cannabis, a full barrel of Ardenmill whisky - and how they had got
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that up in the lift nobody knew - along with the usual mix of
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stolen hi-fi equipment, televisions and video recorders. All of
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that was noted for future reference. Jack told the men not to waste
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time on peripherals. The baby was the object. A few folk in Latta
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Court breathed a sigh of relief, although the temporary owner of
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the half kilo was rushed to hospital four days later with blood
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frothing from a hole in his ribs after a stabbing incident down on
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Quay Street, possibly as a result of non-payment for goods
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delivered.</p>
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<p>On the other side of town, not half a mile from where Jack
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Fallon lived in Cargill Farm Cottage, a group of women were on
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their third round of drinks in a terrace house on Overtoun Lane.
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Most of them were very merry by ten o'clock.</p>
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<p>Lorna Breck was still red with embarrassment over some of the
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things she'd seen and handled in the past hour.</p>
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<p>"It's all part of your education," Gemma Conroy had said when
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she'd stopped giggling. One of the other women had shrieked with
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laughter. "Once you've felt one, you've felt them all."</p>
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<p>"If they all feel like that, then I never want to feel another
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one," Lorna replied in her soft Highland accent. This time
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everybody fell about. Somebody spilled a glass of wine down the
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front of her dress and went off into a fit of high pitched
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hysterics.</p>
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<p>"Don't worry dear. Nothing's better than the real thing," Mrs
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McCluskie had said, planting a beefy hand on her knee, and that
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really astounded Lorna. Mrs McCluskie, Gemma's next-door neighbour,
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was nearly sixty years old, and she looked as if the thought of
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such a thing would never have crossed her mind. The grey haired
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woman had chuckled, sending ripples down her wobbly fat frame. She
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picked the plastic object up from the table, thumbed the switch and
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the peals of laughter started up again.</p>
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<p>"If my Bert had something like this, maybe we wouldn't be in
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separate beds," she announced.</p>
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<p>"No. You'd be in a hospital bed," somebody chipped in, the
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squeals started up again.</p>
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<p>Lorna felt her face redden again. The party had been fun. Gemma,
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her elder cousin had organised it for the neighbours, the kind of
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party where men were refused admission. The girl with the case had
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opened it on the table and it had started with lacy nighties and
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silky briefs. Then, after a couple of glasses of wine, when
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everybody was feeling fine and dandy, she'd brought out the
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knick-knacks which had brought the house down as they had passed
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from hand to hand.</p>
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<p>Lorna was the only one of them who wasn't married. She was
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twenty six years old. She'd come to live in Levenford only six
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months before, and brought with her the lilting softness of the
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west highlands. Living in a town this size had taken some getting
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used to, and she still found herself taking a wrong turn on the
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maze of alleys and vennels that radiated off River Street. It was
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different from the farm where she'd grown up, different from the
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small country town where she'd gone to school. She had a delicate,
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oval face and a childlike pert nose smattered with freckles and
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hair the colour of dark amber. The most striking thing about her
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was her wide grey eyes, which, on cold winter mornings took on the
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sheen of brushed steel, bright and sparkling under curved
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brows.</p>
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<p>"Oh, don't let them kid you, Lorny," one of the women said.
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Cathy Galt had her fair hair drawn up high on her head. She was a
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blowsy-looking woman who worked most nights down in Mac's Bar, a
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rough and ready establishment at the end of River Street, and was
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tough enough to throw any of the stragglers out through the swing
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doors and into the night. She had, however, a heart of gold. Lorna
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had treated her as an honorary aunt since she'd come down on the
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West Highland line to take up her new job in the library.</p>
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<p>"If I ever saw a man with something like that, I'd divorce
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Campbell tomorrow and never let the fellow out of my sight." she
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said. "For the love of God, it's twice the size of anything I ever
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saw."</p>
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<p>"And you've seen plenty, I suppose?" Agnes McCann, Cathy's
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sister in law asked archly. As she did, Lorna gave a little start.
