The cynical detective in him realised that Phil had engineered the whole situation

Phil lifted the suspect bag of peanuts, prodding it before carrying it across to the bin and dropping it into the otherwise empty depths. “You look like you could do with some company, mate,” he said. “And if Rach and me are going to help drink your extensive wine collection, we’ll be needing pizza.” “So it’s serious then, you and Rachel?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I’m not getting any younger. And she’s put up with me far longer than most.” Phil shuffled his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets and did a good impression of an embarrassed schoolboy.

McLean couldn’t help but laugh, and he felt instantly better for it. At almost the same instant music exploded from the living room.

The Blue Nile belting out Tinseltown in the Rain far too loud, then quieting to a still-unfriendly level. McLean rushed through, meaning to ask them to turn it down, then remembered the nights he’d been kept awake by the students downstairs.

It was Friday evening; everyone in the tenement except Mrs McCutcheon would be out enjoying themselves, and she was as deaf as a post. Why should he bother about being quiet?

Uncomfortable

Rachel sat perched on the edge of the sofa, looking slightly uncomfortable. She brightened up when Phil entered the living room just behind McLean.

Jenny squatted down in front of the shelves that lined one wall, leafing through his record collection. Back turned, and with the music playing loud, she didn’t notice them come in.

“Tony being a hopeless bachelor, there’s no food in the house at all, only drink,” Phil said over the noise. “So we’re going to order pizza.”

“I thought we were going to the pub,” Rachel said. At her voice, Jenny looked up, turning. She reached for the volume control, turned down the music.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I... ” She flustered, turning pink.

“It’s OK,” McLean said. “You need to play them from time to time or the music fades away.”

“I don’t think I know anyone who owns a record player any more. And so many records. They must be worth a fortune.”

“That’s not a record player, Jen,” Phil said. “That’s a Linn Sondek sound system worth slightly more than the gross domestic product of a small African dictatorship. Tony must like you a lot. He’d cut my hands off just for touching it.”

“Come off it, Phil. I know you used to play that old

Alison Moyet record of yours whenever I was out.”

“Alison Moyet! You insult me, Detective Inspector McLean. I shall have to challenge you to a duel, sir.” “The usual weapons?” “Of course.”

“Then I accept your challenge.” McLean smiled as Jenny and Rachel looked on bemused. Phil disappeared from the room, returning moments later with two loofahs from the bathroom.

They were brittle dry and covered with cobwebs, untouched in many years.

“Rachel will be my second. Jen, would you do the honours for our host?” Phil bowed, handing her one of the loofahs. “In the hall, I think.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Rachel said. In the background, Neil Buchanan had started to sing Stay, his mournful tones at odds with the growing hilarity.

“Of course I am, my lady. Honour has been slighted, and now it must be regained.” He strode out into the hallway, and McLean followed.

“Umm, what are you doing?” Jenny asked him as he rolled up the rug and pushed it into one corner of the long, narrow hallway.

“Duelling with loofahs. It’s how we used to settle arguments when we were students.”

“Men.” She rolled her eyes, handing the weapon over and retreating to a safe distance as Phil took his place at the kitchen door.

Approved

They were clearing up the mess when the pizza delivery man arrived. McLean was unsure who had won, but he felt better than he had done in days.

The cynical detective in him realised that Phil had engineered the whole situation. Normally, his old friend would have come round much later in the evening, most likely alone.

They’d have listened to depressing music and drunk malt whisky, moaning about life and the terrible effects of getting old. By bringing the two sisters round with him, he’d turned it into a party.

A vigil for Esther McLean, and in a manner his grandmother would have heartily approved.

Quite what she’d have made of Jenny, he wasn’t so sure. She was a good bit older than her sister, which made her probably the same age as him.

She’d changed from the outfit she’d been wearing in the shop, dressed casually in jeans and a plain white blouse. Without the make-up that was no doubt part of her working face, she was attractive in a slightly worn around the edges way.

He wasn’t really sure why he’d not noticed when they’d met before. Possibly because the lighting in the

Newington Arms was hardly flattering; more likely because his mind had been full of mutilated bodies.

“Penny for them.” The object of his musing leaned over helping herself to another slice. Phil and Rachel were deep in conversation about some film they’d seen.

“Eh? Oh. Sorry. I was miles away.”

“I could see that. You’re not often here, are you. So where were you, inspector?” She used the title as a joke, but it was painfully close to the bone. Even here, with wine and pizza and good company, the job was in the background, never leaving him alone.

“Just wondering if your sister’s going to make an honest man out of my old friend.”

“Oh, I doubt that. She’s always been a very corrupting influence.”

“Is there something I should be warning Phil about?” “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Aren’t you worried about her hooking up with an older man?”

Happy accident

“Nah, she always had a thing for her big brother’s friends, and Eric’s probably older than you are.” “A well-spaced family then.”

“Rae was what might be called a happy accident. I was 10 when she was born, Eric was 14. So what about you then, Tony? Have you got any brothers hidden away?”

“Not that I know of, no. I’m sure my gran would’ve told me if there were any other McLeans lurking out there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. Phil told me about her passing.” Jenny sat up straight, clasping her hands primly in her lap, embarrassed.

“Not at all. I’d much rather talk about her than pussyfoot about the subject. She had a stroke 18 months ago. It put her in a coma and she never recovered from it. She’s been dead for over a year, really, only I couldn’t bury her and get on with life.” “You were very fond of her, though.”

“My parents died when I was four. I don’t think I ever heard my gran complain about having to raise me. Even though she’d lost her only son. She was always there, even when –”

But he was interrupted by the phone ringing out in the hall. For a moment he thought about leaving it for the answering machine. Then he remembered taking the tape out and a flood of other memories washed through him.

“Excuse me, I’d better get that. It could be work.”

More tomorrow.