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‘Originally, Scotland, but he was working as a mechanic in George’s father’s garage when I met him… servicing cars, repairs, that sort of thing.’
Owen nodded to encourage her to continue.
‘That was when it was a genuine repair shop,’ she said. ‘Still a cover for the rotten side of the Halcyon business, but Matthew didn’t know that when he went to work there.’
‘Risky,’ Owen commented, realising the dangers that might face an innocent young man working unwittingly among a gang of criminals.
Sally nodded and took another sip of her whisky before she went on. ‘Matthew was just a skilled mechanic who loved tinkering with motors. He had no idea what he was getting into. I think Chas’s dad took him on because he was tall and strong, and thought he’d be useful in the gang. He’d heard that Scots could be fierce and brave, but like George, my Matthew wanted none of the dirty side of the business.’
‘How did he avoid getting involved?’
‘With difficulty. It was like walking a tightrope for him. Never knowing what was going to happen from one day to the next. But we used to get away at weekends.’ Sally’s eyes had become unfocused, her expression dreamy, like she was walking into her past. She said, ‘He used to ride a powerful motorbike, and he looked so sexy in his black leathers.’ She took a sip from her whisky and went on, ‘He used to take me down to Brighton on the back of that bike and one time we went all the way to Scotland together, but then…’ Sally fell silent.
‘What happened?’ Owen prompted.
Sally didn’t answer straight away. Her eyes landed on Owen, and she shook her head. ‘The moment I saw you,’ she said, ‘I thought of my Matthew. You are so like him.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why lovie?’
‘If me being here causes you painful memories.’
‘No.’ She topped up their glasses. ‘Seeing you is not painful. My memories of Matthew don’t hurt. That was my happiest time. Only one other person has made me as happy. George.’
‘What happened?’ Owen repeated his unanswered question.
‘He died.’
The sudden change on Sally’s face… the complete devastation as she spoke the words, made Owen think she might burst into tears. He was ready to leap up and put his arms around her. Comfort her. Even let her imagine for a while she was in the arms of her Matthew, if he really resembled the man as much as she said, but then her expression changed. The brave, strong Sally face was back in place.
‘Would you listen to me?’ She laughed. ‘We’re supposed to be talking about you. I’m trying to understand how you are feeling, why you won’t talk. Why you actively avoid speaking about yourself. You know talking is good for you. There’s been research done that’s proved it helps after trauma.’
Owen took a swig of Lagavulin, giving it little respect, but glad of its warmth. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, frowning. ‘I can’t tell you how I feel because I don’t know. I don’t understand.’
Sally nudged the sandwich plate towards him, reminding him that there was still more to eat. ‘What don’t you understand, lovie?’
‘Why I’m not feeling anything.’ He took a sandwich and shoved an extra-large part of it into his mouth so he couldn’t talk. He felt Sally’s inspection as he munched. She was waiting for him to swallow. There was no escaping. He was going to have to tell her. And somehow, after the way she had shared her feelings with him about Matthew, it seemed right that he should open up to her.
Washing down the smoked salmon with some more whisky, he went on. ‘When my dad was killed, I knew how I felt. Same with my grandpa and my little sister. There was no confusion. I was in pain. They were gone, and I still loved them. I wanted them back.’
He looked up from staring at the empty Glencairn in his hand and found Sally still watching him. Their eyes met, and she softly said, ‘And you don’t want your mum back?’
He put the glass down before he succumbed to a desire to smash it against the kitchen wall and stared hard at the floor. ‘No, I don’t. It’s true. I don’t want her back.’
Sally topped up his glass for a fourth time and left her still full one alone. ‘What did she do to lose your love?’
‘She did nothing,’ Owen replied, looking up, finding himself swallowed by emerald eyes. ‘I… ever since I was small, she was more or less helpless. Did nothing for any of us. She couldn’t… She was all need, all take… do this for me, do that Owen. Go to the shops, do the washing up, change your baby sister’s nappy.’
‘What did your dad do?’
‘He was away most of the time. In the army… tours of duty.’
‘But when he came back. He must have had leave?’
‘Yes, but then she did the same to him.’
‘Was it coercive control, do you think?’
