Jack in the box, p.28
Jack in the Box, page 28
63
Lomond stared at the doll. Straw-yellow hair, made of delicate strands of wool that would come right out if you pulled too hard. Siobhan had done this once or twice before she understood that the hair wouldn’t grow back and couldn’t be combed any more, or put in bunches. She had left it alone after that. Staring up at Lomond from the box, the doll seemed melancholic – though it always had done; it wasn’t just his mood. Not just that.
If I ever see this doll again, Lomond thought, it’ll be when I’m helping Siobhan move house. Or if I ever have to clear her house out for any reason.
He stared at the sad eyes, with their radial Aunt Sally eyelashes, sparsely stitched around each wide blue orb, then placed her back in the box on top of the rest of the precious childhood toys. He closed the box. Jojo – that was the doll’s name. He didn’t hear Maureen padding into the room – she was good at that when she wanted to be – and leapt when she said, ‘Having second thoughts?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, you’re as sentimental as they come,’ Maureen said frankly, opening the box. ‘You used to get just as wrapped up in the games as she did. When she thought she’d lost Jojo you tore the house apart looking for her.’
‘Found her, as well,’ Lomond said. ‘Left underneath an empty plant pot in the garden. A game of hide and seek. We declared her the winner.’
‘I remember.’
‘Just as well Daddy’s a detective, eh?’
‘You’ve been in sorting out this box for an hour and a half.’
‘Have I?’ He checked his watch. ‘Jeezo. Just looking through them. The memories in every one. Christmas. Birthdays. Wee presents we gave her, just cos she had a good day at school. Just cos it was Friday, sometimes.’
‘Wee presents you gave her, mostly.’ She nudged his hip. ‘You know, we don’t have to take these over to her now. Her flat’s not small, but it’s not that big. Maybe wait until she’s got a bigger place. One with a loft. Then she can stuff her own space with her old toys and free up some room for us.’
‘I suppose. We’ve got plenty of space now she’s definitely away.’
‘Well, until the next crisis.’
He looked up at his wife sharply. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, you know. Stuff happens in life. People find partners. They break up. They need hotel mum and dad as well as banco di mum and dad.’
‘True. Never happened to us, though.’
‘There’s time yet.’ Maureen combed her fingers through Jojo’s woollen hair, smoothing back the remaining strands. ‘Museum piece, this.’
‘Your mum knitted it for her before she was born.’
‘True enough. She loved it, all the same. One of her oldest wee pals.’
They gazed at the doll and the jumble of teddies, Barbies and other toys around it. Most of the childhood stuff had been given away, and Siobhan’s treasured companions had dwindled to this hard core. Not to be given away, not to be donated to charity shops, and absolutely not to be thrown out. Relics beyond price. There was a whole universe of childhood games in here, often shared with Mum and Dad, willing participants and observers of their daughter’s theatre. Often it took the form of a school, with Siobhan as teacher, and sometimes it became a sleepover or a school disco or, alarmingly often, a skirmish between the girls over which boy they liked, before puberty brought an abrupt end to these exchanges, at least among the toys.
‘Hard to let go, isn’t it?’ Lomond said.
‘Well, don’t let go. Stick them up on the shelves. They can be ornaments. They can stand guard. Say hello to them when you go past. I bet you will, as well.’
‘I might. Treat it as a live investigation. Ask them searching questions.’
‘So long as you don’t strip-search them, honey.’
‘They’ll need a dedicated female officer for that,’ Lomond said soberly. ‘Might bring Smythe round for it. She didn’t get the job, you know.’
‘Oh,’ was all Maureen said.
‘Aye. That was my reaction. Can’t say anything. Couldn’t even tell her it was nothing to do with me, which happens to be the truth.’
‘Who got it, then? Oh, don’t tell me.’
‘The guy you’re thinking – that guy. Presuming you’re not thinking about Slater, cos it wasn’t him.’
‘Tait. Ach.’
‘He’s a decent copper, to be fair. Just not as decent as Smythe. But there we go.’
‘Sounds like pish.’
‘It is. But at least she stays with us for a bit longer. I’ll miss Tait, for what it’s worth. He boots Slater’s arse for him, so I don’t have to.’
‘Why don’t you finish up what you’re doing and we’ll open a bottle of wine, get the fire on, and watch an old comedy?’
Lomond grinned. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘One Foot in the Grave.’
