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‘Just bring it to me. We’ll make that decision as and when.’
‘Righto. What have you lost?’ Murdo indicated her scattered papers and half opened drawer.
‘I can’t remember, but I’ll know when I find it.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Thanks, Murdo. Update me at home if Jones says anything interesting.’
* * *
When Shona arrived at the hospital, Becca was sitting on the bed dressed in grey tracksuit bottoms and a yellow T-shirt. Her long dark hair was swept up in a pony tail and her right arm was in a splint and sling. To Shona’s surprise Rob was next to her, holding her packed bag in his hand. Tommy McCall stood by the end of the bed, still in his blue overalls, feet planted apart and arms folded. ‘Thought I’d pop in and say hello.’ He was watching Rob with a canny eye. Shona wondered, with a stab of embarrassment, if he’d heard that Becca was due to be discharged and was making sure Rob turned up sober, and on time.
‘Looks like you have a choice of rides home.’ Shona hugged her daughter.
‘I’ll go with Dad if that’s okay?’ Becca said, getting up. ‘He’s got the nicest car.’
Rob looked relieved at this vote of approval. Shona said nothing. She had no wish to force a wedge between father and daughter, no matter what she felt about Rob herself. She knew he’d drive carefully.
‘I’ll try not to take that as an insult,’ Tommy huffed.
‘You can take me home next time,’ said Becca magnanimously.
‘Promise me there’s not going to be a next time, lassie,’ he said seriously.
‘I promise, Tommy.’ She shuffled forward and gave him a hug, ‘Thanks for everything,’
He patted her shoulder. ‘Off you go now, and stay out of trouble,’ he said, ushering them all out of the ward. He winked at Shona and mouthed, see you later.
Shona followed Rob’s car on the journey home. Ahead, she could see the outline of Becca turn and smile at her father from the passenger seat. She was unsure how much to say to Becca about her father’s problems. First thing she needed to know was their financial situation. Could they clear Rob’s gambling debts without losing the house? Who exactly did he owe the money to? She needed to know today where they stood.
After lunch Shona suggested that her daughter go up to her room and rest. When Becca protested Shona offered a bribe. If Becca did what she was told, Ellie could come over later and watch a movie. They could order in pizza. It did the trick. Shona helped her into bed and arranged a blanket over her. As she turned to go, she heard Becca say quietly, ‘Thanks, Mum.’
When she came back down to the kitchen, Rob was staring morosely into the dregs of his coffee mug. Shona crossed to the table and lifted the plates to stack in the dishwasher. ‘What time’s your appointment with the GP?’
‘Three o’clock,’ he said glumly.
Shona checked the time on her phone; it was nearly two. ‘Will you do me a favour before you go?’
‘Sure.’ He looked up with a flicker of interest. ‘What?’
She lifted his MacBook from the dresser and handed it to him. ‘Will you make a list of everything we owe, and who we owe it to? We need to know what we’re dealing with.’ She kept her voice level, her expression blank and deliberately used ‘we’ rather than ‘you’. It signalled support and she needed him in a positive frame of mind, with no excuse to storm off in a tantrum and miss his appointment. ‘Can you do that?’
‘Okay.’ His relief that he was getting off lightly was apparent. ‘I’ll just go into the office.’ He took the laptop from her. A moment later she heard the door close on the small room next to the kitchen where Rob kept a desk and a filing cabinet of B&B paperwork.
Shona cleared the dishes and made herself another coffee. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and prepared to make a list of her own. Isla’s file lay before her. It needed a full case review. Why was so little known about her movements in the last weeks of her life? Where hadn’t they looked? Who else could they question? What unpromising leads should be reassessed? When exactly was Isla last seen, and who with? She took a fresh sheet of paper and opened the buff folder in search of answers.
Forty minutes later, Rob came back into the hallway and stood by the kitchen door. He’d changed into a jacket and tie. ‘What?’ he said when she looked up at him. ‘I’m not going in there looking like an addict,’ he challenged.
Shona bit her tongue. But you are an addict, a gambling addict. The sooner you face it, the sooner we can deal with this shit, the shit we’re in up to our armpits, the shit you’ve landed us in, she wanted to shout in his face. Instead she forced herself to smile. ‘You look very smart. Good luck,’ she said, and meant it.
He nodded, mollified. ‘Thanks. Here’s what you asked for.’ He slid a sheet of paper, face down, onto the table like a schoolboy submitting below-par homework and stepped back quickly into the doorway.
Shona turned the corner up briefly, saw a row of numbers and dropped it again. Her heart pounded in her chest. Jesus. That much. ‘Let’s take this a step at a time,’ was all she could manage to say.
Once he’d gone, she gathered up her cup. Her hand was still shaking as she switched the kettle on. She went out into the hall to listen for Becca. All was quiet. The office door was open, and Rob’s dirty coffee cup sat on his desk. When she picked it up, the sharp, smoky smell of whisky stung her nose. Liquid courage. She pulled apart the desk and filing cabinet until she found the bottle, and marched back to the kitchen then emptied it, threw it in the recycling. Hiding from gambling in alcohol wasn’t going to help. The doctor’s surgery was a short drive away in Dalbeattie. She wondered how much he’d had to drink. If Rob lost his licence… stop, stop, she told herself. He’s an adult, his mistakes are his own.
She took a glass of squash up to Becca, who was still fast asleep, then stood for a moment looking out from the panoramic window in the lounge. The days were already shortening. The trees on the far side of the estuary were a bright patchwork of orange, reds and gold. Their reflection lay like a fiery quilt upon the surface of the water. In a few weeks the winds would strip them bare. In a month or so, the trees would become a line of black tracery, stark against the vivid winter sunsets. Below, she could see the small boats rocking gently on their moorings, their noses all turned towards the incoming tide, like creatures scenting the wind. The thought that she might lose all this caused a pain in her chest so sharp that she gasped. She put a hand on her racing heart until the colour and sway and peace of the seashore infused her with calm again. She would fix this. This was her anchorage, she wasn’t about to give it up without a fight.
Shona returned to the kitchen and by the time she heard Rob’s car on the drive she had a list of action points in the Isla case neatly inked in her precise handwriting on the cover sheet of the file. Rob came in looking calm and relieved. The doctor was referring him for CBT, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, which was the best option for gambling. He’d given him some contacts he could talk to straight away. Rob had already called one who advised him to register online to self-exclude himself from all bookmakers and casino organisations, web-based and bricks-and-mortar. ‘Can’t even get into a bingo hall now,’ Rob joked. It felt like a small step forward.
‘We need to talk about the B&B business,’ Shona said. ‘Maybe we should close for a bit, till you feel better?’
