‘Nothing, Stella. Whatever you say.’

Sonny and Stella exchanged a look. Sonny kept his voice low. ‘She gonnae be okay? Cause, you know if not . . .’

Stella stared hard at Lizzie. ‘Well?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘I’m okay.’

Sonny continued, ‘We can’t take any chances; it wouldn’t be . . . safe to leave any loose ends hanging around.’ He let the meaning hang in the air.

Lizzie shivered and pulled her jacket closer around her. ‘I’m fine. Honest. You can trust me.’

Sonny said nothing. He slammed the van door and stood back, nodded to Stella. Ignored Lizzie.

The two women climbed into the van, reached for their seat belts and secured them in place. Only Lizzie’s hands were shaking. She glanced at Stella. ‘Maggie, I mean Mags . . . sorry I mean . . .’

‘It’s Stella. Lizzie, what the fuck is the matter with you?’

‘Sorry, I’m just nervous,’ Lizzie muttered. She tried to steady her voice. ‘I thought Margaret was a lovely name.’

‘It’s no special enough, is it? I always knew I was going to be a star, that I’d go stellar. So I got in there first and changed my name. Stella means star and I’m going to be one – that reason enough for you?’

Lizzie nodded, gripped onto her seat belt and stayed silent.

Stella nodded to Sonny and pulled out of the car park, carefully nudged the van onto the road and they set off. The roads were fairly quiet, other than a few cars, late-night buses and taxis. The rain had stopped and a full moon shone pale and cold over them as they drove out of the city. Stella stayed close to the roads running beside the River Clyde, knew that the river was swollen, its banks in places fragile and ready to burst. She knew that the Glasgow Humane Society would be patrolling the Clyde, rescuing those they could find or recovering cold bodies with dignity and compassion.

Stella drove carefully, avoiding as many CCTVs as she knew of. No matter, she wore a wig and glasses and her manicured hands were carefully ensconced in gloves. She gripped the wheel and chewed hard on gum for a few minutes before reaching over and turning on the radio.

‘And now we have Michelle Makepeace on line one to introduce her favourite song. Ever.’

‘So, like this is the best song ever. I love it . . .’

‘Thanks Michelle and here it is, Robbie Williams with “Let Me entertain You”.’

Stella smiled, turned up the volume, tucked the gum into the side of her mouth and sang along.

Lizzie waited until the karaoke had finished and cleared her throat. ‘You not worried Stella, that the polis will know it’s us? Trace the van tae us?’

Stella sighed. ‘Van was stolen to order – they’re gonnae find it burned out in the morning. Abandoned on a wee bit of wasteland over by the Watervale scheme. No worries, hen.’

‘And James Harris requested this one for his wife Alexandra, who’s due to give birth to their first baby in a few days. Good luck with that! Now here is,’ the presenter paused, ‘here is the song James requested: let’s hope it’s not a message to Alexandra! Here’s “Suspicious Minds” by the late, great, Elvis Presley.’

Eventually Stella turned off the road, drove down a deserted dirt track and into a narrow lane. Kept driving.

Beside her Lizzie was quiet and pale; she stared out of the window as they left the roads where the streetlights glowed orange and drove into the dark of the country. She didn’t ask where they were going.

Stella drove for half an hour before she turned off the lane and drove through a sodden field. The van lurched as it crossed the uneven ground. Stella rolled down the windows, heard the roar of the Clyde, knew that they were close to the river bank. Stella put the van in reverse. They both sat in silence listening to the sound of the water, the spray hiss into the cold dark air. The smell of the river.

Stella had picked out the tarpaulin herself, industrial-strength, which was helpful as they had to drag Mason’s body across the last part of the field. She changed into wellington boots. At the water’s edge, Stella took out her new knife and cut the rope Sonny had secured around the tarpaulin. She watched Mason’s body slide onto the sodden ground.

‘See, he might get washed up, Lizzie, and we don’t want it to look bad. We need it to look just like he’s fallen in after having one too many drinks.’

‘But the—’ Lizzie began.

Stella cut her off. ‘The roofies will be long gone from his system unless he washes up in the morning. And what are the chances of that?’

The drop was long, the splash muffled by the hiss of the river. Stella threw the knife in after him.

Lizzie cried softly.

‘Shh hen, there’s no one to hear.’ Stella paused for a second, shone the torch down where they had dropped the body. There was no trace of it. Mason’s body had slipped neatly underwater. Stella grinned.

Lizzie began snivelling again. ‘It’s gonnae be awful for him, waking up and being under the water and stuff. Cold and dark. Horrible.’

‘Shite, his heart would’ve stopped when he hit the freezing water. A wee heart attack before he even went under. Never even woke up. We did him a favour. He wouldn’t have felt a thing.’ She patted Lizzie’s arm. ‘He’ll be sleeping like a baby now.’

Lizzie blinked. ‘You sure that they always have a heart attack, right away, so they feel nothing?’

‘Always,’ Stella lied.

‘Best that way.’ Lizzie stared at the water, comforted. ‘Well, if he had to go . . . probably best that way.’

‘Mon.’ Stella grabbed the tarpaulin and strode back to the van.

Lizzie trotted along beside her. ‘That it?’

‘Aye, that’s it. The cunt’s gone.’

‘What now?’

‘Nothing, you know nothing. Let it be. You forget all about that wanker. Okay? Polis come looking for him, tell them he’s scarpered. You’ve no idea where he went. Besides, there’s no reason the polis should be looking for him.’

Lizzie shivered as she climbed back into the van. ‘I’ve not done anything like that before.’

‘Aye, so you said earlier. It’s not like I plan on making a habit of it.’

‘I’ve never though. Even though ma da . . . well, you know.’

‘Then you need to man up, Lizzie. Get over yourself. Mason was a fucking waste of space.’ Stella put the van into gear. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘Aye but still, it’s murder and . . .’

‘Shite, it’s a service to society. The cunt’s gone AWOL. That’s all the polis will know. That’s all anybody needs to know.’

Lizzie stared out of the window and watched the sky. Dark clouds rolled across the moon. Her eyes filled up; she brushed the tears away.

‘And Doyle never gets to know about our wee trip, okay?’ Stella said.

Lizzie nodded.

On the way back to the city Stella sang along with every song on the radio, her hand thumping the steering wheel loudest to Cheryl Cole’s ‘Fight for this Love’. Stella sang like her life had just got better; she felt for the video in her jacket pocket, imagined Mason at the bottom of the Clyde and grinned as she sped through the sleeping city. She dropped Lizzie close to a taxi rank before abandoning the van, keys still in the ignition. It would be picked up and burned out. The polis would just find another burned-out vehicle, nothing to get excited about. Sonny had it all arranged. Stella left the gloves, wig and glasses on the seat. Threw the wellington boots in the back and slammed the door behind her.

Once home she poured herself a drink, took it through to the TV lounge and slipped a Mad Men DVD into the player. By the time Doyle had returned she was on her third episode of the drama and her fourth vodka.

He poured himself a double.

Stella smiled. ‘A good business meeting with Weirdo, babe?’

‘Aye, but I heard that there was an unexpected death the night.’

Stella gripped her glass tight, swallowed hard, ‘That right, babe? I never heard anything. Who died?’