'Thanks.'
'What for?'
She leaned forward and touched his head with her lips. 'For everything.' She got up. 'I'd better get ready. Don't want to be late.'
'I'll walk you down.'
She looked as if she might argue, then thought better of it. While she got ready he cleared the dishes and washed up. In his whole life, this was the first place he had been happy. Esther made him happy.
'Right. How do I look?'
She'd changed and put up her hair, revealing the heart-shaped mole. Her eyes were black-rimmed, lashes thick with mascara. She stretched her red mouth into a smile. 'For the punters, right?'
He prayed that the voices would leave her alone for tonight. 'Right,' he said. 'Let's go.'
He liked walking with her. In the dark she could be his girlfriend. In the dark he wasn't sixteen. She put her arm through his. The streets were filling up with punters, blokes set on a night out.
They passed the Fantasy Bar. Four guys got out of a taxi and hung about the steps before they went in. Spike hated them, hated the way they were men before they were human.
'Hey, I'm not there yet,' she said, tugging him on.
The jazz club was busy, a trail of people edging its way in the door.
'I'll see you later,' she said and squeezed his arm.
'I could come in.'
The doorman gave him a look that suggested otherwise.
'I'll be back for you.'
Esther nodded, trying to hide her nervousness.
After she disappeared Spike stood for a while, ignoring the doorman's bugger-off look.
He tried to imagine Esther on stage, the red lips trembling with sound. He thought about looking for a back entrance, finding a way in, hiding, watching her sing.
The doorman had had enough.
'Get lost, son.'
Spike gave him the finger and walked on.
Chapter 3
Rhona made herself look down. Below her, the west coast of Scotland peeped through a curtain of grey cloud, each island a jigsaw piece of green and purple against the charcoal water. 'Shit.'
'Pardon me?'
‘I’m sorry. I hate flying. It's unnatural.'
'But you're a scientist. You know that the laws of physics dictate this thing will stay in the air.’
‘I know, but I still hate looking down.'
'Why don't you pull the blind and pretend we're in a train instead.'
'Good idea. Just don't mention any train crashes.'
The plane was busy. Beyond the curtains of business class, Rhona could hear a wall of voices and the clatter of a trolley. In here life was quiet, well ordered, peaceful and spacious. On her left Andre Frith was reading some papers, on her right a small flat screen begged her to switch on and enjoy the inflight movie. All expenses paid was the way to travel.
Her DNA research had brought her here. For the last couple of years she had been involved in a think-tank to see how DNA studies and certain other branches of genetic research might aid crime investigators in the future. The next step was to match the DNA characteristics of bacteria and virus samples to one another so that they could determine if two individuals were in the same environment, or in close enough contact with one another to pass micro-organisms back and forth. Challenging, but not insurmountable. Such research was welcomed by the university. It brought money in the form of grants. It also brought prestige and invitations to conferences in exotic places.
Her companion turned and gave her one of those American smiles, all white teeth, golden tan and crinkly blue eyes. Rhona was suddenly reminded of Harrison Ford.
'You didn't mention why you were in Scotland,’ she said.
'Didn't I? I was in Scotland because . . . well, Scotland is beautiful.'
'So you were a tourist?'
'Yes and no. I had a little business to deal with first, then I took a look at your west coast. I'm afraid, like so many Americans, I was searching for my roots.
'Your family was Scottish?'
'My great-great-great-grandmother came from Raasay. She was one of the MacLeods cleared from there in the 1800s.'
'So we're related?'
He laughed. 'Looks like it.'
'And
'What for?'
She leaned forward and touched his head with her lips. 'For everything.' She got up. 'I'd better get ready. Don't want to be late.'
'I'll walk you down.'
She looked as if she might argue, then thought better of it. While she got ready he cleared the dishes and washed up. In his whole life, this was the first place he had been happy. Esther made him happy.
'Right. How do I look?'
She'd changed and put up her hair, revealing the heart-shaped mole. Her eyes were black-rimmed, lashes thick with mascara. She stretched her red mouth into a smile. 'For the punters, right?'
He prayed that the voices would leave her alone for tonight. 'Right,' he said. 'Let's go.'
He liked walking with her. In the dark she could be his girlfriend. In the dark he wasn't sixteen. She put her arm through his. The streets were filling up with punters, blokes set on a night out.
They passed the Fantasy Bar. Four guys got out of a taxi and hung about the steps before they went in. Spike hated them, hated the way they were men before they were human.
'Hey, I'm not there yet,' she said, tugging him on.
The jazz club was busy, a trail of people edging its way in the door.
'I'll see you later,' she said and squeezed his arm.
'I could come in.'
The doorman gave him a look that suggested otherwise.
'I'll be back for you.'
Esther nodded, trying to hide her nervousness.
After she disappeared Spike stood for a while, ignoring the doorman's bugger-off look.
He tried to imagine Esther on stage, the red lips trembling with sound. He thought about looking for a back entrance, finding a way in, hiding, watching her sing.
The doorman had had enough.
'Get lost, son.'
Spike gave him the finger and walked on.
Chapter 3
Rhona made herself look down. Below her, the west coast of Scotland peeped through a curtain of grey cloud, each island a jigsaw piece of green and purple against the charcoal water. 'Shit.'
'Pardon me?'
‘I’m sorry. I hate flying. It's unnatural.'
'But you're a scientist. You know that the laws of physics dictate this thing will stay in the air.’
‘I know, but I still hate looking down.'
'Why don't you pull the blind and pretend we're in a train instead.'
'Good idea. Just don't mention any train crashes.'
The plane was busy. Beyond the curtains of business class, Rhona could hear a wall of voices and the clatter of a trolley. In here life was quiet, well ordered, peaceful and spacious. On her left Andre Frith was reading some papers, on her right a small flat screen begged her to switch on and enjoy the inflight movie. All expenses paid was the way to travel.
Her DNA research had brought her here. For the last couple of years she had been involved in a think-tank to see how DNA studies and certain other branches of genetic research might aid crime investigators in the future. The next step was to match the DNA characteristics of bacteria and virus samples to one another so that they could determine if two individuals were in the same environment, or in close enough contact with one another to pass micro-organisms back and forth. Challenging, but not insurmountable. Such research was welcomed by the university. It brought money in the form of grants. It also brought prestige and invitations to conferences in exotic places.
Her companion turned and gave her one of those American smiles, all white teeth, golden tan and crinkly blue eyes. Rhona was suddenly reminded of Harrison Ford.
'You didn't mention why you were in Scotland,’ she said.
'Didn't I? I was in Scotland because . . . well, Scotland is beautiful.'
'So you were a tourist?'
'Yes and no. I had a little business to deal with first, then I took a look at your west coast. I'm afraid, like so many Americans, I was searching for my roots.
'Your family was Scottish?'
'My great-great-great-grandmother came from Raasay. She was one of the MacLeods cleared from there in the 1800s.'
'So we're related?'
He laughed. 'Looks like it.'
'And
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