A pull maself oot ma bed n go tae git ready right away. It’s Wednesday 25 July. A wisnae wantin tae lie aboot in ma pit the day, gittin maself aw depressed n shite. A eat a bowl ae Weetabix sittin in front ae the BBC breakfast news. The presenter is talkin away n A see a picture ae Broonie’s street, still wae the polis parked in front ae his gate.

A man died following a disturbance in North Lanarkshire last night … The man, named locally as Steven Brown, was found with head injuries and the police are appealing for witnesses … The death is being treated as suspicious … Anyone with any information or who was in the area at the time is asked to contact Police Scotland. The family has been informed.

Ma maw is standin over ma shoulder shakin hur heed wae hur hand over hur mouth. ‘This place has gone to hell!’

‘A know, it’s bad. A took Shaun home n the ambulance wis still there. We sat in casualty aw night but it wis nae use. He died aboot four in the mornin.’

‘God almighty! What kind of place is this, when this kind of thing happens on your doorstep? Alice first and Steven now. Poor Shaun, that boy never had a chance.’

A bounce oot ma bit n oot intae the motor. It’s a hazy mornin n the heat ae the sun hus yit tae burn through. Days like this we wid huv been aw the-gither, straight doon the woods tae sit aw day wae a few bottles n a bit ae dope. Ootside looks different the day. It’s always the same when suhin bad happens. Yi look at yir street, yir area n yir town wae new eyes, like another part ae the facade yi take fur granted hus been pulled doon. Somehow changed irrevocably, like yir ain reflection in the mirror – if yi dared tae glance in it.

A chap Broonie’s front door but naebody answers. There’s a telly on inside the hoose. The door is locked so A bounce roon the back n unbolt the gate. There’s still a washin hung oot wae Stevie’s jeans n eld HEAD jumper on the line. They make me feel sick as A walk up the steps n through the open back door. There’s a shroud over the hoose, that still greyness that only death kin bring, change in the very consistency ae the air that makes it thinner and more difficult tae breathe.

‘Broonie? It’s Azzy, mate. Yi there?’ Nae answer. A walk through the eld scullery n intae the livin room. It husnae really changed. There’s still the yellowed walls, the eld tatty suite n a chipped coffee table. Fur a change it’s quiet, apart fae the low mutter ae The Jeremy Kyle Show in the corner. A kin vaguely make oot folk screamin at one another n it cuts intae me, ma ain stress hormones on high alert. Yir easily spooked at moments like these, those brain chemicals tryin tae forewarn yi ae some unknown, yet constant, impendin doom. Broonie is sittin starin at a bare wall wae an eld family photo on it. A’d never noticed it before but Alice n Stevie ir sittin on either side ae a young Shaun, both showin aff an eld yellow tin ae Tennent’s lager, like hoddin Simba up tae the pride. He doesnae acknowledge me tae start wae n A feel like A’m interruptin a silent n angry vigil.