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She'd been looking at the woman and all of a sudden, she felt a
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small wave of dizziness shiver through her. For a second, the
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voices faded away, leaving her alone in a cocoon of isolation. In
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that moment, everything went still, except for Agnes. As Lorna
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watched, the dark-haired woman's eyes opened wide and her mouth
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opened wider, so wide Lorna could see the fillings in her back
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teeth. The colour drained away from her face and her hands came up
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and grabbed onto her own hair. In the eerie, momentary silence,
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Lorna could sense that the woman was screaming. She jerked back,
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and the bubble burst. The voices came babbling in again. Lorna
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blinked and the expression on Agnes' face was back to normal, a
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lazy smile drawn on her face.</p>
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<p>"I had my share before Campbell made an honest woman of me,"
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Cathy shot back. "Though if I'd known then what I know now, I'd
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still be having my share."</p>
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<p>"I thought size didn't matter," Gemma said.</p>
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<p>"Och, it's only men who say that. I never heard a woman swear on
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that in all my life."</p>
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<p>Lorna felt herself squirm. The odd feeling had come and gone in
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the flick of an eye. Maybe it had been the wine, she told herself.
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Somebody laughed raucously and next to her somebody else grabbed
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the buzzing thing and flicked the off switch. Lorna gave a sigh of
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relief. She was not an innocent, though she was hardly experienced
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in these things. She had lost her virginity to James Blair only six
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months ago, and it had been a very nice experience, but nothing to
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shake the world. They'd managed it several times since then, when
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his mother was out of the house, and it had still been pleasant.
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Then when he'd talked about getting married, something she was
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certainly willing to consider, old Maggie Blair had put her foot
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firmly down. Despite the fact that James was twenty eight years
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old, she was still the boss as far as his life was concerned, and
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while she didn't mind him having some hanky panky with a farm-girl
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from the sticks, and a catholic to boot, there was no chance of her
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becoming a mother in law to one of them. Maggie Blair was a firm
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believer in the protestant supremacy. She went down to Castlebank
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Church every Sunday and listened to William Simpson's sermons and
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then thanked God for not making her a papist.</p>
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<p>The engagement was over in weeks before it had even begun. Lorna
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had sensed the coldness when she had gone round to James' house on
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a Friday night when they had planned to go to the cinema. Old
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Maggie had been abrupt, eying the girl from her position of
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authority, the big easy chair next to the fire. She'd been knitting
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her boy a thick winter pullover and her needles had clicked in
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staccato anger. On the way home from the film, she'd asked what was
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wrong and he'd blurted out his mother's views.</p>
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<p>Lorna asked him straight out what he planned to do about it.
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He'd hesitated and looked blank, as if puzzled at the possibility
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that there was anything he <em>could</em> do.</p>
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<p>"Like what?" he'd asked.</p>
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<p>"Like leaving home? Or even just deciding what you want in your
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life."</p>
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<p>He'd turned to her, eyes still blank. She'd recognised it for
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what it was and immediately regretted losing her virginity to
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somebody who probably still got his mother to scrub his back. She'd
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turned on her heel, grey eyes flashing iron in the light of the
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street lamp, and she'd never seen him again.</p>
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<p>Now, as she listened to the women talk about men, <em>their</em>
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men and just men in general, she recalled her own first time with a
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small feeling of regret. Certainly, James Blair had nothing to
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compare with the mechanical thing that had come out of the
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demonstrator's case. That had looked as if it had come from a
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horse. If she'd been presented with anything like that monster six
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months ago, she'd have screamed and run.</p>
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<p>The demonstrator was packing up now, with all the orders clipped
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to a board. Lorna had bought a very pretty teddy, which was as bold
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as she could go in front of other folk, and even then, it had only
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been the cajoling of the older women that had made her do it. After
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the party rep had gone, somebody opened another bottle of wine. Old
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Mrs McCluskie had brought a half bottle of whisky out from her big
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black handbag and poured herself and Cathy a large measure each.
