A Song for the Dying by Stuart MacBride

Author:Stuart MacBride [Stuart MacBride]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

28

Alice pulled her shoulders up to her ears, and turned her back to the wind. Brown curls lashed and writhed around her head like angry snakes. ‘But I’m not hungry…’

The Old Castle visitor centre was shut, but Manky Ralph’s – a dirt-streaked catering trailer with four flat tyres – squatted in the corner of the car park. Better than nothing. And besides, the food wasn’t the reason most people handed over their money.

‘I don’t care.’ I held out two napkin-wrapped parcels and a polystyrene container of hot, sweet tea. ‘Eat those and drink that.’

‘But—’

‘This isn’t a discussion. Come on, you need breakfast. You’ll feel better afterwards.’

She puffed out a breath and took one of the butties. Unwrapped it. Pulled a face. Then took a bite. A small smile. ‘Chips.’

‘See?’ I ripped into my sausage and onion, chewing as we wandered into the ruins.

This part was a collection of waist-high lines of crumbling masonry. Further in there were fire pits, an ice cave, and a staircase to nowhere. And, right at the very back, what was left of a three-storey tower. All of it washed in the golden glare of early morning light, glowing against the coal-dark sky.

We huddled in the lee of a section of battlement, a narrow arrow slit giving views out, down the cliff, past Dundas House, the river, and back towards the Wynd where Paul Manson was working out his last day on earth.

Alice finished the chip buttie, then creaked the lid off her tea, sipping as the steam was yanked away by the wind. She leaned against the wall. Kept her eyes on her little red shoes. ‘I’m scared…’

The small, clear, plastic bag Manky Ralph sold me barely weighed a thing. Sat in the palm of my hand like it wasn’t really there. I held it out. ‘Here.’

She peered at it. ‘Pills?’

‘You told Dr Dimwit at the hospital he should get Marie Jordan on some MDMA trial in Aberdeen.’

Alice picked the tiny bag from my hand and held it up. Half a dozen pink heart-shaped pills nestled against each other in the bottom. ‘You bought Ecstasy for me?’

‘You know, for … taking your amygdala down a notch.’

A smile. She reached out and squeezed my arm. ‘No one’s ever bought me chips and drugs before.’ Alice slipped the pills into her pocket. Then her face sagged. ‘But we need to talk about David.’

‘I told you: he’ll be OK.’

She peeled the napkin back from her second buttie – bacon this time. ‘I mean it doesn’t make any sense to kill Paul Manson, if we do—’

‘You’re not killing anyone. You’re not responsible for what happens. And if it wasn’t for these bloody ankle monitors I’d make damn sure you had nothing to do with it.’ Seagulls soared above the Bellows, dipping and wheeling over the hollow shells of the old sanatorium, cast adrift on their island in the middle of the river. ‘But there’s not a lot we can do about that now.’

She shuddered. ‘If it wasn’t for the ankle monitors Mrs Kerrigan would’ve taken me for a hostage instead of David.

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