Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

his car door, sat behind the wheel, pleased that his words appeared to have quietened her. He tried to shift the subject by asking, ‘How are you and Jack holding up?’
    A sniff, then, ‘OK. How about you?’
    ‘Hanging in there.’ He stabbed the key into the ignition, gave a twist and the engine fired into life. ‘Thinking back on the good times,’ he went on. ‘When you both were little.’
    When Maureen next spoke, her voice was as tight as a child’s. ‘Mum tried to put a face on it, Dad. But she was so ill. It was awful. Just watching her. There was nothing we could do.’
    Nothing we could do
. He remembered intending to call last week, then deciding against it. What could he have done? In the end they had all felt helpless.
    ‘When did you last see Mum?’ he asked.
    ‘The Sunday before . . .’ Her breath brushed the mouthpiece.
    ‘Was she asleep when she died?’ Why did he have to know the details?
    ‘Mum slipped away,’ she said. ‘It was peaceful at the end.’
    He caught an image of Gail glaring at him through eyes sunk deep in a skeletal face.
    ‘Will you speak to Harry?’ she said.
    Her question surprised him. ‘I don’t see the need.’
    ‘Not even to convey your condolences?’
    ‘We shook hands at the crematorium—’
    ‘Barely, Dad. That doesn’t count. You almost ran out of the place.’
    The speed with which Maureen’s emotions shifted never failed to amaze him. It was like listening to Gail all over again. On the upside, it was a sign of Maureen’s recovery. He had to take that from it. Then it hit him with a clarity that stunned him that he was through trying to understand why Gail left. He had was through trying to work out why she hated him. He was just through. Gail was gone, now nothing more than a memory, her face and body and barely remembered smile only images on long-forgotten photographs. He wished he had called at Christmas, spoken to her at New Year, maybe even paid her one last visit in the summer.
    ‘You’re right, Mo. I should’ve been more considerate.’
    ‘Harry loved Mum. He really looked after her.’
    Gilchrist struggled to keep quiet.
    ‘And
she
loved
him
,’ she pressed on. ‘Don’t forget that.’
    He almost asked why she would tell him that, as if she blamed him for their divorce. After all, Gail was the one who’d had the affair. But he had travelled that road with Maureen before and knew he was on a losing ride. Instead, he said, ‘I know.’
    His submission seemed to work. ‘I know you loved Mum, Dad,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you must be hurting, too. But Harry took care of her, you know.’
    Hearing those words hurt. If he had been there for Gail, been there when she needed him, instead of working the case of the day, would their marriage have survived?
    ‘Mum didn’t want you to visit because of the way she looked.’
    ‘It wouldn’t have mattered to me how she looked.’
    ‘It mattered to Mum.’
    Gilchrist stared across fields that stirred alive with the shadows of tumbling clouds. Beyond, on the horizon, the black silhouette of a ship seemed anchored in time. He felt an inexplicable urge to be standing on board, facing the wind, breathing in the promise of—
    ‘Mum was only a shadow of herself.’ Maureen’s voice cut into his thoughts like a cold wind. ‘She couldn’t keep her food down. You would hardly have recognized her.’
    Gilchrist pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes, surprised by the sting. Gail had always been a fighter, and she had fought for every one of those final closing days. ‘I’m sorry, Mo,’ he offered. ‘I’m not thinking straight. The whole thing’s come as a shock. Are you all right?’ He listened to another sniff, then said, ‘I’ll be in Glasgow this evening. We could meet if you’d like.’
    ‘I can’t.’
    No explanation, just a statement that dared him to challenge her. But what hurt was the thought that she might prefer to visit Harry rather than spend time with her father. He forced those thoughts away. She had somewhere to go, friends to see. Not Harry.
    ‘Let’s talk later,’ he said.
    ‘Sure.’
    He hung up, but not before Maureen.
    He gritted his teeth. After Gail and Harry moved to Glasgow, taking Jack and Maureen with them, he often felt he was out of touch with his children. He promised himself he would call more often, spend more time with them, now Gail had gone. Not that they needed him, if the truth be told, but that he needed