Chapter 38
Despite my clear victory over Amara and Nicol, and the magnificent display of facts against Heather by Gavin and me – threats to force people to leave properties before the end of their contract so she can raise the rent with a new tenant; installing thermostats only she can control remotely and keeping her tenants as close to freezing as she can get away with; forging benefit paperwork so she can get more money from the government for her tenants – I decide we aren’t leaving until the meeting is completely over.
I have to hear what is said in the memorial portion of proceedings.
To begin with, our presence seems to hinder the sharing of precious memories.
The first speaker, the grizzly wee man from earlier, recalls Harry introducing himself by saying, ‘I’m a former landlord and I’m here to repent for my sins.
’ Wiping the corner of his eye with a grubby thumb, the man spies Gavin and me in the crowd and his posture changes.
He’s alert, rigid. He fumbles the rest of his story and excuses himself before he’s reached a satisfactory conclusion.
The next person stares at us for too long before they start speaking, trying to telekinesis us away.
When we remain rooted to where we stand, she reluctantly tells the room about Harry helping her care for a litter of stray cats she found in an alley.
After that, everyone’s sufficiently warmed up; their group vulnerability and us being within it gives the impression of us being safe.
For Gavin’s part, this is a solid assumption to make. Less so for me.
What is said is not terribly insightful, it’s the kind of thing you’re expected to say about dead people with none of the nuance you would have given the person while they lived.
Everyone’s tales about what a great guy Haz was have the same story structure; it’s extremely boring to listen to twenty variations of it in one sitting.
They open with a comment about how shocked they are by the murder.
Next they claim they’ll do whatever they can to ensure his killer is found, although how they’ll do this is unclear.
Then they move onto Haz’s landlord regret, which convinces me he wasn’t a very nice landlord, although him having donated money to help fund the union’s activities has done the trick of making everyone here think Haz was a saint.
To finish, the stories all mention a good thing or two Haz did in his post-landlord days.
There’s the animals he cared for at his sanctuary, the hungry he gave parcels to at the local food bank on the days when he wasn’t volunteering at a community group, playing board games with autistic teens or coaching young girls to play football.
He couldn’t do any of it on Sundays, of course, as he always worshipped at two church services on the Sabbath.
There’s no denying that all sounds impressive, but that’s too much, isn’t it?
A level of kindness and compassion that is surely disguising acts or behaviours so depraved and evil he had to do all that for karmic balance.
All things considered, with everything I’ve heard, there’s a really wee, very real possibility I may have made a mistake. I try to dismiss the thought, but it’s niggling as the end of the eulogies is marked by a slideshow of pictures of Haz looking sexy at various points in his life.
When it’s over, Gavin says, ‘I’m going to use the loo and then we’ll head?’ What is actually going to happen next is that I’m going to collect evidence to verify I was right, obliterate any doubt.
The queue for the bathroom is long; it snakes down the spiral staircase.
Gavin is at the back of it. When they see me looking around the room trying to figure out who to approach, they give me a wave, like a child on stage at a school play.
I reciprocate, and they move one step up the staircase only to find themself joined by Nicol, who slaps them on the back, heartily thanks them for their participation.
As much as I would enjoy watching Nicol struggle to have a conversation with a soul as pure as Gavin, the conversation next to me draws my attention away.
While most people’s faces are etched with grief, the two people who have crept through the crowd to the kitchen island do not look upset.
They go into the fridge for bottles of beer, muttering to one another.
I catch snippets. ‘Load of pish,’ one of them says.
‘Never heard so much shite in all my life,’ says the other.
Hiding to eavesdrop is not something I am able to do in the room, so I do the next best thing.
Bring out my phone and pretend to be engrossed in my Instagram feed, scrolling the images, the bright light of the screen shining into my retinas, my brain taking in none of it as I listen to what they’re saying.
‘Did you hear the rumours he was a gangster?’ There’s the clank and hiss of a bottle cap being removed. The sound is quickly repeated.
‘I mean, he was definitely dodgy, but I dinnae think he had the balls to be a gangster. He wouldn’t need us to go after Heather Gray, would he?’
‘What you on about?’
Me, the person brought here specifically to help with Heather’s downfall, is surely getting side-eye from them. I remain resolutely fakely engrossed in the curated lives of people on the internet. My not reacting means they continue, albeit at a lower volume. I strain to hear.
‘He used to go out with her. Which makes me wonder what he was up to when he was a landlord if that’s the quality of company he kept.’
Bingo. Of all the causes to fight in the world, he went after his ex.
Who does that? A coward. Someone who holds a grudge.
A misogynist. A person unable to deal with their emotions.
Not a kind, pure-hearted man. Again, he had a choice to enact change himself but didn’t take it, leaving the union and me – me!
– to clear up the mess. Well, there we go, that makes it all quite clear.
Haz was a bad man and I did a good thing.
Because the universe does not let me enjoy anything for long, Amara moseys over to me. ‘We weren’t expecting you to stay for that part.’
Staring at Instagram is not going to save me here. I flop my hand down, keeping the phone’s screen illuminated to show I intend to return to it shortly. ‘It felt extremely rude to walk out when you were all talking about a murdered man.’