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She was telling her neighbour a particularly vivid joke about a
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man's anatomy, which Lorna heard with only half her attention until
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she realised it was not a joke. Mrs McCluskie was telling a story
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about herself. Lorna blushed again and wondered how women were able
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to talk so clinically about sex. She'd always believed that it was
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men who did that.</p>
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<p>Cathy put on a tape and began pouring drink again. Somebody
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asked her what she had ordered from the rep and Cathy had given an
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exaggerated wink.</p>
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<p>"Can't tell you, but it should put the old sparkle back into
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Sammy's eyes again."</p>
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<p>"If you can get him awake, that is," Agnes put in.</p>
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<p>"Oh, don't worry. I'll keep him awake all right," Cathy said,
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laughing. "My horoscope tells me it's my lucky week. I'm hoping
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it'll be my lucky night."</p>
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<p>"Well Lorna can tell you that, can't you honey?" Gemma
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announced.</p>
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<p>Lorna looked up. Her glass was still half full and Gemma took it
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away for a refill before she could protest.</p>
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<p>"How about telling our fortunes?"</p>
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<p>"Oh, I haven't brought my cards with me," Lorna said. Everybody
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in the room was looking at her, and it made her feel even more
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uncomfortable.</p>
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<p>"What's this?" Agnes asked.</p>
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<p>"Oh, Lorna reads the tarot. She's spot on."</p>
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<p>"It's just a bit of fun," Lorna protested.</p>
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<p>"And tea-leaves too," Gemma continued with hardly a pause.</p>
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<p>"Is that right dear? " Mrs McCluskie beamed at her. "Could you
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do mine? I went to that woman down at Lochend last week and it cost
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a fortune, and she didn't tell me anything I didn't know
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already."</p>
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<p>Lorna looked at her. The fat woman was beaming over the tops of
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her spectacles. Lorna remembered the phrase she'd used only a few
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moments before and it came back in the clarity of total recall.
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"<em>There was me with my legs up round his neck and him going at
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it like a sewing machine and then I sneezed and the wee bugger went
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flying off the end of the bed.</em> "</p>
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<p>Lorna felt a laugh building up inside her as she looked at Mrs
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McCluskie and tried to imagine her in <em>that</em> position. She
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bit down on the laugh but couldn't disguise the smile. To hide it
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she said: "Yes, of course I will."</p>
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<p>Half an hour later she was swirling the dregs round in the
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bottom of a teacup. She upended it quickly, letting the tea drain
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away then brought it back again. The leaves formed a complex
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pattern on the inside of the china. Mrs McCluskie drew herself
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closer, using her beefy forearms to jostle her large breasts into a
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comfortable position.</p>
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<p>"What does it say then?"</p>
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<p>Lorna took several deep slow breaths, getting herself into the
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right frame. She closed her eyes and let the darkness slide over
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her. Her breathing slowed a little further and then she could sense
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the little bit of the feeling that came when she concentrated. It
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always came with a tiny whine, like a bat squeak, just below the
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threshold of true hearing. It was a little pressure noise inside
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her head. The noise got only a little louder then faded out
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abruptly, leaving her in a little cone of dead silence. Behind her
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closed eyelids, the dark swirled around her and then it began to
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clear. She opened her eyes to look into the patterns, reaching for
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the vague impressions that sometimes came when she tried really
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hard. The brown constellation of dark tea-leaves swirled and then
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something happened that Lorna had never experienced before. A
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picture came flitting unbidden into her mind and</p>
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<p><em>she saw</em></p>
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<p>A woman with a walking stick, the kind which has a strap to keep
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it firmly attached to the forearm. The woman turned, unstrapped the
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stick and threw it into the air, turned again and came walking
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towards her, a big smile on her face.</p>
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<p><em>flick</em></p>
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<p>Two babies, a boy and a girl, side by side in a cot. Names came
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from nowhere. She knew who they were.</p>
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<p><em>flick</em></p>
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<p>A bundle of notes, too many to count, stacked on a table.</p>
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<p><em>flick</em></p>
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<p>A tall, tanned man with a white smile and thick greying hair
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coming through a door and into an old woman's arms. She knew his
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name.</p>
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<p>The picture stopped without warning. The tea-leaf galaxy swum
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back into focus and Lorna blinked rapidly, bewildered, slightly
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shaken by the sudden sure knowledge, unable to comprehend just what
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had happened or how. Lorna took a deep breath. All of the woman sat
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looking at her, waiting expectantly.</p>
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<p>"Well, what's it say, my dear?" Mrs McCluskie was leaning right
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over the table.</p>
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<p>"You're going into hospital soon," she began. Somebody at the
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far end of the room drew in a breath. "But they will give you a new
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hip. You'll come out walking like a girl again."</p>
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<p>"Och, nonsense dear. It's just a wee bit of arthritis. Nothing
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to worry about. To many exercises when I was younger," she said,
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nudging Cathy.</p>
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<p>"Well, it's going to be fine. And you're going to come into some
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money. Quite a lot. And your daughter Pauline's just had a wee boy
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<em>and</em> a girl. No..." she paused and shook her head, eyes
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shut, remembering. "No. She's <em>going</em> to have her babies
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soon. Boy and a girl. That's for sure. Both of them healthy too.
