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Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. VIOLET
  3. VIOLET
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Contents
  7. Prologue
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  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. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. Epilogue
  48. Acknowledgements
  49. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  50. Copyright

‘I wanted to get the Trans-Siberian. I wasn’t fussed about which branch, as long as it gets me to Moscow. I’m supposed to be meeting friends there.’ The last part is a lie. I have no particular reason to want to go to Moscow other than I haven’t been yet, and I’m getting a bit bored with Asia. It’s all a bit predictable after a while – same sorts of people on the trail, doing the same things. I think Russia might spice things up a bit. Take my mind off Sam, and everything else. It’s not like I’ve got anything to rush back to the UK for.

‘Oh cool. Me too,’ Carrie says. Then, ‘Oh shit, sorry – you just said you couldn’t get a ticket.’ She slaps herself on the head, then laughs. ‘Let’s have a few drinks and you can forget about it for now. The train tracks will still be there the day after tomorrow.’

3

Her accent is more pronounced after four beers. In the travel centre, I’d only caught a subtle lilt, but now, as we sit here de-shelling peanuts and complaining about the smog, it is undeniably Scottish.

‘Where are you from?’ I ask. ‘I have relatives in Glasgow. You don’t sound quite like them, but maybe somewhere nearby?’

She snorts. ‘Wrong coast. Totally. I’m from Edinburgh. I get mistaken for Northern Irish a lot though. You southerners never get it quite right.’

‘I’m from Nottingham,’ I say, laughing. I throw a peanut in the air and catch it in my mouth. I’ve no idea where that came from. The city, or the peanut trick.

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Impressive.’ She lifts her beer and takes a long drink. Her eyes are sparkling. ‘You don’t sound like you come from Nottingham. That’s the Midlands, isn’t it?’

‘Hmm. I’ve moved a lot. Lived all over. I don’t think I have any accent now. Not like you.’

She leans forwards and smirks. ‘Do you need me to speak slow… er?’

I pretend to look confused. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re saying.’

‘Funny. Would you believe, I spend a lot of time pronouncing my words carefully for non-natives. I’m quite good at accents, actually.’ She throws a peanut and tries to catch it, but it goes way wide of the mark. She swears under her breath, but she’s grinning. ‘Oh damn it,’ she says in a good approximation of my accent. She’s right. She’s a decent mimic.