Half an hour later Liz answered the phone again. Try tomorrow.' She hung up abruptly and looked at Maureen. 'Sorry,' she said theatrically into the phone, 'she's not here. 'Liz,' she said, 'would you do me a favor and get the phones today? He's supposed to phone and I don't want to talk to him.'Īt half-ten Liz opened her eyes wide. Two sentences into it Maureen realized she had heard the story before. Liz began a rambling story about liking Garry and then not liking him and then liking him again. He came by the ticket booth sometimes, hanging in the window, flirting at Maureen when Liz wasn't looking. Maureen was sure that Garry was the source of this information. Garry was a sex god, everyone fancied him, said Liz, she had been lucky to get him. It didn't matter what the subject was, she always brought it back round to her and Garry. 'Before I met Garry I used to go dancing . . .' 'Oh, I know, I know,' said Liz, back-combing her blond hair with her fingers. Eight long months of emotional turmoil had passed as suddenly as a fart. But on Monday night she woke up and looked at him and knew it was over. She remembered a time when she would watch him sleep, his eyes fluttering behind the lids, and she found the sight so beautiful that it winded her. She fell in love despite Elsbeth, despite his lies, despite her friends' disapproval. His voice was soft and when he spoke her name she felt that God was calling or something. When she first met Douglas she knew that this would be a big one. In the street below, art students were winding their way up to their morning classes.

Her flat was at the top of Garnethill, the highest hill in Glasgow, and the craggy North Side lay before her, polka-dotted with cloud shadows. M AUREEN DRIED HER EYES IMPATIENTLY, LIT A CIGARETTE, WALKED over to the bedroom window, and threw open the heavy red curtains.

Garnethill by denise mina