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

Then, low down on the fence, I see that the edge of one of the wooden boards has slightly come away from the fencepost. I prise my fingers into the gap and lean backwards, hearing a damp ‘pop’ as another couple of nails pull loose. I can feel something happening to the ends of my fingers, but they’re so numb it doesn’t register properly. When there’s enough room to squeeze through, I drop to my chest and heave myself underneath. A fresh pain starts up in my leg as I scramble though.

Out from under the fence, I try to stand, managing a couple of steps forwards before the earth comes up to meet me again.

TWELVE

TWELVE

I wake up. Or at least my right eye wakes up. My left seems glued down, pushed hard into clammy, wet mud.

Grimacing, I gather my hands from wherever they have fallen at the ends of my cold arms, put them under my chest and push myself clear of the ground.

I’m freezing. The cold starts at my shoulder blades, nibbling away, then takes great chunks of my legs and finally swallows my feet.

I roll over. And last night comes back in one violent tumble.

My trainers are ruined, caked in yellow-brown clay. There’s a rip, about a foot long, down one leg of my trousers. The top of the tear is red with blood. I must have caught myself on a nail when I squeezed under the fence. I probe it with a gentle finger. It’s swollen and ugly, but the bleeding has stopped.

My shirt is in strips, blood-stained, covered in mud and stinking like the first time I got drunk with Jamie. I check my cheek, just beneath the eye that won’t open. That too has stopped bleeding, but that may be because of the mud that has crusted over it.

I stretch my limbs to check that everything’s still there. Nothing feels broken. Just sore. And cold.

My phone says 5:48. The light feels strange: ash grey and milky, but clean. There’s a smell that is the same: clean. And there’s a song playing in my head.

It’s not in my head. The rise and fall of notes are coming from nearby. I turn slowly towards it. On the top of the wooden fence that I crawled under last night there is a blackbird. It’s looking at me.

‘Morning,’ I croak.

The blackbird turns its head, flies off. I watch it as it comes to rest on a stone wall about five metres in front on me. Patches of moss, cascades of green leaves and purple flowers cover most of the wall’s significant height. I realise there are walls on three sides of me and, with the wooden hoarding at my back, I’d say I was lying in a pretty even-sided square.