‘I guess so.’ The fact she has zero chat to go with this pointed comment about my presence allows me to deduce that Nicol has complained I’m still here and his conversation with Gavin is a two-pronged approach: he forces them out and Amara takes care of me.
‘Yeah, I hadn’t thought of what that would be like for you. ’
‘Well, when has that ever been something you’d bother yourself with?’
‘You do have a point. I have been self-centred in the past. I’m trying not to be now.’ This is worded in a such a way that it begs a follow-up question, but I will not succumb to asking one. When it’s clear I’ve chosen silence, she continues, ‘You have also been known to be selfish, you know.’
The bait is taken. ‘Like when?’
‘When you started going out with Nicol you disappeared for a month and then said you couldn’t go on our girl’s holiday to Corfu after all.’
Nicol had said our relationship was too new to trust me hundreds of miles away surrounded by topless men on the beach.
Amara and I never went on another foreign holiday together ever again, for a variation of the same reasoning from dear Nicol: the relationship was never long enough for him to trust me.
I concede, ‘That was shit. I’m sorry. Still not as bad as what you did, but nevertheless, sorry. Any other grievances you’d like to air?’
‘When we used to go to The Garage and you pulled, you’d run off with the man and leave me on my own to either get a taxi back to Hamilton or wait until the place had cleared to find you getting groped in a corner.’ This is also true.
‘Men. All our problems have ever stemmed from men.’
A heavy silence follows as we absorb how the teachings of the Spice Girls did not permeate as deeply as we thought.
‘I get why you disappeared with Nicol. When his attention’s on you it’s impossible to be parted from it.’
This has to stop; we’ve strayed to who we used to be. I take us back to the meeting. ‘Haz sounds like he was quite the complicated character.’
‘Eh? Complicated? How?’
‘You know, having been a scumbag landlord then turning against other people like him. By the time he died, do you think he’d made appropriate amends?’
Amara studies me. There’s something there that, when she recognises it, her eyes light up. ‘You always see things in such an interesting way, Jem.’ There’s affection in how she speaks.
I press on. ‘So what do you think?’
She mulls my question over. ‘If he’d lived, absolutely he would have evened out the bad he’d done with the good. But if I’m honest, not yet.’ We stand together in comfortable silence, which she ruins with, ‘That might actually be the saddest part of what happened.’
Any leftover doubts about having done what I’ve done dissolve.
Hooray. Amara mistakes my renewed happiness as being pleased to be in her company.
‘Your mum was in the shop the other day. I gave her my discount for old times’ sake.
’ Amara enjoys the company of Mum about as much as I do; this anecdote is her offering proof she is repentant.
‘My mum was in ASDA? She’s always been Saino’s loyal.’
‘She said something about unsavoury characters hanging about there? Dunno what she means. I know the Big Issue guy has a pitch at the entrance but he’s sound. Still, maybe that’s who she means?’
We all know that this unsavoury character is me, don’t we? It’s amazing my mother can continue to shock me despite being like this my entire life.
The following silence tells Amara this is not a rich seam of conversation. She switches things up. ‘So, tell me about the new squeeze? Seems a bit quirky, not your usual type.’
‘They’re bloody lovely and kind and seem really into me. It’s new, but also it feels like it’s been me and them forever.’
‘You deserve all that and more. The fact they helped you do this Heather Gray stuff shows they’ve a good heart.’
‘Yeah, they definitely do.’ That dopey-eyed look that comes over a person when they’re talking about being in the first throes of love sweeps across my face, and then wipes off it as I realise I’ve tricked myself into thinking I’m talking to my friend. ‘I can’t do this, Ams.’
‘Yes, you can. For a second there it was like the old times. Wouldn’t it be nice to be pals again? I’ve missed us.’
‘It wouldn’t be like before. You broke my heart, how could it be the same?’
‘I know this sounds daft, but we really didn’t realise how much pain it would cause.’ Oh, so this is part of the self-centred stuff she was talking about earlier.
‘Fuck “we”. I don’t care about what Nicol did. You were my everything. This is the sort of thing I expected from him but never from you.’
‘If I could choose someone else to have fallen in love with, I would. I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve made your choice, that’s yours to deal with. But if you want out, properly out of it and need my help, I’ll be there for you. Send me an SOS and I’ll come for you.’
She doesn’t blink, stares deeply into me. ‘You know you can do the same to me if you ever need me.’
Nicol has abandoned Gavin, who’s nearly at the top of the stairs.
‘Sure. OK.’ Without meaning to be, I’m on the brink of crying like Amara did when she was talking about Harry.
Next time Gavin looks at me, one person away from getting their shot in the bathroom, I give them wide, panicked ‘we need to go’ eyes.
They understand, give up their place in the queue and come to me.
They’re on their descent as I give Amara the last she can have of me.
‘You know, whatever happens we can’t go back.
I have fundamentally changed in ways you can never understand.
You fucked it.’ Gavin’s in my reach, I give them my hand, let them drag me away from Amara. My new love removing me from my old.