Still Midnight by Denise Mina Read Free Book Online

cursed herself in a language Alex didn’t recognize.
    “Try again now you’ve emptied it a bit,” said Alex.
    Unsure, Meeshra held the baby to the deflated nipple.
    “Nose to nipple,” said Alex. “He’ll find it himself.”
    Meeshra touched the baby’s milk-spotted nose with her black nipple and he arched his back, finding it with his mouth, clamping on awkwardly, furiously working his tiny jaw, drawing from her so hard she gave a little gasp. The tension left her shoulders as the baby relieved her of the press of milk and she looked gratefully at Alex.
    “You’ve done this, have ya?”
    Alex faked a friendly smile. “Could you tell me what you remember of this evening? Starting from the beginning.”
    “Oh.” Meeshra was surprised by the shift of topic but keen to please. “Um, well, I was lying in bed, with baby. Billal was sitting on the side of the bed, where your knees are”—eyes flicked anxiously to the side—“helping me. We was having a bit of an argument actually”—she smirked, awkward—“about feeding and that. We hear shouting in the hall and think Omar’s back.”
    “Why would there be shouting when Omar’s back?”
    Meeshra rolled her eyes. “Well, him and his daddy don’t always get on, so, sometimes they do shout at each other, like, but we wasn’t listening.”
    “What sort of things do they fight about?”
    “I dunno, ask him.” She shrugged, not quite of the family but still reluctant to betray. “Anyway, we wasn’t listening, yeah?”
    “You were talking to Billal?”
    “Yeah, about feeding. So there’s shouting and then we realize. Billal’s like: ‘That’s not Omar’s voice.’ ”
    “How would you describe the voice?”
    “Scotch. A right Scotch voice. Rrr ob.” She rolled her tongue. “Where’s Rrrr obbie?”
    She paused there, which Morrow found interesting, and needed prompting. “What then?”
    “Billal went out to see what was going on, because the shouting was getting, well, we knowed it wasn’t Omar shouting. So, he opened the door and popped out, keeping it closed because of me, you know.” She looked down at the baby at her breast. “Me mam-in-law wants the bed here, opposite the door. I want it there.” She looked up over to a private corner. “Anyway, ne’er mind. So, I hear Billal outside, speaking, saying, like, ‘No, man,’ and then suddenly the door’s kicked wide open and me with my nightie all open and the baby here.” She blushed at the memory, running her fingers over the baby’s down hair.
    “What could you see through the door?”
    “Little man, well, not little, but he was standing next to Billal, who’s about six foot three and wide.”
    “How far up Billal did he come?”
    “Top of his head come up to Billal’s jaw, little bit past his jaw.”
    “So he was about…?”
    “About five eight, ten, summat like that.”
    “And build?”
    “ ’Bout, dunno, wide, a bit fat. Had them shoulders, you know, where the neck’s gone slopey and the shoulders just go straight up to their ears?”
    “Like a weight lifter?”
    “Exactly. A weight lifter. But fat belly, like.”
    “And you didn’t see his face?”
    “He had a woolly mask on with eyeholes.”
    “A balaclava?”
    “Yeah. And he says, like, ‘You come out here,’ or summat, and I’m like, ‘I can’t, I’ve just had a baby,’ ’cause ye know how you’re not meant to get up, yeah?” Alex remembered quite the opposite. She also remembered envying the gall of women who treated having a baby like full-body polio, making visitors get them this, hand them that, though they usually staged miraculous recoveries the minute visiting was over. “So he’s like, ‘Get up,’ right? I’m like, ‘No.’ And then Billal stepped in front of us and says, ‘Come on, mate, that’s enough,’ but then the gun fella says to the other bloke who’s wi’ him, shouts at him, really angry, ‘Lift your gun, Pat.’ ”
    “ Pat ?”
    “Yeah, that were his name,