Chapters (43)
- Pronunciation
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Acknowledgments
Which was when the headlamps of a third car flooded the scene with light. Fin could see the rain driving through them, and the figure of a man stepping out to interrupt their beam. He lifted his foot from the clutch and accelerated down the road towards them, turning on his headlights to throw this midnight drama into sharp relief. Three startled faces turned towards his car as he braked, skidding to a stop on the gravel. He let the door swing open and stepped out into the rain.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Donald Murray had to bellow to be heard over the roar of the storm. His face was liverish pale in the light of the cars, his eyes sunken in shadow.
“Maybe I should be asking you that,” Fin shouted back.
Donald punched an angry fist through the air towards his daughter and her lover, a solitary finger pointed in accusation. “They’re trying to run off with the baby.”
“It’s their baby.”
A sneer curled Donald’s mouth. “Are you in on this?”
“Hey!” Fionnlagh bellowed red-faced at the night. “It’s none of your business! Either of you. She’s our baby and it’s our decision. So you can all go to hell.”
“That’s for God to decide,” Donald Murray shouted back at him. “But you are going nowhere, son. Not with my grandchild, you’re not.”
“Try and fucking stop me!” Fionnlagh took Donna’s bag and threw it into the car. “Come on,” he said to her, and dropped into the driver’s seat.
Donald was there in two strides to reach in and pull out the ignition key, turning to throw it into the teeth of the gale. He moved swiftly around the car to reach in and grab the carrycot.
Fionnlagh leapt out to stop him, but Fin got there first. His sou’wester blew off and vanished in the dark as he grabbed the Reverend Murray by the shoulders and pulled him away from the car. Donald was still a powerfully built man, and he pushed back hard to try to break free of Fin’s grip. Both men stumbled backwards and tumbled to the ground, rolling over on the gravel.
The fall expelled all the air from Fin’s lungs, and he gasped for breath as Donald got back to his feet. He managed to rise to his knees, still fighting for air, and looked up as Donald reached out a hand to help him to stand. He caught a flash of white at Donald’s neck. His dog collar. And for a moment the absurdity of their situation flashed through his head. He was fighting with the minister of Crobost Church, for God’s sake! His boyhood friend. He grasped the hand and pulled himself up. The two men stood glaring at each other, both breathing hard, both faces wet with rain and shining in the light of the headlamps.