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One of them named after you."</p>
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<p>"Probably the boy," Cathy said. "That Pauline of yours isn't the
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full shilling." Everybody laughed.</p>
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<p>"And your son Benny. He's coming home."</p>
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<p>"What. My <em>Benny</em>? From Australia."</p>
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<p>"Yes. He's coming home soon. He's got a tan and grey hair, Lorna
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went on. "And he's got some good news for you."</p>
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<p>"My Benny coming home?" Mrs McCluskie asked again. She was
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snagged on that one point. "After all this time?"</p>
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<p>She put her hands up to her face, nudging her glasses upwards.
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She drew them down again, and her eyes were sparkling. She
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glistened at Lorna.</p>
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<p>"You wouldn't kid me on now, would you?"</p>
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<p>Lorna raised her eyes, still puzzled. "No. I don't think
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so."</p>
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<p>Gemma was looking at Lorna, eyebrows arched up in silent
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question. The girl fooled around with tarot cards and tea leaves
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and palm reading, always in a light-hearted way. Her predictions
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were always vague, never definite.</p>
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<p>Old Mrs McCluskie was wiping her eyes. Beside Lorna another of
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the women was clamouring to have her fortune told. Lorna took the
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cup, turned it over, closed her eyes and took her breaths, trying
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to get herself down to that level again, where she could
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<em>see</em>.</p>
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<p>The flickering scenes came in a rush, each a little vignette.
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The woman, a neighbour of Cathy, spread out on a carpet, morning
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sun streaming through the window. A shadow moving in through the
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door. the woman's face twisted in fright....the same woman stepping
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out of a big car, an expensive pair of high heels clicking on the
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pavement. A man, the same one who had been beside her on the floor
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out on the other side.... the two of them in a pool beside a white
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house, two fair haired girls splashing in the shadows.</p>
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<p>Lorna started talking of good fortune, love and romance, wealth
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and sunshine. This time she kept it unspecified. She wasn't
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completely <em>sure</em> of what she was seeing when the patterns
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of leaves swirled out of focus. She found it just a little scary.
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Patricia Farmer, whose husband worked in the iron foundry and drank
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most of his wages on Friday and Saturday nights, tried to keep the
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smile off her face and failed. Everybody had seen the bruises
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behind the sun-glasses. They all cheered raucously.</p>
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<p>It was just at that moment when Lorna gave a little shiver. She
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had been reaching for Agnes McCann's cup when a strange inside-out
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sensation twisted through her. It had happened only twice in her
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life, when she was in her early teens, just before she'd started
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bleeding. She hadn't even taken her deep breaths to concentrate.
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This time it simply swept right through her and over her like a
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cold wave. She felt her whole <em>self</em> stretched this way and
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that. All sound disappeared. She was gone into the darkness.</p>
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<p>Opposite her, Cathy said: "What's wrong."</p>
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<p>Lorna had started to slide to the side. Her eyes were sill wide
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open, almost alert. She fell against Gemma, seated next to her on
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the couch. A little gurgling sound escaped her throat.</p>
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<p>"Hey, you nearly spilled my drink," Gemma protested, feigning
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annoyance. Lorna did not respond.</p>
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<p>"What's the matter with her?" Mrs McCluskie asked, just as Lorna
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slid off the couch and slumped to the floor.</p>
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<p>"Oh my God, the girl's fainted." the grey haired woman said,
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pushing her seat back from the table.</p>
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<p>Gemma got down beside her and raised her head from the
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carpet.</p>
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<p>"Lorna? Come on! What's wrong?"</p>
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<p>The girl's eyes were still wide, but now they were staring
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blindly, like steel bearings, reflecting the light on the ceiling.
