Macbeth

Calls and laughter. They moved inside. But the sarge stood at the doorway, scanning their surroundings one more time. The bus on its way down the road again. Chang, who had been joined by two men, guarding the gate. The empty factory buildings around, which they had checked to make sure no one was watching the club. The sky to the west, where it actually seemed that a little blue was on the way. Now perhaps he could relax a little. Perhaps Sweno was right: perhaps better times really were coming their way.

The sergeant went in, refused spirits and put a mug of beer to his mouth. Party or not, these were critical times. He looked around. Sean and Betty were smooching in the corner with the baby squeezed between them, and the sarge thought it would be a bizarre way to end a young life. But there were plenty of things a lot bloody worse than being suffocated by undiluted love.

‘Norse Riders!’ he shouted. The music was turned down, and conversations died away.

‘This is a day of happiness. And a day of sadness. We haven’t forgotten the fallen. But there’s a time to cry and a time to laugh, and today we’re partying. Cheers!’

Cheering and raised glasses. The sergeant took a huge swig and wiped the foam from his beard.

‘And this is a new start,’ he continued.

‘To the speech?’ shouted Sean, and everyone laughed.

‘We lost a few men; they lost a few men,’ the sergeant said. ‘The drugs from Russia are water under the bridge.’ No laughter. ‘But as a man whose name you all know said to me today, “With this head-case as the chief commissioner better times are coming our way.” ’

More cheering. The sarge felt as if he could talk for quite some time yet, say a few things about the club, about comradeship and sacrifice. But he had taken up enough time and space. No one but the sergeant knew that Sweno was waiting in the wings somewhere right now. It was time for the evening’s grand entrance.

‘And with these words,’ he said, ‘let me pass you over—’

In the dramatic pause that followed he heard something. The deep growl of a lorry with a powerful engine and in too low a gear. Well, there were lots of poor drivers out there.

‘—to—’

He heard a roar. And knew the gate had flown off its hinges. And that the evening’s grand entrance had a rival.

Duff stood outside the grey five-storey block of flats. He looked at his watch. Five minutes to four. He could still make it to the birthday party by quite a margin. He rang the bell.

‘Come up,’ said Caithness’s voice from the intercom.

After their conversation in the darkroom he had gone to the Bricklayers Arms, sat in one of the booths and had a beer. He could of course have spent the time working in his office, but Macbeth’s orders had been to stay at home in Fife. And then he had another. Giving himself time to think.

Now he walked up the stairs, not with the plodding, heavy steps of someone going to the scaffold, but with the quick, light steps of someone wanting to get a scene over with and survive. And who had another life he wanted to get back to.

The flat door was open.

‘Come in,’ he heard Caithness shout from somewhere. He gave a sigh of relief when he saw she had collected all his possessions on the table in the hall. A toilet bag. A shaver. A couple of shirts and underwear. The tennis racket she had bought him as they both played, though it had never been used. A necklace and pearl earrings. Duff’s fingers caressed the jewellery he had bought her. It had been worn often.

‘In here,’ she shouted. From the bedroom.

The stereo was on. Elvis. ‘Love Me Tender’.

Duff walked towards the open bedroom door, hesitating, not so light-footed now. He could smell her perfume from where he was.

‘Duff,’ she said with a sniffle when he appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m giving you back what you gave me, but I expect a farewell present.’

She lay on the bed in a black corset and nylons. Also bought by him. At the bed head there was a champagne cooler containing an open bottle, which she was obviously well into. He absorbed the sight of her. She was the most beautiful, most gorgeous woman he had ever been with. Every single time he saw her he was struck by her beauty, as though it were the first time. And he could feel every caress they had exchanged, every wild ride they’d had. And now he was renouncing this. Now and for ever.

‘Caithness,’ Duff said, feeling his throat thicken. ‘My dear, dear, beautiful Caithness.’

‘Come here.’

‘I can’t...’

‘Of course you can. You’ve been able to for so long, so many times, this is just the last. You owe me that.’

‘You won’t enjoy it. Neither of us will.’

‘I don’t want to enjoy it, Duff. I want closure. I want you to crawl, for once. I want you to swallow your virtue and do as I want. And now this is what I want. Just this. And afterwards you can go to hell and home to the meal with the wife you no longer love. Come on now. I can see from here you’re ready for—’