But it was her business! She was their mother, she was supposed to be able to say anything to them.
For the first time in his life, another first, he resented his mother. She should stand up for Col. Stand up for something. In the dim light from the hallway, he looked at her as if for the first time – slim and blonde, with the black roots showing that they always teased her about. She’d never questioned Mungo’s behaviour. Or Col’s. They were her boys, and if they did wrong she didn’t want to know about it.
And that wasn’t the way it should be.
Mrs Sampson wouldn’t have kept silent. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine any of the Sampsons in this kind of situation, but he was sure Mrs Sampson would never allow Dominic, or Ella, to do something bad, and her not say anything about it.
His mother, unaware of these thoughts, said, ‘What if I sleep in here the night? I’ll wrap up in a duvet and snuggle down in the chair. Then, if you have another bad dream, I’ll be right there beside you.’
Col felt a rush of guilt. A wave of love for her flowed over him. He wanted to hug her, but they weren’t a hugging kind of family. Mungo was right. He was getting more like the Sampsons.
‘No, Mam, honest,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be fine now. You get back to bed. You’ve got work in the morning.’
He was sure the dream would come again after she left. He tried to force himself to stay awake. But, eventually, sleep did come. Deep, dreamless sleep.
The police came next day to interview Mungo. As they questioned him, he leaned back against the mantelpiece, master of his own house. Col watched through a crack in the door, listening to his brother throw out one well-rehearsed answer after another.
Once, it would have made him laugh watching Mungo run rings round the cops. Now, it only made him angry.
One of the policemen glanced towards the open door. ‘Is that you, Col? Why don’t you come and join us?’
Mungo stood erect. ‘Hey, you leave my wee brother out of this.’
The policemen looked at Mungo as if he had just crawled out from under a rock. ‘What are you so worried about, Mr McCann? You’ve got six people to alibi you. You were nowhere near the scene of the crime. We only want to say hello to Col. The Sampsons were, I believe, good to him. Fond of him even.’
He looked straight at Col now as he stepped warily into the room.
‘You saw what the burglars did in that house, Col. You’re probably as determined as we are to catch whoever could do that to such a nice family. Isn’t that right?’
Col felt his face go red. They knew Mungo was the culprit. They knew that Col knew it, too. They were testing him.
Testing his loyalty.
But to who? Mungo, or the Sampsons?
Col shook his head. ‘I wish I knew who did it.’ He blurted the words out, not looking at Mungo or the police. ‘But I haven’t got a clue.’
‘But if you did know … you would tell us?’ the other policeman said.
Col felt Mungo’s eyes burn into him, waiting for his answer.
Col was angry. Angry at them all. ‘How would I ever find that out? I’m not a detective! I’m just a boy.’
He hated going back to school on Monday. News of the break-in had swept round the town. No one wanted to talk about London. It was as if it had never happened. Paul Baxter avoided him in the corridor, didn’t ask for an interview, didn’t ask for an article.
They all assumed he had been some kind of accessory. They all assumed his brother had been responsible.
Especially Denny. Denny thought the whole thing was exciting and dangerous. Just what he’d come to expect of the McCanns. He wanted to know all the details. It was all he wanted to talk about.
Finally, Col couldn’t take any more. ‘It wasn’t Mungo did it, right? Get that through your thick skull, Denny. He wouldn’t do that to friends of mine, or to me. And I had nothing to do with it either.’
Denny took a step back, surprised by his outburst. ‘Well, that’s no’ what everybody’s saying.’
‘Well, they’re wrong. And if I hear you spreading that about, I’ll belt ye!’
‘You’ll belt me?’ Now Denny looked alarmed. Alarmed and puzzled. ‘You’ve changed, Col. I think you went into that loch as Col, and you came out as somebody else entirely.’
As Denny stalked away from him, Col shouted, ‘Maybe this is the real me then.’
‘I think you’ve changed for the better.’
He turned at the unmistakably husky voice of Blaikie. Her hair was even blacker than usual, standing out in spikes round her head, like a chargrilled Statue of Liberty.
‘What do you mean? I’ve changed for the better?’