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She made a little coughing sound and then her whole body went
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rigid, hands clenched tight shut, ankles together, and she was
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shivering, as if an electric current was sizzling through her.</p>
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<p>A few seconds later the shivering stopped and Lorna's muscles
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went slack. Cath and Gemma managed, between them, to get her up
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onto the couch again. Cath had a hand to the girl's forehead. It
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was clammy and cold. She was about to say something when Lorna's
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eyes closed and then snapped open again.</p>
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<p>"Timmy?" she said very softly.</p>
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<p>"Has anybody seen my Timmy?"</p>
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<p>"What's she saying?" old Mrs McCluskie asked.</p>
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<p>"I left my baby lying here," Lorna sang in a dreamy voice. "And
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went to gather blaeberries." She stopped, then began again almost
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immediately, speaking in a dreamy voice. "Fairies took him. Fairies
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took him away." She turned, eyes bright and sparkling, yet oddly
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blind. "Not fairies. Something stole him and he'll never come back
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again."</p>
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<p>She close her eyes again and all of the woman around her watched
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in silence, Finally one of them asked again. "What on earth's wrong
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with her?"</p>
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<p>"I don't know." Gemma said. "Maybe she's had too much wine. Can
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somebody get a cold cloth?"</p>
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<p>Agnes McCann shifted in her seat, about to fetch the cloth when
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|
Lorna's hand shot out and grabbed her just above the elbow. Agnes
|
|
yelped. "Ow. That hurts"."</p>
|
|
<p>Lorna's eyes flicked open again, eerily wide, glaring straight
|
|
at Agnes.</p>
|
|
<p>"Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home," she began, chanting, like a
|
|
little girl in a schoolyard, skipping to the rhyme.</p>
|
|
<p>"Your house is on fire and your children are <em>gone</em>."</p>
|
|
<p>She blinked very slowly and a big tear formed in the corner of
|
|
one eye, bubbled over and rolled down her cheek.</p>
|
|
<p>"They're burning. They're dying. Oh my sweet Jesus Christ let
|
|
them out, let them <em>go!</em>" Lorna's words came out in a rising
|
|
torrent. They ended in a screech.</p>
|
|
<p>Beside her, Gemma jerked back. Her hand had been on Lorna's left
|
|
arm, while the girl's right had been straight out in front of her,
|
|
still grasping Agnes McCann's elbow.</p>
|
|
<p>All of a sudden, it had felt as if Lorna's skin was on fire. The
|
|
heat had sizzled into Gemma's fingers, as if she'd laid them on top
|
|
of a hot stove.</p>
|
|
<p>"The baby in its cot. The two wee boys in their beds. They don't
|
|
know. It's coming for them, coming in the dark. And the smoke, it's
|
|
thick and dark and they can't breathe. Oh God, it's hot. It's down
|
|
the chimney. He's lying in the flames and he's dead, and it's
|
|
coming for them and they're going to <em>burn</em>. Oh, please. Oh
|
|
<em>mother of Christ!</em> They can't wake up."</p>
|
|
<p>"Come on Lorna," Cathy snapped. She shook the girl by the
|
|
shoulder. Under the dress she too could feel the heat.</p>
|
|
<p>"The girl's gone half daft," Mrs McCluskie said, but her face
|
|
was slack and sick looking.</p>
|
|
<p>"No, it's an act," Patricia Farmer said. "Just to make us
|
|
believe she can read our tea-leaves."</p>
|
|
<p>Just then, Gemma said: "Something's burning."</p>
|
|
<p>She sat upright and sniffed, then looked down. The fine fair
|
|
hairs on Lorna's arm were beginning to curl. Her skin was a blotchy
|
|
red. A blister was beginning to appear down the length of her
|
|
forearm.</p>
|
|
<p>"Oh quick. Get a cloth," she bawled. Cathy dashed to the sink
|
|
and ran a tap over a hand towel and threw it across. Gemma slapped
|
|
the dripping cloth onto Lorna, covering her face and her arms.
