Field of Blood

“Son?” It was Sean’s voice, but he was whispering. “Is that better?”

Callum nodded. Sean patted the boy’s back to signal an end to the embrace and shifted around so he was sitting next to him.

“D’ye remember Paddy, my fiancée?”

Callum looked over at her. Even in the fuzzy reflection she could see he didn’t like her.

“Celtic,” he said, exhausted, and turning his attention back to Sean. “You support Celtic.”

“Don’t you support Celtic?”

Callum looked at Paddy’s back again.

“It’s a shame if you don’t,” said Sean, “because I’ve brought ye a poster for your wall.” He picked up the roll bag and zipped it open, taking out a small poster and unrolling it on the bed. It was battered around the edges, but Callum liked it. He put his hand on it and looked at Sean, claiming ownership. His eyes moved to the bag on the bed and Sean laughed. “You’re an Ogilvy all right. Will we see what else is in there?”

Callum smiled, creasing his puffy face. Sean pulled out a jigsaw of the first team, a Beano comic and a Dandy, and a plastic pencil case that looked like it was made of denim. He sat them on top of the poster, each bit of rubbish adding to the last, making a compound gift mountain.

Callum gri

“D’ye like that?”

He nodded.

“I was going to bring you a load of sweets, like Crunchies and Starbars but I wasn’t allowed because of these.” Sean touched the bandages on Callum’s wrist. “If ye don’t do that again they’ll let me.”

“I’m not go

“That’s right, wee man.” Sean sat back on the bed with him so they were both facing out into the room. “I am, wee man. Paddy, put the big lights on, eh?”

When she moved over to the door and flicked the switch, the whole room changed character. Callum was just a wee ski

“D’ye like the Dandy?”

Callum nodded, so Sean pulled it out of the pile and started ru

The boys read through a Desperate Dan story together, Callum giving a token laugh at the punch line. Then Sean put his hand flat on the page.

“Callum, listen. Paddy wants to ask you something.”

Callum looked up at her, resenting both her presence and her claim over Sean.

Paddy’s mouth was suddenly dry. She sat down at the far end of the bed, the high metal bedstead digging into the fat on her hip.

“Hiya, Callum. D’ye remember me?”

He nodded at the comic and lifted Sean’s hand, turning the page and dropping the hand back onto it.

“How do you know James O’Co

Callum looked inquiringly at Sean, who nodded. “Aye,” he said curtly.

“Are you two pals?”

Callum kept his eyes on the page. “Not anymore.”

“Why not anymore?”

It was just the right question. Callum became animated. “He told them I did it, and I never. It was him, he did it.” Sean frowned at the back of the boy’s head.

“Tell me this about when the baby died, Callum: did you go there in a train?”

The boy’s body tensed up tight, his shoulders rising slowly to his ears.

“Did ye?” asked Sean.

He kept his eyes on the comic. “Police said we did.”

“What do you say, though?” asked Paddy.

Callum gave a forced laugh at the last drawing on the page and started at the top of the next page. He was determined to ignore Paddy, so Sean repeated the question.

“How do you say you got there, son?”

Callum looked at Sean’s mouth and let his own hang open for a moment. He shut it and shook his head.

“How did you get there, then?” asked Paddy.

He started picking at the edge of the page anxiously, worrying his nail through the paper. Sean repeated the question for her again. Callum shook his head violently and stopped abruptly, his eyes wide and bright and wet with fright. Sean rubbed his hair loudly.

“Are ye go

“We got there in a motor.”

Sean glanced at Paddy, knowing what she wanted to ask. “What kind of motor, Callum?”

His face was a bitter little fist. “Van. Grocer’s van.”

Paddy treated herself to a lopsided smile. She had been right after all.

“We never went on the train. He gave us the tickets so’s it would look like we did.” He looked back at the comic, wishing they were still doing that instead of this.

“Did you tell the police this?”

“Never asked,” he said definitely. “Women are dirty cunts.”

Shocked, Sean stared at Paddy.

“They stink. I’ve seen pictures of them getting banged.”

Paddy blinked back, tacitly agreeing to ignore it.

“Who was driving the van?” asked Sean.

“James’s pal.”

“Mr. Naismith?” asked Paddy.

Callum forgot to ignore her. “Aye, Mr. Naismith. With the earring.”

“He doesn’t have an earring, does he?”

“Aye.”

“I’ve met him, and I didn’t see an earring.”

Callum shrugged. “Maybe he hasn’t got one, then. He’s James’s pal.”

If the overhead light had not been on, Paddy might have missed the sideways flicker in his eyes, sliding over to another thought somewhere out of sight.

“He’ll rip my arsehole with his cock if I tell on him, but he’s not a fucking poof, right?”

Both Sean and Paddy shuddered. Sean dragged his eyes across the page of the comic. Paddy saw her reflection in the window. She was disguising her disgust with a grotesquely cheerful smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The tiny child in the window was watching her.

“He’d wipe his cunt with you anyway,” he whispered.

She turned back and reached out to pat his knee under the blanket, but Callum whipped his leg away, repulsed. She let her hand land on the bed near him and patted that instead.

“Thanks, son. It can’t be nice being asked about that.”

Callum casually turned a page on his comic and murmured, “Stinky cunts.”

II

The way Sean stood in the lift made Paddy think of an old, sad man: he hung from his bones. She leaned against the opposite wall, wishing she hadn’t asked Callum about any of it. Naismith didn’t have an earring. A Teddy boy would never have an ear pierced. If Callum was telling the truth, she’d set Naismith up for something he didn’t do. Terry Hewitt’s career would be ruined. Frightened, she reached over to slip her hand into Sean’s, but he shook her gently off.

Outside in the bitter evening air Sean took out his cigarettes and gave her one. They lit up in the shadow of the dead hospital. He dipped at the knee and took her hand again, squeezing kindly, but still unable to look at her.

Sean thanked her dutifully for making him go to see Callum. He was going back, he said, he was going back and, God help that boy, Sean knew he was i

“But they found his fingerprints on the baby and everything.”

“They could have been planted. I know he didn’t do it.”

“How can you know?”

“I know he didn’t do it. He just said, ‘I never did it.’ I’m going to start a campaign for him.”

It was more of a loyalty test than a matter of abstract truth.

“I don’t think he is i

“Did you just meet the same child as me?”

“Sean, there’s a difference between a hunch and a wish,” she said sharply, preoccupied with her own catastrophe.

Sean kept hold of her hand but slackened his grip. Each alone, they walked down to Partick, keeping to the back roads and the dark places.