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night a couple got in. Middle-class types, middle-aged. Picked up at the Theatre Royal on Hope Street and heading for Milngavie. Take a pound out of the cliché bank. They were both half cut and squabbling, none of it any interest or business of mine until I heard the name. Tuned right in then.
    Him. ‘But Jonathan was a good guy.’
    Her. ‘Jonathan was a prick.’
    ‘Oh, come on, the guy is dead.’
    ‘Doesn’t change the fact that he was a little shit. Treated Becca something terrible. I am sure he was cheating on her for years.’
    ‘He’s been murdered for Christ’s sake.’
    ‘Yes, and I’m sorry about that. Actually, I’m not sure I am.’
    ‘Gillian!’
    ‘Oh, come on, David. He would have sold his grandmother for a tenner and he would have probably fucked her as well.’
    ‘Christ sake! Look keep it down, and anyway you don’t know he cheated on Becca.’
    ‘Ha. No? Your precious friend Jonathan would have shagged a barber-shop floor. You know that full well. Don’t think he didn’t try it on with me.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Oh grow up, David. Of course he did. The way he was I’d have been insulted if he hadn’t.’
    ‘You didn’t . . .?’
    ‘Oh, fuck off.’
    ‘That’s a no?’
    ‘You shouldn’t have to ask.’
    ‘No, of course not.’
    ‘It’s a no.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Do you think that maybe . . .?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Do you think maybe Becca did it?’
    ‘What!’
    ‘Or had it done? It makes sense. If you were doing what he was doing then I’d have you killed too.’
    ‘Jesus Christ, Gillian!’
    ‘I’m just saying, and take that by way of a warning. I never did like the number of times you two went to Rotary together.’
    ‘Gill . . .’
    ‘Oh, shut up. It’s the next on the left, driver.’
    Something about the night makes people open up. Alcohol probably. Driving through the city with a complete stranger at the wheel. It’s like talking into the mirror. But sometimes, sometimes I wished they would just shut the fuck up.
    It is like the city is whispering at you. All babbling away at once, the way crazy people hear voices.
    ‘When you on till? Working again tomorrow? Been doing this long? My wife left me. I hate my job. Read about that murder? What team do you support? Been busy the night? I’ve been waiting an hour for a fucking taxi. See what happened to that lawyer? Terrible night, eh? What time you been on since? I hate this weather. This traffic is murder, isn’t it? Did you read about that murder? Did you read about that murder? Did you read about that murder?’
    ‘Been busy the night, driver?’

 
CHAPTER 5
    There was a girl from school. Jill Hutchison.
    My first love.
    So corny but nothing truer. First time I’d felt it and it threw me big time. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Every time I saw her, my stomach turned over and my thinking went wonky. Stammer, stutter, smile, sweat and scarlet. I couldn’t put sentences together properly. I talked complete and utter shite when I most wanted to talk sense.
    Didn’t know what it was at first and when I worked it out, I wasn’t impressed. If this was love they could keep it. Couldn’t help myself though. For all I couldn’t understand what was happening to me, it wasn’t hard to work out why.
    She was amazing. Beautiful. Smart too. Sweet and funny. She made my head spin. Long, lush black hair and fiery brown eyes. Her smile killed me.
    It was three years before I had the guts to ask her out. Could barely believe it when she said yes. On the way out of a physics class, I bumped into her accidentally on purpose and we got talking. For once, the words came out more or less as I meant them. By the end of a three-minute conversation, I had asked her to see Top Gun . I’d had a plan to suggest going to see Nine and a Half Weeks but chickened out. It seemed for the best. Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger would have given the wrong impression. Tom Cruise was a safe bet.
    I kept my hands to myself and my verbal