|
|
There was a hissing sound, like water steaming on a hot pan, and
|
|
then steam, <em>real</em> steam billowed up from the towel.</p>
|
|
<p>Lorna jerked back as if she'd been slapped.</p>
|
|
<p>"What's happening?" she asked in a small voice. She looked
|
|
groggy, as if still half asleep. "What's going on."</p>
|
|
<p>She looked round at the faces, all of them staring at her.</p>
|
|
<p>"Thought you were throwing a fit girl."</p>
|
|
<p>"And you're so hot," Gemma said. She reached out a hand to take
|
|
Lorna's in her own. The heat was gone, but the blister still raised
|
|
its long mark on her arm. "You were burning up."</p>
|
|
<p>"Burning?" Lorna asked. Her eyebrows came down in a frown of
|
|
concentration. "There's something I must remember.
|
|
Something..."</p>
|
|
<p>She seemed to come completely awake. Her eyes swept across the
|
|
women in front of her, came to rest on Agnes McCann.</p>
|
|
<p>Lorna opened her mouth, tried to speak, but her voice was
|
|
snagged in her throat. She made a little hitching movement and the
|
|
words finally blurted out. "You have to go home, Agnes. Right this
|
|
minute. It might not be too late."</p>
|
|
<p>"What do you mean?" the other woman started to ask.</p>
|
|
<p>"No time, oh please, there's no time. Your babies. There's
|
|
something wrong. There's going to be a fire."</p>
|
|
<p>Agnes backed away, knocking the chair behind her.</p>
|
|
<p>"What's she on about? Is she trying to scare me or
|
|
something?"</p>
|
|
<p>She looked at the rest of the women and they all looked back
|
|
dumbly.</p>
|
|
<p>"My Pat's watching them tonight. They're all right."</p>
|
|
<p>"Oh please Agnes. Phone him now. Get him to wake up. There's
|
|
something in the...."</p>
|
|
<p>Just then, outside in the street window, a siren screamed, loud
|
|
enough to rattle the windows and so sudden they all jumped. The
|
|
sound wailed menacingly. They all heard the blare of the horn as
|
|
the fire tender rushed past, wheels throwing up chippings as it
|
|
turned down Overtoun Lane and up the hill towards Murroch Street.
|
|
The sound dopplered down as the fire tender raced away, the wail
|
|
like a demon in the night.</p>
|
|
<p>Lorna started to scream and Agnes McCann fainted.</p>
|
|
<hr />
|
|
<p>The top of the old red sandstone building was completely gutted.
|
|
The firemen fought the blaze for three hours, as flames licked a
|
|
hundred feet into the night sky, turning the low clouds orange with
|
|
the reflected glare. The family staying below the McCann house had
|
|
managed to escape. Gordon Kennedy lowered his two sons down on a
|
|
knotted sheet to where old Bob Cuthill had managed to get a ladder
|
|
against the wall. Bob, who was seventy two, risked his life to
|
|
clamber up, despite the danger from red-hot falling slates that
|
|
were whipping from the roof and whirring down like axe-heads. He
|
|
grabbed the kids and hustled them away from the burning building.
|
|
Gordie Kennedy got himself out of the window and along a three inch
|
|
ledge to the roan-pipe which was turning pink with the heat. The
|
|
pain was unbelievable as the skin and tendons seared, but Gordie
|
|
held on for ten feet until the downpipe pulled away from the wall
|
|
and he fell a further thirty to the flagstones below where he broke
|
|
his left leg in two places and drove the ball of his femur through
|
|
the socket of his pelvis. It took thirty titanium screws to put him
|
|
back together again and he walked with a limp after that. He never
|
|
got the full use of his right hand ever again, but his sons grew up
|
|
to be men.</p>
|
|
<p>Agnes McCann arrived on the scene five minutes after the red
|
|
tender had screeched past Gemma Conroy's house. When Gemma drove
|
|
her and Cathy Galt round the corner, and they saw the flames
|
|
blasting up to the sky, now half shrouded in a tower of dirty
|
|
smoke, Agnes started to scream.</p>
|
|
<p>They helped her through the crowd gathered at the end of the
|
|
street, tripping over hoses and splashing through the mucky
|
|
leak-water and got to the second tender just as the whole of the
|
|
roof caved in. A gout of incredible heat and a meteor-storm of
|
|
sparks blasted out from the windows of the McCann house. One of the
|
|
window frames went tumbling away, whirling through the air, to
|
|
land, burning furiously, on top of a parked car fifty feet away.
