Someone very busy had dressed Siobhain. Her red nylon trousers and brown jumper were ill-fitting and didn't match. Every so often she would reach up slowly and pull at the elasticized waistband of the trousers or the neck of the jumper, but mostly Siobhain just sat and watched the television with the dignity of a pieta, her quiet hands sitting in her lap, palms upward like dead birds.

Tanya told Maureen that she had seen her the day before and her name was Helen. Maureen agreed that this was the case.

"You gave me a dog."

"I did, Tanya."

Tanya talked about the dog for a while, then stopped suddenly and announced that she was going. She left without saying goodbye. Maureen slipped into the empty seat next to Siobhain. She waited for a moment before she spoke. "Are you very sad, Siobhain?"

Siobhain turned her head slowly and looked at her without surprise. "I am," she said. She spoke slowly, in a soft Highland accent, with the perfect diction of someone using their second language.

Without a flicker in her expression Siobhain's eyes overflowed and Maureen wept with her. They sat watching the television and crying for a while.

"Would you like me to brush your hair?" asked Maureen.

"I would."

Maureen took the metal stabbing comb out of her handbag and gently eased the tangles from Siobhain's hair, starting from the ends and working her way slowly up to the crown so as not to tug and hurt her. By the time she had finished they had both stopped crying.

"Why are you sad?" asked Siobhain.

"Oh, I dunno. A lot of reasons. Someone died. My family, you know."

"A friend of mine died too," said Siobhain.

"Was that Douglas?"

"No," said Siobhain. "He died, I heard that. I met him but he wasn't my friend. My friend died a long time ago and life was spoiled for me."

"Who was it?"

"My brother." She paused. "Who was your friend?"

"Douglas."

"I am sorry for your grief," said Siobhain, as if repeating an ancient consolation in translation.

Maureen thanked her.

"I saw your Douglas. He came to see me the day he was killed. That's why you have come to see me here, isn't it?"

Maureen nodded. "What time did he leave here?"

"About the end of the old cartoons. About half past three."

It was later than lunchtime, the time the police were particularly interested in.

"How did you know Douglas? Was he your doctor?"

"Oh, no," said Siobhain. "I didn't know him."

"Why did he come to see you, then?"

"Because my name was on the list." She pointed to the television. "This man is getting everyone else into trouble. He's telling lies about the other characters." She was watching a banal Australian soap. "Do you watch this program?"

"No, not really. Shall I give ye peace until it's finished?"

"No," said Siobhain, keeping her eyes on the screen. "They put the same one on again in the evening. I watch it both times."

"What list was your name on?"

"Your Douglas had a list of us."

"Of who?"

"Of the women. He said there were others, I thought I was the only one. He knew about the hospital. I don't know how. I have never told. He gave me this."

She reached down by the side of her chair and pulled a handbag onto her lap. It was an old-lady-style handbag, red patent leather with hoop handles and a gold clasp. She snapped it open and showed Maureen the inside. It was empty except for a brown envelope and a bundle of new twenty-pound notes rolled up with an elastic band. Maureen couldn't calculate how much was there: she had never seen so many. The roll was as thick as a man's fist. Siobhain shut the bag and dropped it carelessly onto the floor.

"What was the money for?" asked Maureen.

"He thought giving me the money would make him feel better."

Maureen was confused. "Had he harmed you in some way?"

"No, he didn't harm me. He was upset about the hospital. I can't tell you. I never told."

"Can you tell me where and when you were in hospital?"

"Yes, I can tell you that."

Maureen wrote as Siobhain told her that she had been in the Northern for three years, between 1991 and 1994. "I was in the Northern," said Maureen, "nineteen ninety-six. George III ward. I hated it."

Siobhain looked miserable. "It was finished by then," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

Siobhain's face flushed with panic and her breathing became sharp and shallow.

"That's fine," said Maureen, patting her hand. "Don't tell me. Don't think about it."

The blood drained slowly from Siobhain's face and she began to breathe regularly again. If the police came to see Siobhain they'd ask about the hospital and the money and they wouldn't stop just because she lost her breath. "Have the police been to see you yet, Siobhain?"

"No. Will they come?"

"I don't know. I expect they will. I'd like you to avoid talking to them."

Siobhain lifted her hand slowly and stroked the back of her hair three times. She laid her hand in her lap again and looked at Maureen. "Then I will," she said. "They say I'm sick but I'm not. My heart is broken."

Maureen smiled warmly. "You're living in the wrong time, Siobhain," she said. "Broken hearts are a bit too poetic for doctors to understand."

"That's it," said Siobhain. "It's the poetry they can't understand."

They bent their heads close and looked one another in the eye, as intimate as lovers.

"Can I come and visit you again?" said Maureen.

"I would like that."

"We could go to the shops," said Maureen, as she stood up, "and you could buy some nice clothes with the money in your bag."

"I don't want nice clothes," Siobhain said flatly, and turned back to the television. "I got that money because I wore nice clothes."

The receptionist had evidently decided she was all right. She took the trouble to lift her head and say cheerio as Maureen passed on her way out.

The Triumph Herald was parked outside the Dennistoun day center. Liam was sitting inside with the window rolled down, watching the door and smoking a fag. He hooted anxiously and waved her over, opening the passenger door as she walked up to the car, letting it swing wide over the pavement. Maureen bent down and looked inside. "Hello," he said coyly, "I's a bit pissed off last night. I thought I might have annoyed you."

"No, no," she lied. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Leslie said. Joe McEwan's looking for both of us. We've to go down to the station again."

"Did he seem annoyed?"

"I don't know, I didn't see him. Benny said he phoned this morning."

Maureen threw her bag into the backseat and got in, shutting the door behind her and taking his fag off him. "What's happening about Maggie?" she asked, and took a draw.

"I dunno," he said, and half smiled. "I bumped into Lynn yesterday."

Lynn was Liam's ex-girlfriend. They had dated each other adamantly for four years and then split up suddenly after a petty fight. Two months later Liam was going out with bland Maggie. At the time Maureen and Leslie gave the relationship a month, tops, but that was over a year ago now.

"Did you bump into her by accident?"

"Yeah."

"Is that the first time you've met her since ye split up?"

Liam grinned. "Aye."

"So… what?"

"So nothing," he said innocently, and started the car. "You hungry?"

"Starvin'."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Any variation on the theme of red meat."

It was a brisk, sunny day. The light in Scotland is low in the autumn, gracing even the most mundane objects with dramatic chiaroscuro. Deep hard shadows from the tall buildings fell across the streets, litter bins stood on the pavement like war monuments, and pedestrians cast John Wayne showdown shadows as they stood at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the road. They drove west up Bath Street, passing alternately through withering puddles of shade and warming blasts of sunshine, heading up to a drive-through burger place at the poor end of the Maryhill Road.