Mungo almost leapt at him, but the other policeman held him back.
‘You’re trying to trick me.’ But there was no real conviction in his voice. Mungo was uncertain now. Couldn’t be sure just how much the police knew. He was dragged out of the house, shouting abuse at the police, swearing vengeance at all who had wronged him, including his brother.
‘I’m sorry, Mam,’ Col said, when Mungo had gone. His voice was shaking.
‘It’s not your fault, Col,’ she said. And then, suddenly, her face crumpled and his Mam began to cry. ‘I knew he was a bad lad, but not this … not murder. Not my son.’ She seemed to sag inside her clothes, and Col gently held her and sat with her on the stairs.
‘I’m the one to blame,’ she cried quietly. ‘Letting him off with so much. I knew what he was doing, but I kept thinking … he’ll change. He’ll grow out of it. But he had bad blood in him. Your dad’s bad blood. I thought if I gave you both a happy home, and love, Mungo wouldn’t turn out the same as his dad.’ She looked at Col through her tear-filled eyes. ‘Your dad had such a horrible upbringing, that’s what made him bad. I tried to change that for him, because I knew he was good, deep down. I thought I could change Mungo too.’
‘Don’t cry, Mam.’ Col couldn’t bear that. He still felt it was all his fault. No matter what she said. He put his arm round her waist. ‘Mungo’s got good in him. We know that.’
She looked at him as if she could never believe that now. ‘You’re different, Col. You’ve always been different. There’s so much good in you. So much thoughtfulness. I know you always thought Mungo was my favourite, but he never was. You have to believe that, son. You were that easy to love. But Mungo, he was hard work. I thought if I was there all the time, I could keep him out of trouble, real trouble. I thought I could influence him. You don’t know how much I wanted to go to London with you. But I was frightened to go away and leave your brother.’ She sobbed again. ‘And look what he did when you were in London, eh? Some good I was!’ She hugged Col even closer. ‘Mungo was your age when your dad got killed. Your dad was his hero. He wanted to be just like him. I thought I could turn him from that … but it was too late for your dad, and it’s too late for Mungo. Too late.’
Col’s mother had never spoken to him like this. Never said a bad word against Mungo. Family loyalty. She believed in it so much.
What would she do if she knew that he had betrayed that loyalty?
She held her apron to her face and cried bitterly against it. Col hated to see her cry like this. Didn’t know what to say to make her feel better.
‘It’s not too late, Mam. You’ll see. We’ll both help Mungo.’
He didn’t know how long they sat there, holding each other. A long time. But, finally, his mam stopped crying and stood up. She wiped away the tears with the palms of her hands. ‘Come on, Col. Help me make the tea. We’ll be fine. You and me. And as for Mungo. He’ll be back. Mungo always comes back.’
But this time he didn’t. Charged and held without bail Mungo didn’t come back to the house at all. In the end it wasn’t just his friends who had turned on him. Mungo had pointed the guilty finger at himself. There was enough of his skin tissue under the corpse’s nails to put Mungo’s guilt beyond any reasonable doubt.
Col had plenty of visitors though.
Blaikie came to see him, knocking timidly at the front door.
Timidly? Blaikie? Never. But she did, and she looked nervous as Col’s mam led her in. His mother raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the visitor. She was dying to ask who this girl was who had come to visit her son. It was the brightest Col had seen her since Mungo’s arrest. Col introduced her, and Mam left them alone. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen baking scones.’
‘I’d love to be able to bake scones,’ Blaikie said with an enthusiasm Col had never heard before.
His mother responded with just as much enthusiasm. ‘Come in with me, then, when you’re ready. We’ll make them together.’
Mam didn’t tell her she was making the scones for the Sampsons. Mrs Sampson had phoned that morning to ask if it would be possible to visit Col. His mam had agreed reluctantly. It could be a difficult visit. Everyone knew, though it would probably never be proved, that Mungo was responsible for the burglary at the Sampsons’ house, and Col knew his mother would find it hard to face them.
But as the day passed she had become increasingly more enthusiastic. ‘They’re such a nice family, Col. A good family. And they think the world of you.’