|
|
Agnes screeched again, so high it disappeared beyond hearing and
|
|
her legs gave way. Cathy Galt couldn't hold her and the woman
|
|
flopped into an expanding puddle.</p>
|
|
<p>Ten minutes later, the floorboards gave way and the whole of the
|
|
inside of the tenement seemed to collapse into itself. The tall
|
|
chimney-stack, with its eight identical pots teetered like a drunk,
|
|
then fell with an amazing roar into where the McCann children had
|
|
been asleep in their beds. The pots smashed with the noise of
|
|
exploding grenades.</p>
|
|
<p>After that, it was only a matter of time as the fire ate
|
|
everything that could burn. The firemen, leaning out from the
|
|
snorkel gantries, poured thousands of gallons in a constant deluge
|
|
over the inferno and finally, just after midnight, you could see
|
|
they were beginning to win the fight. There were no prizes. There
|
|
was nothing left but ashes and rubble.</p>
|
|
<p>All morning fire inspector Sorley Fitzpatrick and his team spent
|
|
their time sifting through the rubble, dressed in their thick
|
|
protective gear. The stone and brickwork was still sizzling hot to
|
|
the touch, and in fact it would be another two days before the heat
|
|
drained out of the masonry. They discovered the remains of the
|
|
McCann family, but those remains were mere fragments. Pat McCann's
|
|
lower jaw was almost intact and he was later identified by dental
|
|
records, which was, all things considered, a piece of luck. He'd
|
|
lost all of his top teeth years before and the plastic plate had
|
|
melted to nothing. They found the complete skull of the elder boy,
|
|
Jimmy, who was eight, where it had fallen and been protected from
|
|
complete carbonisation by a pile of slates. A partial hip-bone
|
|
identified wee Brendan, just turned six. Of the baby, nine month
|
|
old Kerry, the pride of her father's eye, nothing was found in the
|
|
smouldering rubble of what had been 46 Murroch Road. Sorley
|
|
Fitzpatrick deduced that because of her size, and the fact that
|
|
she'd had no teeth to speak of, her entire body had been
|
|
consumed.</p>
|
|
<p>It was another week before the fire claimed the entire McCann
|
|
family. Six days after the fire, Agnes McCann managed, despite the
|
|
close attentions of a large tribe of sisters, aunts and cousins, to
|
|
swallow the entire contents of a bottle of paracetamol pills in the
|
|
middle of the night. By the time morning came around, her
|
|
sister-in-law found her lying half-out of the bed in her spare
|
|
room. She was in a deep coma. By the time she arrived at Lochend
|
|
General, she was dead.</p>
|
|
<p>Sorley Fitzpatrick's report came to twelve pages and at the end
|
|
of it, nobody was any the wiser. Such was the destruction of the
|
|
building, that the cause of the fire could not be determined with
|
|
any degree of accuracy. There was just nothing left intact enough
|
|
to be able to prove what sparked off the blaze. Some assumptions
|
|
could be made, however. From the initial reports, and from the
|
|
progress of the fire as it was being fought, it was likely the
|
|
ignition spot was somewhere in the family's living room and the
|
|
fire had quickly spread from there to the other rooms. Perhaps a
|
|
piece of coal had sparked a burning ember from the fire, perhaps
|
|
the old wiring behind the skirting boards had burned out and set
|
|
the dust and bone-dry timbers alight behind the lath-and-plaster
|
|
walls. The speed of the spread was a puzzle, as was the fact that
|
|
all of the occupants were overcome so quickly. In the end, the
|
|
report left as many questions as it answered. A fatal inquiry a
|
|
month later determined the cause of death of Pat McCann and his
|
|
three children was accidental. In Agnes' case it was judged that
|
|
she had committed suicide while the balance of her mind was
|
|
disturbed. But all of that was many weeks on, and there were many
|
|
things happening in Levenford as the winter nights grew longer and
|
|
the cold began to grip the town where some people were just
|
|
beginning to realise that things were not as they should be.</p>
|
|
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