Home > Work > Exile (Garnethill, #2)
1 " Leslie’s leathers and dirty hair would be chic in a biker bar but in the glittery galleria she looked as seemly as a dead toenail in a pair of strappy sandals. "
― Denise Mina , Exile (Garnethill, #2)
2 " January is the despairing heart of the Scottish winter "
3 " She walked through the underpass at the Elephant and Castle, enjoying the sense that nothing really mattered, not the truth about the past, nor whether they believed her, not Winnie’s drinking or Vik’s ultimatum. It was the perfect place to escape from a painful past. She could waste years at home trying to make sense of a random series of events. There was no meaning, no lessons to be learned, no moral—none of it meant anything. She could spend her entire life trying to weave meaning into it, like compulsive gamblers and their secret schema. Nothing mattered, really, because an anonymous city is the moral equivalent of a darkened room. She understood why Ann had come here and stayed here and died here. It wouldn’t be hard. All she had to do was let go of home. She would phone Leslie and Liam sometimes, say she was fine, fine, let the calls get farther apart, make up a life for herself and they’d finally forget. "
4 " Bout a month ago. She came in Boxing Day but I put her out. She was begging people, not even tapping, but begging for drink.”“She can’t have been disrupting ye, surely?” asked Maureen. “See those old swines over there?” He gestured to his only customers. The old men heard him and their chat fell silent. The barman raised his voice. “They were asking what they would get for their money. Auld swines, playing on the lassie’s weakness for the drink.” He lowered his voice. “That’s pensioners for ye they can smell a bargain a mile off,” he muttered, as if the bargain-hunting skill of the elderly was an unspoken universal truth. "
5 " He was an officious prick with a Freddie Mercury moustache and the social skills of a horny lapdog. "
6 " She had sounded progressively more and more tipsy "
7 " Maureen didn’t know what to say so she told the truth. “You’re frightening me,” she shouted.Inness stopped still. “I didn’t mean to,” he said stupidly. In a TV movie they would have hugged each other, he’d have come back in and they’d have had an honest discussion about their feelings, a sun-dappled moment of tenderness with a stranger, and they’d leave, elevated and touched at their common humanity. But this was Glasgow. “Fuck you,” shouted Maureen, and slammed the door in his face. "
