screeched around the roundabout and I floored it, heading north. ‘Is it … Do we really have to go this fast, I mean, what if something happens, like a tyre bursts, or we hit something, or there’s diesel on the road and—’
‘Please … shut up. For a minute. OK? Just one minute.’ I ground the heel of my hand into the socket of my left eye. It felt as if I’d been battered with sledgehammers. Should pull over and pop some of the Tramadol in my suitcase. Only take five minutes. And then we’d probably miss the boat.
Probably miss it anyway, thanks to Mr Pain-in-the-Arse.
There was silence from the other side of the car.
She had her arms folded, legs crossed, head turned to the window. Didn’t have to be an expert in body language to know what that meant.
Well, you know what? Sod her. See how chatty she’d be if some junkie bastard tried to cripple her.
The lights on the Oldcastle bypass flickered through the rain ahead.
OK, so maybe I had been planning on doing a runner for a couple of days, but it wasn’t as if I had any choice, was it? Police business – escort the lunatic psychologist up to Shetland, make sure she didn’t fall into the sea, or get hit by a bus, or mauled by a sheep, or whatever other disaster she had up her stripy sleeve. OK, so I missed a couple of payments; there was no need to send a coked-up nut-job after me with a plumber’s mace.
Bloody lucky for Mr Pain I’m a reasonable man.
The slip road swept down to the left, dipping below the level of the motorway, then up again, joining onto the A90 north to Aberdeen. The speedometer crept past eighty.
She was still sulking.
Just because I’d asked her nicely to shut up for a minute.
Well, maybe not asked …
OK, so I was wrong, happy now? It was all my fault. As usual.
‘I’m sorry. It’s …’ Deep breath. ‘Didn’t meant to snap.’
She shrugged one shoulder, bringing it all the way up to her ear.
Oh, for God’s sake.
‘Really: I’m sorry.’
She turned in her seat and looked me up and down, then smiled. ‘Fifteen minutes, I’m impressed, I thought you’d take at least half an hour to apologize, there might be hope for you yet, Ash. Ash … Ash … it’s a strange name, isn’t it? I mean your parents probably named you after the tree, but I bet most people think of fire and burning and running and screaming …’
‘Well, how was I supposed to know they’d be digging up half the bloody road?’ The Renault juddered across the dual carriageway and into the harbour entrance. ‘Still got fifteen minutes …’
Aberdeen’s ferry terminal was a long covered walkway bolted onto the side of an ugly slab-faced building. A red-and-white barrier arm blocked the entrance to the vehicle-loading area. I buzzed the window down, letting in the screech of seagulls and the mingling odours of diesel and fish.
A wee man peered out of the security booth. Droopy face, bags under his eyes. ‘Sorry, mate. You’re too late.’
‘No!’ Dr McDonald gripped the edges of her seat. ‘Ash, I told you I’m not sleeping in the car, what if someone comes, it’s—’
‘Will you calm down?’ I flashed my warrant card through the open window. ‘Police.’
‘Nothing I can do – they’re closing the bow. Car deck’s locked down.’
‘Shite …’ I stared up at the huge blue-and-white bulk of the MV Hrossey. ‘Fine, we’ll leave the car here. Dr McDonald – out.’
‘Ah.’ The security guy sucked at his teeth. ‘Last boarding’s half an hour before sailing. You’re fifteen minutes late.’
‘Come on, we’re on official business, we have to—’
‘Actually …’ Dr McDonald clambered out into the drizzly night, marched around to the security booth’s window, and smiled up at him, ‘Sorry, I don’t know your name, I’m Alice.’
‘Archie.’
And then she started talking at him.
I pulled out my phone. Better give Dickie a call, let him know the trip was going to take a bit longer than anticipated. See if we could get the ferry booking shifted to tomorrow evening before we headed back to Oldcastle … Where Mrs Kerrigan would be waiting.
Might be better to find somewhere to stay up here. Which was easier said than done in Aberdeen. Might find a B&B somewhere further out—
Someone thumped on the car roof. Dr McDonald bent down and smiled in at me. Then pointed back towards the terminal building.
‘Grab the bags, and give Archie your car keys.’
Oh God that hurt … I lumbered up the covered walkway, following Dr McDonald and her fancy red luggage. Every step was like being pummelled with breeze blocks. And my crappy wheelie suitcase was re-enacting some sort of rodeo fantasy – bucking and twisting every time I dragged it from one section of the walkway to the next.
Dr McDonald stopped and stared back at me, shifting from foot to foot. ‘Come on, going to be late, going to be late …’ All she needed were big floppy ears and a pocket-watch.
Should have taken a Tramadol when I’d had the chance.
‘What did you say to him? Archie, the security guy?’
She marched off. ‘Top of my class, remember?’
How come her luggage behaved itself? She had twice as much as I did.
The gangway came to an abrupt end at the ferry’s hull. A pair of thick metal doors lay wide open. Inside, the ship’s reception area looked like a hotel lobby – lined in polished wood with chrome handrails, a big shiny desk, some sort of leaping salmon sculpture, and a pair of stairs leading up to the next deck.
A grey-haired woman in a black waistcoat raised a radio handset to her lips. ‘Right, that’s them onboard, close the outer doors.’
A clang and a clunk as the doors swung shut, then the deck beneath my feet started to vibrate – a deep rumbling that worked its way up through my knees until it made my lungs tremble.
The woman came forward and held out a hand for Dr McDonald. ‘Archie told me all about it. Anything we can do to help, you let me know.’ Was that a tear in her eye?
‘Thanks, I really appreciate it.’
Bizarre.
I limped over to the reception desk, trundling the Buckaroo suitcase behind me.
