Birthdays for the Dead. Stuart MacBride

ferrying bleary-eyed suits-and-ties to work.

      Dr McDonald wiped a hand across her chin, then licked the palm. ‘In case you’re wondering, this is the bit where we share things about ourselves and bond over communal experiences.’

      No thanks.

      More silence.

      She sliced a circle of black pudding in two, then stuffed it in. ‘I’ll go first. My name isn’t really Alice, it’s Charlotte, but I hate it because it’s the same as that spider in the book about the pig; I came top of my class at Edinburgh University, my thesis was in aberrant psycho-sexual behaviour in repeat offenders; I’ve helped catch three rapists, a paedophile ring, and a woman who killed her four children and two in-laws; I like raspberries, but I’m allergic to them; I have a fiancé who’s a systems analyst, but I’m pretty sure he’s having an affair, I mean that cow Nigella from his office was all over him at the last Christmas party like I wasn’t even there; I was born in Peebles; and I’ve never been to France.’

      OK …

      She piled beans onto toast into mouth. ‘Your turn.’

      ‘I’d rather not.’

      ‘I’ll do it for you, if you like?’ She actually put her knife and fork down. Then wrapped an arm around herself, the other hand twiddling with her hair. ‘Let’s see … You were married, but the job got in the way, your wife resented always having to come second; you tried to fix it by having children, and it almost worked, but then your first daughter ran away from home and the marriage fell apart, and you didn’t get custody of the other girl and now she’s growing away from you; you’re living in a crummy house in a crummy neighbourhood and you drive a crummy car, so you’ve got money worries … Gambling?’

      ‘Do we really have to—’

      ‘You’re obviously used to people doing what you say, which is pretty unusual for a detective constable, so you used to have a much higher rank, but something happened and they demoted you, and you wanted to quit, but you need the money; life hasn’t turned out anything like you’d hoped, so you’re trying to recapture your lost youth by sleeping your way through a string of younger women, because you can’t afford a sports car or a motorbike.’ She paused for breath. ‘How did I do?’

      I kept my eyes on the window. ‘You must be a big hit at parties.’

      ‘Top of my class, remember?’

      ‘A: I can see my daughter, Katie, whenever I like – and for your information we get on fine. B: I kicked the living shit out of a detective inspector called Cunningham. And C: I’m not “sleeping my way through a string of younger women”, it’s one woman and her name’s Susanne.’

      Dr McDonald nodded, picked up her cutlery again and went back to work. ‘There we go, we’re bonding, isn’t it nice?’

      Fruitloop.

      Mushrooms, egg, chips. ‘So … this Susanne: is she old enough to vote?’

      ‘OK, this bonding session is now officially over.’

      She just grinned and chewed.