I used to be so clear-headed... had it all mapped out... I don’t know whether I’m coming or going

Don’t know if I want to be a new woman.” Maggie’s face looked plaintive. “I used to be so clearheaded. Going back to my Seaton job… taking on the agency… seeking justice for George. I had it all mapped out. And when I ran down Jimmy Craigmyle I thought I was doing so well. But, then, Brannigan. I’ve hit another brick wall. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, Wilma. What I really want, to be honest with you, is to go back to the way I was before…”. There was a tremor in her voice. “All this.”

“Oh, quine,” Wilma’s face was heavy with concern. “Ye ken fine that’s no gonna happen.”

“I s’pose,” Maggie stifled a sob.

“And right now,” Wilma heaved herself to her feet, “the best thing for the both of us is get some sleep.”

“I’m with you on with that one,” Maggie followed her neighbour to the front door. “Night, Wilma. And thanks… for everything.”

Wilma turned. In the light from the street lamp she looked almost wistful. “Night-night, Maggie.”

See them Games

“How long have I got?” Kym stood at the door in her coat: a black quilted knee-length job with a scatter of stains down the front.

Fatboy eyed the dishevelled figure with distaste. “As long as you like.” Hurriedly, he checked himself. It was critical to keep the s*** onside.

“But…” she hesitated.

Fatboy smiled encouragement. “Just as long as you’re back before teatime.”

“Only…”

“If you’re worried about leaving the kids…”

She shrugged. “I’m not.”

“You’ve left out their dinner, haven’t you?” “Yes. On the worktop.”

Fatboy winced. He could imagine.

“Away you go, then, have a dander in the fresh air.” “But…” Nervously, she gnawed on a fingernail. “Go on,” he gave her an impatient shove. “Trust me. Everything’s under control up here, and Willie won’t have finished his business for ages yet.” Kym took her finger out of her mouth. “You sure?” “Positive.”

She flashed him a nicotine-stained smile. “Thanks.” “Off you go, then.”

Exasperated voice.

Still she didn’t budge.

“Kym, what’s keeping you?” For a moment Fatboy wondered if Kym had heard about the spliff. His lip curled. So what. Who would believe her?

Her face clouded over. “I’m skint, to tell you the truth.”

“Skint? You’re having me on.”

“I’m not.”

“But, didn’t you just get paid for…?”

“Aye,” she coloured. “But I’d stuff to get.” “Stuff?’ He could imagine the liquor she’d have slid down her scrawny throat, that and the dope.

“And my benefit’s not due till the beginning of next week.”

After that first day, when the kids had run amok in Kym’s flat playing their riotous game of Hide and Seek, they demanded a game every time the girl went off on one of her expeditions and Fatboy was left in sole charge. Not that he minded. The time he spent waiting for Willie hung heavy on his hands, if all there was for him to do was sit watching CBeebies with the kids or fiddle with his iPhone.

No, Fatboy had his afternoon all mapped out: feed the kids, hour of telly, game or two, bit of slap and tickle.

“If you could mebbe see your way,” she wheedled. He cut her short. “Don’t you worry yourself about that.” He extracted a couple of notes from his wallet and slipped them into her coat pocket. Then he had a quiet smile to himself. Cheap at the price.

“Here, get yourself a snifter. Just to keep the cold out, understand?”

Happily, Kym patted her pocket. She didn’t have to think twice these days about leaving her charges in the big lad’s care. Why, he even played proper games with them, they told her excitedly – Pass the Parcel, Hide and Seek, Blind Man’s Bluff. And other games. Ones she’d never heard of: games with funny names like Tickle-Tackle, Lolly-Sticks, Criss-Cross.

Kym asked Fatboy about those games, one time. “See them games…”

“What games?”

“The ones you play with the kids when I’m out.” “What about them?”

“I’ve never heard of any of them.”

“Pass the Parcel?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Blind Man’s Bluff? Where were you dragged up?”

“No,” she struggled to stand upright, “not them. The other games. What d’you call them – Lolly something?”

He laughed. “Don’t you worry your head about those. They’re just daft things I made up.”

Now, Kym tugged the collar of her coat up under her chin.

She pulled the door behind her. A Pair o’ Honeys

Maggie sat on the bench, her knees drawn up. She looked around. The space was vast. Steel beams bridged the vaulted roof space. Suspended by chains from stout metal stanchions, black and scarlet leather punch bags proclaimed “Lonsdale” beneath the logo of a prowling lion. On one side a range of fearsomelooking equipment was arrayed. On the other, exercise mats lined up along a mirrored wall. Here and there, huge barbells lay abandoned. A row of bumpy black weights with sturdy handles sat on a low shelf. Like kettles on a range, her mind flew back to the old farmhouse kitchen in Methlick. In the middle of the space, a boxing ring took centre stage. Raised a couple of feet off the carpeted floor, it was bounded by scarlet railings. Maggie wondered when they’d stopped using ropes. Then she wondered – and not for the first time since she’d teamed up with Wilma Harcus – what on earth she was doing there.

Maggie’s head pounded. In the oppressive heat, she wilted beneath her wool blazer. She closed her eyes. “Bad as that?”

Her eyes batted open. Wilma was standing over her. True to her promise, she’d brought Maggie along to Torry to show her the boxing gym she trained in. After that they were planning a visit to the pub where her neighbour worked. Wilma’s hair was tied up in a topknot, a few spiky ends sticking out. She was kitted out in a pair of knee-length black Lycra leggings and a fluorescent vest top, a rolled-up towel round her neck.

“Wow,” Maggie looked up admiringly. “You look different. And haven’t you lost weight?”

Wilma stuck out her tongue. “Took you long enough to notice.”

“Oh, Wilma, I’m sorry. It’s just we’ve been so busy this past while.”

“You can say that again.”

“So this is what you’ve been up to?”

“Too right. I reckoned if you needed an MOT, then I was in want of a full service.” She changed tack. “What d’you reckon to this, then?”

“It’s very… interesting.”

“Interesting? It’s...” Wilma cast a toned arm around, “…amazin’.”

“Agreed. I’ve never seen anything like it.” That was true, at any rate. “And you can fairly do the moves.”

“D’you think?” Wilma swelled visibly. “I’ve tried the lot – Bodypump, aerobics, kettlebells…”

“So they’re kettles, right enough?”

More tomorrow.