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Back The Snakes Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. Title Page
  2. About the Author
  3. By the Same Author
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. PART TWO
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. PART THREE
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. PART FOUR
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. Acknowledgements
  42. Copyright

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, looking from Bea to the two uniformed gendarmes standing beside her, with their holstered guns and heavy boots.

‘Bea?’

‘Alex is dead,’ she said. She shouldn’t have just said it. She should have prepared him. She was overwhelmed by remorse. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.’

Griff didn’t say anything, he didn’t move at all. She couldn’t stop thinking how badly she had done it. She’d been so cruel. She’d done it wrong.

‘Monsieur Adamson?’ said Blanchard. ‘You are the father of Alexander Adamson?’

Griff’s eyes didn’t leave Bea’s face.

‘My father doesn’t speak French,’ she said. ‘Can you speak to him in English?’

‘Go and wake your mother,’ said Griff.

She nodded. She left him with the two gendarmes, and hurried upstairs, but when she saw Alex’s bedroom door, she stopped. She was on the landing, out of sight. Dan and her mother didn’t know yet. She looked at Alex’s bedroom door. She couldn’t go past, and not be completely sure that he wasn’t inside. He might be in his room. She might have imagined it. It might be a mistake. She heard the men’s voices below. She knocked on the door. He was never up so early, she felt mean for waking him. And happy. She clung to the narrow, phantom feeling. She knocked again – and then she opened it. The bed was empty. The small, false feelings dissolved. Alex wasn’t in the room but his death was there. She told herself she couldn’t believe it, her mind scrabbled to pretend, but loss, whispered and glimpsed, was beginning. And loss believed it. And loss knew death. She stared around the empty room. A whisky bottle on its side. Raw, loose tobacco, scattered in shreds. Ashtrays, mugs, and mugs used as ashtrays. A ceramic Buddha incense holder. Jeans on the floor, and heaps of T-shirts, pants under the bed. Just like Holford Road. He’d hardly changed at all.

Something moved on the wall, just next to her. She thought at first it was a strip of plastic, then she saw it was the snakeskin from the attic, he’d pinned it up beside the bed. Lighter than tissue paper, stiffer, it swayed in the slight breeze. The snakeskin fluttered, lifting from the wall, translucent, silvery. She touched its edge. Then she heard her mother’s voice behind her. It was reedy, and weak.

‘Who’s downstairs?’

Bea heard her footsteps coming closer.

‘Bea? What are you doing? Where’s Alex?’

Bea turned to face her.

PART TWO

PART TWO

9

9