The Storm Without Read Online Free PDF

arm of the couch. I leant over to straighten the upturned bottle of port that lay on the floor. It was empty. Not a drop had escaped her lips.
    I shook my head.
    This was my mother, and she was out of it.
    I could hardly judge; I ' d had my fair share of days on the sauce. But they were behind me. I realised long ago that the road of excess never led to the palace of wisdom. The road of excess led to the road of excess.
    I heard the dog clatter into the door behind me, moved to lay a hand on his ear, reassure him.
    ' There, boy …' I turned him around, led him from the sitting room towards the kitchen and closed the door behind us.
    I knew I wasn ' t going to be able to stay with my mother. I had known that before I left Ulster, but somehow thought I might manage a few days whilst I got myself set up in Ayr. She had always liked a drink, my mam. Had always liked a rant, getting it all off her chest. They were the worst kind of drinkers, the morose. They used inebriation as an excuse to vent their anger at life ' s misfortunes. My mother seemed to have gone passed that stage now; reached the point where burning energy on anger wasn ' t an option when her reserves were so low. She drank for the release of oblivion.
    I took the phone from the kitchen wall, dialled my sister ' s number. Claire had left the Auld Toun too, was holed up in the wilds in Inverness with a husband and a clutch of kids. I never envied her, perhaps because she never seemed in the remotest neighbourhood of happy.
    I dialled.
    Ringing.
    An answer phone. The classic, ' Please leave a message after the tone. '
    I took a shallow breath. ' Claire, it ' s Doug … I just got back home, to Ayr. I think we need to talk about Mam …'
    I left my mobile number and hung up.
    I watched Ben lap at his bowl of water. He was tired, nosing the edge of the bowl with his drooping face. When he was sated, the old dog staggered towards his basket in the corner of the room and threw himself down. I decided he needed rest, or perhaps knew the routine now. Either way, I let them sleep it off, headed back for the front door.
    On the Maybole Road I walked with a vague intention of paying a visit to an old contact from my days in uniform. I didn ' t know if Veitch would be at home, or even in the same house. It didn ' t matter. I felt like walking; it let me think. What I ' d mostly been thinking of lately was Mason ' s reaction to my mention of Jonny Gilmour. Something unsettled me about my sighting of Gilmour at the police station and Mason ' s warning to steer clear only confirmed my suspicions. It might have nothing to do with the case but instinct told me Gilmour was up to no good, and that I was onto something.
    There were leaves blowing on the road, filling up gardens and clogging gutters. This time of year always felt like a point of stasis to me: like something was waiting to happen. I hadn ' t come home to Ayr hoping to fill my days with the same kind of duty I had left in the north of Ireland, but it had found me. I steeled myself for what was ahead; I knew Lyn needed me, needed my help, though something told me she wasn ' t about to reveal the full picture just yet. I knew it would be up to me to pull it into focus.
    I passed what had once been a nursing home; it had been replaced with a block of flats. In front of the flats sat a Tesco Express where the old Anfield Hotel once stood. I don ' t know if the Anfield ever took paying guests. I only knew the lounge bar. The country and western singer Sidney Divine had once owned it, put pictures of himself on the walls. I smiled to myself remembering the pints he poured me, and how I ' d laughed at his appearances on Scotch & Wry alongside Rikki Fulton. The Tesco Express couldn ' t obliterate those memories.
    The rain started as I rounded the corner, passed under the railway arch and made my way across the playing fields to Kincaidston. When I was in uniform, they called the place Zulu. I never thought it deserved the