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
“Go on, go on,” he says.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” says the other one. “Your idea. You do it.”
And the silent one nods and nods.
I look around, wondering what it is they want me to do. What are we doing here? Then I see the window. Escape! I remember now. The window leads out to the back. Over the wall and off across the bog. They’ll never catch us. Run like the wind. Over the asphalt to the trees.
“Here, give me a hand,” I say, and I pull a chair up to the sink. “Someone will have to hand my bag out after me. My mother’s ring is in there. She gave it to me to keep safe.”
Eachan and the nodding one hold me steady as I climb on to the chair and step into the sink. Now I can reach the catch. But it won’t move, dammit! No matter how hard I try. I can see my fingers turning white from the pressure.
Suddenly there is a light in the corridor. I hear footsteps and voices, and I can feel panic rising in my chest. Someone’s clyped on us. Oh God!
It’s black on the other side of the window as I turn back to it. I can see the rain still running down the glass. I’ve got to get out. Freedom on the other side. I start pounding on it with my clenched fists. I can see the glass bending with each blow.
Someone’s shouting, “Stop him! For heaven’s sake stop him!”
Finally the glass breaks. Shatters. At last. I feel pain in my hands, and see blood running down my arms. The blast of wind and rain in my face nearly knocks me over.
A woman is screaming.
But all I can see is the blood. Staining the sand. Effervescent foaming brine turning crimson in the moonlight.
Fourteen
Fourteen
Fin drove them past the Crobost Social Club and the football pitch beyond it. Houses climbed the hill in sporadic groupings at Five Penny and Eòropaidh, facing south-west to brave the prevailing winds of spring and summer, and huddled low along the ridge with their backs to the icy Arctic blasts of winter. All along the ragged coastline, the sea sucked and frothed and growled, tireless legions of riderless white horses crashing up against the stubborn stone of unyielding black cliffs.