Читать книгу The Distant Echo - Val McDermid, Val McDermid - Страница 19

New Year’s Eve, 1978; Kirkcaldy, Scotland

They’d made a pact, back when they were fifteen, when their parents were first persuaded that they could be allowed out first-footing. At the year’s midnight, the four Laddies fi’ Kirkcaldy would gather in the Town Square and bring in the New Year together. Every year so far, they’d kept their word, standing around jostling each other as the hands of the town clock crept towards twelve. Ziggy would bring his transistor radio to make sure they heard the bells, and they’d pass around whatever drink they’d managed to acquire. They’d celebrated the first year with a bottle of sweet sherry and four cans of Carlsberg Special. These days, they’d graduated to a bottle of Famous Grouse.

There was no official celebration in the square, but over recent years groups of young people had taken to congregating there. It wasn’t a particularly attractive place, mostly because the Town House looked like one of the less alluring products of Soviet architecture, its clock tower greened with verdigris. But it was the only open space in the town centre apart from the bus station, which was even more charmless. The square also boasted a Christmas tree and fairy lights, which made it marginally more festive than the bus station.

That year, Alex and Ziggy arrived together. Ziggy had called round to the house to collect him, charming Mary Gilbey into giving them both a tot of Scotch to keep out the cold. Pockets stuffed with home-made shortbread, black bun which nobody would eat, and sultana cake, they’d walked down past the station and the library, past the Adam Smith Centre with its posters advertising Babes in the Wood starring Russell Hunter and the Patton Brothers, past the Memorial Gardens. Their conversation kicked off with speculation as to whether Weird would manage to persuade his father to let him off the leash for Hogmanay.

‘He’s been acting pretty strange lately,’ Alex said.

‘Gilly, he’s always strange. That’s why we call him Weird.’

‘I know, but he’s been different. I’ve noticed it, working beside him. He’s been kind of subdued. He’s not had much to say for himself.’

‘Probably something to do with his current lack of access to alcohol and substances,’ Ziggy said wryly.

‘He’s not even been stroppy, though. That’s the clincher. You know Weird. The minute he thinks anybody might be taking the piss, he erupts. But he’s been keeping his head down, not arguing when the supervisors have a go. He just stands and takes it, then gets on with whatever they want him to do. You think it’s the business with Rosie that’s got to him?’

Ziggy shrugged. ‘Could be. He took it pretty lightly at the time, but then he was off his head. To tell you the truth, I’ve hardly spoken to him since the day Maclennan came over.’

‘I’ve only seen him at work. Soon as we clock off, he’s out of there. He won’t even come for a coffee with me and Mondo.’

Ziggy pulled a face. ‘I’m surprised Mondo’s got the time for coffee.’

‘Go easy on him. It’s his way of dealing with it. When he’s getting his end away with some lassie, he can’t be thinking about the murder. Which is why he’s going for the all-comers’ record,’ Alex added with a grin.

They crossed the road and walked down Wemyssfield, the short street that led to the Town Square. They had the confident stride of men on their home turf, a place so familiar that it conferred a kind of ownership. It was ten to twelve when they trotted down the wide, shallow steps that led to the paved area outside the Town House. There were already several groups of people passing bottles from hand to hand. Alex looked around to see if he could spot the others.

‘Over there, up at the Post Office end,’ Ziggy said. ‘Mondo’s brought the latest lay. Oh, and Lynn’s there with them too.’ He pointed to his left, and they set off to join the others.

After the exchange of greetings, and the general agreement that it didn’t look like Weird was going to make it, Alex found himself standing next to Lynn. She was growing up, he thought. Not a kid any more. With her elfin features and dark curls, she was a feminine version of Mondo. But paradoxically, the elements that made his face seem weak had the opposite effect with Lynn. There was nothing remotely fragile about her. ‘So, how’s it going?’ Alex said. It wasn’t much of a line, but then, he didn’t want to be thought to be chatting up fifteen-year-olds.