‘Perfect. Lead on.’ Lomond shut the box and pulled out a length of sticky tape from the roll. But an instant before he sealed down the lid, he thought better of it. He wound back the tape as best he could, and put the roll on the bare dressing table. Then he pulled out the doll and sat it on the shelf where Siobhan had kept all her perfume bottles, feet dangling, gingham dress draped demurely just below the knees. ‘Welcome back, Jojo,’ he said. Then he shut the box and slid it under the bed.
‘Back of the net!’ Maureen cried, clapping her hands. ‘Now, how about you eat something?’
‘Nah . . . guts are iffy.’
‘Something you ate?’
‘Just thinking about stuff.’ He shrugged. She came closer, feeding an arm around his waist and tucking a strand of hair over his ear. He swallowed.
‘Go on then,’ she said gently.
‘Just the usual. It’s another couple of faces to zip up, put in a box and put in the ground. But they stay in here.’ Lomond tapped his temple. ‘That’s a price to pay. I’ll pay it, like your tax and NI, fees for the union - no problem. No complaint. Has to be done. But there’s always more. When I stop – when you stick me in a box – it’ll go on. There’ll be more creeps and perverts. I was just thinking about that. But . . . no work tomorrow. Let’s have some wine and watch a bit of Victor and Margaret.’
Maureen sighed. ‘There’ll always be baddies out there, love - but think of the ones you stopped. And think of the ones who weren’t zipped up in a bag. They’re still out and about now, walking the streets, living their lives. The ones you protected. The ones you kept out of a box. Siobhan’s one of them. Some very bad people are in their own box as well, because of what you did. One with bars on the window. Some of them won’t ever get out of it. That’s the thing to remember. That’s the thing that keeps everything going.’
‘C’mon, then, we’re done here,’ Lomond said. They left the room and turned the lights out on Jojo. The doll who never smiled and never blinked sat there silently in the dark. Beyond the door, the warm voices carried on.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Alison Rae, Ellen Cranston and everyone at team Birlinn for all their help, support and guidance. Special thanks go to Nancy Webber, copy-editor extraordinaire. I’ve got a brilliant team behind me and am grateful for the opportunity and all the help they’ve given me. As ever, thanks to Justin and Kate and all the utter heroes at the Kate Nash Literary Agency. Apologies for the over-running Zoom calls, but I do love a blether, and the less on-topic and more irrelevant it is, the better.
For the technical stuff, I want to thank Colin Taylor, a pint-after-work hero and a friendly face across the hallway from my days at Anderston Quay. A former office, all shiny and new at the millennium, now gone to dust thanks to the bulldozers. Hard to believe it doesn’t exist any more . . . but nothing’s for ever. Anyway, Colin is the guy who told me that It Could Be Done.
Thanks again to Dr Stephen Docherty for the medical stuff, and to my brother James for all the help with the police procedure as it happens in the real world, to real people. These folk know what they’re doing, and they are good at it. Any errors, discrepancies or omissions are entirely down to me.
The idea for this book came from a chat with the neighbours, Jonny and Michelle, about a strange event in our street. There had been talk of people appearing at odd times and, seemingly, scoping out houses and cars. They had crime in mind, we were sure. The lightning-bolt moment for me came when I viewed the doorbell-cam footage on my phone. At first, I couldn’t see anyone, but someone was there. Loitering beside a wooden fence. Not exactly camouflaged, but hard to notice with the change of texture in the background. Calm and cool as you like, looking from one door to the next, from one window to the other. It still makes me shiver. And, as I type, I realise it’s getting late and I should really check all the doors are locked . . .
Eternal thanks, as ever, to Claire and the kids, and to all the family. All my love.
A shout-out to Bob McDevitt and the gang at Bloody Scotland – thanks so much for the opportunity and second-to-none hospitality during an unforgettable weekend in Stirling. Thanks also to the awesome Rob Parker and Brian Meechan for being absolute heroes when they were landed with me on my first-ever author panel. I hope we can bellow at an unsuspecting public again someday.
I want to thank Kelly, Dwayne and Kevin – aka Love Books Tours, Dunfermline Reads and The First Eleven Minutes – as seen on social media. They were the first book bloggers I met in person at the Bloody Scotland launch, and they put me at ease. I cannot overstate the importance of such a kind, welcoming and enthusiastic community.
And, finally, my sincere thanks to you for reading this book, and to the lovely people who came to see me at Bloody Scotland. I’ll be out and about again before long. (This sounds like I’m in jail. I am categorically not in jail.) I hope we can meet again soon. Until then, all the best!
Polygon
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