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Back One Winter Morning Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. By the same author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Acknowledgements
  54. Read More
  55. Two Years Later
  56. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I trail off clumsily, and the man’s smile of welcome droops a fraction at the edges. He’s looking at me now as if he recognises me, which makes me feel even more flustered than I was in the taxi. To buy myself some time, I feign a small coughing fit, then take a deep breath and force my features into what I hope is a confident expression.

‘I wonder if you can help me?’ I say politely, hearing the tremble in my voice. ‘I’m looking for Bonnie, Bonnie Moon. I was under the impression that she works here.’

‘That’s right,’ he says, folding his sturdy arms across his chest.

‘Is she here?’ I ask, standing on tiptoes in order to peer cautiously over his shoulder towards the yard. Half the assembled group from the bus have mounted their steeds now, and one of the horses has promptly carried its helpless rider over to a patch of grass and dropped its head down to eat.

‘Pull one rein hard,’ I want to instruct, but keep my tongue tucked firmly behind my teeth.

‘You a friend of hers, then, eh?’ the man asks now, and this time my reply is a sad sort of sigh.

‘It’s …’ I begin, seeing him narrow his eyes. He doesn’t look confused by my random blathering so much as curious, and I’m encouraged by the fact that his smile is yet to fade completely.

‘She knows me, yes, but it’s complicated,’ I say, trying to appeal to him with my eyes. ‘I just really need to speak to her – and I’ve come a long way,’ I hasten, as if that much was not already obvious from my pale skin and British accent, which has for some reason become more like that of the Queen since I started talking to him.

‘What’s your name, then?’ he wants to know, his arms still crossed. ‘Might Bonnie have mentioned you?’

I very much doubt that she would have.

‘Genie,’ I tell him, offering my hand. ‘Genie Nash.’

‘Kit,’ he replies, shaking it. His hand is so large that my own completely disappears within its grasp.

‘And you’re from England?’ he checks.

I nod.

‘Well, that’s just plain weird,’ he says, unfolding his arms and scratching behind his ear, ‘because Bonnie actually left for England two days ago.’

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8

Bonnie

Bonnie closed the bedroom door and sat down at the desk. The curtains were pulled across the window, but she could hear the lashing of rain against the glass and was grateful for its gentle disruption in the otherwise silent space.