Macbeth

‘What if you had died in the process, you mean? You were thirteen. Not an adult, but with a sharp mind. Should your future be sacrificed for a newborn baby, a seed which still isn’t aware it’s alive, which still doesn’t feel longing, guilt, shame, true love, indeed is not really human, just a millstone around the neck of a young girl whom life has punished enough as it is? That this thirteen-year-old was unable to keep both of you alive, but survived herself, has to be called good luck within the bad luck. Because look what she achieved afterwards. She set up a little brothel. Set up a bigger, more luxurious one, which catered to the needs of everyone from the police commissioner to the town’s most important politicians. Sold it and established the town’s best the casino. And now — hey presto — she’s the queen of the town.’

Lady shook her head. ‘That’s taking it too far, Jack. Embellishing my motives and granting me an amnesty for my misdeeds. What is a casino, what are the dreams of idiots against a real child’s life? If I’d demanded less of my life I might have been able to save hers.’

‘Did you demand so much in reality?’

‘I demanded acceptance from others. No, more — respect. Yes, and love. Those are gifts that are not granted to everyone, but I demanded to be one of the few. And the price is having to lose my child again and again, night after night.’

Jack nodded. ‘And if you could choose again, ma’am?’

Lady looked at him. ‘Perhaps we’re all, good or bad, only slaves of our desires, Jack. Do you believe that?’

‘I don’t know, ma’am, but with respect to slaves of desires I’ll check out this boy of Tourtell’s tomorrow.’

Macbeth exited the lift in the basement and stood for a couple of seconds inhaling the smell of leather, gun oil and male sweat. Looked at SWAT’s motto under a fire-breathing red dragon: LOYALTY, FRATERNITY, BAPTISED IN FIRE, UNITED IN BLOOD. My God, it felt like a minor eternity since then.

He walked through the door to the SWAT common room.

‘Olafson! Angus! Hey, what is this? Sit down, don’t jump up like a couple of recruits. Where’s Seyton?’

‘In there,’ Angus said in his unctuous priest-like tone. ‘Sad to hear about Banquo. The lads are collecting money for a wreath, but you probably aren’t—’

‘One of the boys any more? Of course I am.’ Macbeth pulled out his wallet. ‘Thought you were on sick leave, Olafson. Where’s the sling?’

‘Slung it.’ Olafson’s lisp made him sound Spanish. ‘The doctor thought I’d destroyed all the tendons in my shoulder and would never be able to shoot again. But then Seyton looked at it and suddenly it was fine again.’

‘There you go. Don’t trust doctors.’ Macbeth passed Olafson a wad of notes.

‘That’s too much, sir.’

‘Take it.’

‘It’s enough for a coffin.’

‘Take it!’

Macbeth went into his old office. Which wasn’t actually an office but a workshop with gun parts and ammunition on shelves and benches, where the typewriter had been moved unused to a chair.

‘Well?’ Macbeth said.

‘The boys are briefed,’ Seyton said, sitting with a thick instruction manual in front of him. ‘And ready.’

‘And our two Gatling girls?’ Macbeth nodded to the manual.

‘The machine guns are coming at about eight, early tomorrow morning. You spoke to the harbour master, I take it, so that the boat could jump the queue?’

‘We couldn’t have the girls coming late to the party. And there’ll be a little job for you lads later tomorrow.’

‘Fine. Where?’

‘In Fife.’

20

Thursday morning. Fife was bathed in sunshine.

Duff was swimming.

Full, muscular breaststroke, ploughing a path through the cold heavy water.

He had long preferred the saltwater of the river, it felt lighter to swim in. Which actually was strange because he had learned that saltwater gave you more buoyancy, which had to mean it had greater density, which in turn had to mean it was heavier than freshwater. Nevertheless, until recently he had preferred the river, which as well as being freezing cold was so polluted that he felt dirty every time he emerged from it. But now he was clean. He had got up early, done his exercises on the cold wooden floor beside the guest bed, made breakfast for the family, sung a little birthday song for Ewan, driven the children to school and afterwards walked with Meredith the half a mile or so down to the lake. She had talked about how many apples there were on the trees this autumn, their daughter getting her first love letter — though Meredith was privately very disappointed it was from a boy who was three years younger than her — and Emily wanting a guitar for her twelfth birthday. Ewan had been in a fight in the school playground and had brought home a note for his parents. He had agreed with Mum that he would have to tell Dad himself, but it could wait until after his birthday party today — there would be plenty of time then. Duff asked if postponing the evil moment wouldn’t mean Ewan would be dreading it for an unnecessarily long time.