Macbeth

‘You’re a petty man, Duff.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. So when you say I’m fighting this fight for others, I don’t know if it’s true or I only want to take something away from Macbeth that I know he wants.’

‘But he doesn’t want it, Duff. The town, power, wealth — he couldn’t care less about them. He wants only her love.’

‘Lady.’

‘Everything’s about Lady. Haven’t you realised?’

Duff blew a deformed smoke ring up to the ceiling. ‘Macbeth’s driven by love while I’m driven by envy and hatred. Where he has shown mercy, I’ve killed. And tomorrow I’m going to kill the person who was once my best friend — ambush him — and mercy and love will have lost again.’

‘That’s just cynicism and your self-loathing talking, Duff.’

‘Hm.’ He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. ‘You forgot self-pity.’

‘Yes, I did. And self-pity.’

‘I’ve been an arrogant egoist all my life. I can’t understand how you could have loved me.’

‘Some women have a weakness for men they think can save them, others for men they think they can save.’

‘Amen,’ Duff said, getting up. ‘You women don’t understand that we men don’t change. Not when we discover love, not when we realise we’re going to die. Never.’

‘Some use false arrogance to cover up their lack of confidence, but your arrogance is genuine, Duff. It’s down to total confidence.’

Duff smiled and pulled on his wet trousers. ‘Try to sleep now. We have to have our wits about us tomorrow.’

After he had left, Caithness got up, pulled the curtain to one side and looked down at the street. The swish of tyres through pools of water. Faded adverts for Joey’s Hamburger Bar, Peking Dry-Cleaners and the Tandrella Bingo Hall. A cigarette glowing for a second in an alleyway.

In a few hours day would break.

She wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now.

37

Saturday arrived with more rain. The front pages of both the town’s newspapers carried Tourtell’s announcement and the explosion on top of the Obelisk. The Times commented in its leader that Macbeth’s radio interview had to be understood as him not categorically rejecting standing for mayor. And said Tourtell wasn’t available for comment as he was at his son’s mother’s bedside in St Jordi’s Hospital. Late that morning the rain cleared.

‘You’re home early,’ Sheila said, wiping her hands on her apron in the hall and looking at her husband with a little concern.

‘I couldn’t find anything to do. I think I was the only person at work,’ Lennox said, putting his bag by the chest of drawers, taking a clothes hanger from the wardrobe and hanging up his coat. Two years had passed since the town council had adopted the five-day week for the public sector, but at police HQ it was an unspoken rule that if you wanted to get on you had to show your face on Saturdays as well.

Lennox kissed his wife lightly on the cheek, noticed a new, unfamiliar perfume and a hitherto un-thought notion fluttered through his brain: what if he had caught her in bed with another man? He rejected this at once. First because she wasn’t the type. Second because she wasn’t attractive enough — after all there was a reason why she had ended up with a diminutive albino. The third and strongest reason for rejecting the notion was, however, simple: it was too hard to bear.

‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked and followed him into the sitting room.

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I’m just tired. Where are the kids?’

‘In the garden,’ she said. ‘Finally some decent weather.’

He stood by the big window. Watching his children as they romped around screaming and laughing and playing a game the point of which he couldn’t work out. Escaping, it seemed. Good skill to learn. He looked up at the sky. Decent? A little break before the piss came hammering down again. He slumped into an armchair. How long could he carry on like this?

‘Lunch won’t be ready for an hour,’ she said.

‘That’s fine, love.’ He looked at her. He genuinely liked her, but had he ever been in love with her? He couldn’t remember and perhaps it wasn’t that important. She hadn’t said a word one way or the other, but he was fairly sure she hadn’t been in love with him either. Generally Sheila didn’t say much. Perhaps that was why she had given in to his persuasion and in the end said yes to being his girlfriend and eventually his wife. She had found someone who could talk for them both.

‘Sure there’s nothing wrong?’

‘Absolutely sure, sweetheart. That smells good. What is it?’

‘Erm, cod,’ she said, her frown framing a question.

He was going to explain that he meant her perfume, not the lunch she had barely started, but she went to the kitchen and he swung his chair round to face the garden. His elder daughter saw him, beamed and shouted something to the other two. He waved to them. How could two such unattractive people have such beautiful children? And that was when the notion struck him again: If they really were his.

Infidelity and treachery.