‘Some people are just born bad,’ Tricia says. ‘I don’t doubt he’s talked a good game to you, and he’s got the looks. But looks can be deceiving.’
‘Right.’
She shakes her head at me, with a sour expression. I read it as: you won’t listen to me, I’m sure.
My mind is racing and my heart hammering as I walk to the car, its engine running in its parking spot. I’d been so dismissive of Ed and his concerns, but right at this juncture, I take it back. I came here as Finlay’s guest, and I gave away a large degree of my power in doing so. I did it, not knowing who I was ceding that power to. What if I really have been colluding with something – or someone – sinister? He doesn’t seem that way, but perhaps what I’m feeling is the arrogance of anyone who thinks their powers of detection can’t be bypassed. We all think our internal security systems are foolproof, until they’re not. Everyone thinks they know when they’re being lied to. I didn’t spot it when Susie did. Have I missed it with Finlay too?
‘What did my aunt say to you then?’ Fin asks, as I swing my legs into the footwell.
‘Not to trust you,’ I say, putting my seatbelt on, hoping my hands aren’t betraying the volume of adrenaline washing round my system.
‘I did warn you she’s venomous.’
‘Is she?’ I say, turning to Fin, nerves breaking the surface: ‘What was that stuff about your mum?’
‘Bollocks?’
‘I don’t know anyone else that’s followed around by so much bollocks.’
‘Lucky them.’
‘Or accused by their nearest and dearest, too.’
‘She’s not near or a dear.’
‘Who is a loved one?’
Who gets through thirty-six years of life without a single good character reference?
Fin’s jaw flexes.
‘As I said. In my family, I’m the Spanish flu.’
‘Here’s the thing about the Spanish flu, Fin – it still killed millions of people.’
‘Let me get this straight, did the woman we met there strike you as a reliable narrator? Is she someone you’d ever pick to testify in your defence?’
‘No, obviously. But …’
‘But, what?’
‘She warned me against being around you, in the direst terms.’
‘You’re not going to be for much longer.’
Finlay looks back out the windscreen and I have an odd sense that I’ve hurt his feelings. I expected anger, or contempt, or even threat – not to wound him. I didn’t think he could be wounded. Or, this is an act?
There’s a loud rap on the driver’s side window that makes us both jump out of our skin.
It’s Aunt Trish. Fin electronically lowers the glass with a zeeeeeep.
‘The Waldorf,’ she says. ‘It’s come back to me. The Waldorf, up on Princes Street.’
‘Thank you,’ Fin says, but Tricia’s already turned to walk back into the house.
35
At least wondering about how on earth Mr Hart was staying at the same hotel as us is a diversion from dwelling on Auntie Tricia’s verbal IEDs.
I don’t know quite why she’s frightened me so much, when it’s nothing Susie didn’t say already, using more expletives, over pints in The Gladdy. I think it must be due to growing closer to Fin. Before, he was a folklore tale, a changeling, the goblin swapped for a real baby son in the crib, who they then raised by mistake. Not the man at the wheel of a rented Merc at this very second, a man who I might have been stupidly growing fond of, and yes, even crushing on. I had predicted that when the old version of Finlay resurfaced it would be jarring. Is that, this?
But, Aunt Tricia was so sure. No one would be that excoriating of a nephew without cause, would they? Was it true his mother didn’t tell him she was dying, and Susie didn’t contact him either? That’s such a huge accusation and the women who could contradict or explain it are dead. His father is incapable.
I scour my memory banks for a Susie reference to Tricia, and can only recall something about ‘a right pterodactyl’, but her aunt had fallen out with her father too so it’s not necessarily an endorsement of Fin’s opinion.
‘If my dad is staying at The Waldorf, of course,’ Fin is saying as I zone back in, checking his mirror at the lights, ‘he may have been shaky on the detail.’
‘His sense of direction seems completely sound though.’
‘True.’
‘My man on reception was going to warn me if he appeared!’ I say, for the sake of something to say.