BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

I cross the road, heading straight for the shop. My mouth is dry and I’m struggling to breathe properly, gasping against the chill in the air. My head feels light, as if I might faint. In my hand, the hammer is unrelenting. I feel the sharp points of its clawed side as it bounces against my jeans.

Let it be quick, I say to myself. Just let it be quick.

I see my reflection in the window and, beyond that, the shop itself. Empty, apart from one member of staff who stands with her back to the window, her cloud of white hair bobbing on top of her bright jumper, her stooped, elderly shoulders. I stand there for a second, the hammer half raised.

The lady turns around.

At first, she smiles at me, thinking me to be a customer, or that I’m reading one of the many posters in the window.

Then she sees the hammer.

I bring it down with as much force as I can just as the wash of terror floods across her face. I raise my left arm as the blow strikes, shielding myself from the shower of shards that explode from the centre of the window. My gloveless hand follows the hammer through its trajectory, through the window, the falling glass all around me. Then I’m raising my hand again, back through the gaping, ragged hole, bringing the hammer down somewhere else. I hear the scream from inside but I keep smashing and smashing, the glass raining down onto the pavement and inside the shop. In what must be the fourth or fifth slash at the window, the hammer slips from my grip, flying straight at the smallest child mannequin and knocking it over. The handle of the hammer is red with blood. My blood. I didn’t feel the cuts. I spin on my heels and sprint in the direction I have been told as, behind me, I hear the roar of an engine fading into the distance, going the other way.

The whole thing takes less than ten seconds.

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY EIGHT

At the bus station, I wrap my hand in my coat as best I can, which makes paying the driver difficult. I have to reach my left hand across my body to my opposite trouser pocket. My lungs are burning from the run, my legs and head woozy from shock or blood loss or both. Inside the sleeve of my coat, I can feel the warm wetness increasing.

The bus is mercifully empty, and I sit on my own at the back of the lower level. Once the bus pulls out of the bus station, with no blue flashing lights in sight, I gingerly remove my hand from the sleeve.