Chapter One
Was his mother going to be mad, or what! He’d forgotten to tape her favourite soap. Again. Col flopped back on the sofa, not too worried. Och well, the daft old bat shouldn’t trust him to remember things like that. Not when there was football on the other side. Mind you, he thought, he’d better never call her a daft old bat to her face. His mam thought she was quite a foxy lady with her blonde hair and her trim figure, and she was still in her forties … just.
‘If you were that foxy,’ he would tell her, ‘you’d be out getting another man, not spending all your nights at bingo.’
And she would always reply, ‘I’ve had one man. The best. Don’t want another. The only man I’m interested in now is the one who calls out the numbers at the bingo.’
That one man had been his dad, the original McCann. Col could hardly remember him. He was only six when his father was killed – driving a getaway car in a robbery, crashing it during the police chase. What Col could remember was a big, broad bull of a man who scared everyone in the town, except Col. He had always seemed to make Col laugh.
Maybe, Col thought hopefully, his mam would win at bingo tonight. Then her soap would be forgotten. And he wouldn’t be in her bad books.
The sky outside suddenly lit up and sheets of icy rain crashed against the window. ‘I hope she gets a taxi home,’ he thought. ‘Or a lift.’ He didn’t like the idea of his mother walking home, or even waiting for a bus on a night like this.
Not that she’d be in any real danger, he considered. She was a McCann, and no one in this town would dare touch her. They’d know what to expect in return. His brother Mungo would see to them.
But still, when Col was older the first thing he was going to do was buy a car, then he’d take his mam to bingo and pick her up again.
He couldn’t wait till he was old enough to have a car. He could already drive. Mungo had taught him, letting him race about in one of his dodgy cars on the old derelict industrial estate nearby. Revving up the engine, screeching round corners. Col loved it. It made him feel alive.
‘You can drive my getaway car any day,’ Mungo would say.
But never when Mam could hear him. She knew Mungo saw his dad as some kind of hero and was following in his footsteps. She was terrified Col would end up the same way.
A crack of thunder right above the house made him jump. He wished his brother would come home, too. He’d hoped Mungo would have stayed in tonight so they could have watched the football together.
‘Not the night, wee man, there’s something that’s got to be handled.’ And he had tapped his nose in that secret way he did when what was to be handled was too secret even for Col.
Trouble. Mungo was either going to cause it, or be in it.
One day, Col would be right there with his brother. Knowing all there was to know. He’d be with Mungo. Just like Mungo. A McCann. Putting the fear of death into people. Col couldn’t wait.
Right at that second, Mungo burst in through the front door bringing the storm with him. Col jumped to his feet.
‘Mungo! What’s wrong?’
His brother looked scared, almost panic-stricken. He was soaked through, covered in mud, and his face was bleeding and swollen.
‘You been in a fight?’
Stupid question. Of course he had.
Mungo slammed the door hard behind him. ‘Cops are after me, Col.’ He glanced towards the street as if he could almost see them. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’
And already, in the distance, Col could hear the faint sound of a siren wailing closer.
‘Where can I hide, Col?’
Col was thinking fast. ‘You don’t need somewhere to hide, bruv. You need an alibi.’
Mungo managed a swollen, lopsided smile. ‘Aye, but I can’t exactly say I’ve been sitting by the fire all night looking like this, can I?’
The police car was turning into their street, homing in on his brother.
Suddenly, Col grabbed Mungo by the shoulders. ‘Come on!’ he shouted, and began to drag him towards the back door.
‘What’s your game?’
Col pulled harder. ‘I’m giving you an alibi.’
He yanked open the back door and the storm raged into the kitchen. With a violent push Col threw Mungo out into the back garden. Mungo landed with a splash and a howl of anger on the sodden, muddy grass.
‘What the—’ he started to yell angrily, but before he could get to his feet Col threw himself on top of him, sending him even deeper into the mud.
He grabbed Mungo by the jacket. ‘We’ve been in the house all night. Just you and me. Right? We’ve argued about the game. Our team lost 2–1. They were rubbish. But you don’t think so. You think they were robbed. We don’t fight in the house, Mam won’t allow it, so … here we are …’