Bristol Anthology I – Epitaph

EPITAPH

Copyright2023byTheBristolAnthology

Collectionandintroductions©TheBristolAnthology2023

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproducedorquoted withoutthepermissionofthepublishingteamandrelevantauthorexceptin anofficialreviewaboutthisbook.

Copyrightwiththeindividualworksremainswiththeoriginalauthors.

ArtanddesignbyDraganPurković.

Publisherwebsite:bristolanthology.co.uk

EXECUTIVEEDITOR

RebeccaRobson

ARTDIRECTOR

DraganPurković

FICTIONEDITOR

HannahClark

POETRYEDITOR

CharuviKhandelwal

Introduction

Perhapsitisfittingthatthisfirstvolumeisanexplorationoftheend:anend toevents,toplaces,topeople,tofamiliarity,tomemories,andtheself. Thisisanimportantexplorationforweliveinatimeoffastandglobal change.Stabilityanddreamsofbetterfuturescontinuetobechallengedby thespectreofdeathacrosstheplanet,bothinournaturalworldandinour societies.Climatechange,wars,anddeteriorationofdemocracyarefamiliar tomanyofus.Uncertaintyiseverywhere.Butintheseworks,youwillread howthedramaofsuchthemesplaysoutintheintimacyofeverydaylives. Despitedeath'sassociationwithdarknessandoblivion,ourwritersrefuse thefatalismofdespair.Thefirst BristolAnthology comestogetherbythepen andprogressofthe2020-2022cohortfromtheUniversityofBristol’sMAin CreativeWritingprogramme.Thesewritersarenostrangerstodeath,loss, andjourneysoflettinggo,andtheyarelikewisenostrangerstohope. Thisisaninternationalanddiversecohort,offeringtheirbestoutof Bristolandbeyond.Intheproseoftheirvariedandimaginativefictionorthe sharprealitiesoftheirpoetry,theywillsharetheirinsights.Theydonotshy awayfrominteriorhardshipsorexteriorrealities,nomatterhowpainful.Our writerspolitelyandbeautifullycallyoutowitness.

Intheirwork,thereisasweetnessinfinality,bothsmallandgreat,and perhapsalingeringhopethattheendis,infact,alwaysanewbeginning. Ofcourse,letusalsorememberthatothergrandcompaniontodeathin theworkofallcreators:love.Youwillseeiteverywhere,Ipromise.

Fiction

About TheHouseonFallhaleBay

Lauren’sexcerptistheopeningofherfirstnovel, TheHouseonFallhaleBay, setagainstashadowycoastandtheconstrainedcultureofGeorgianBritain. WhenClaraistoldbyEliza,herenigmatictutor,thatshewillinherither homeonceshedies,sheasksthequestionthatframesthisnovel: why me? ClaracomesclosertoansweringthisquestionwhenshemeetsEliza’s husbandwhohasbeenpresumeddeadfortwenty-oneyears.

ThetruthstoClara’spresentlieinEliza’spast,whichisgraduallyrevealed asthenovelmapsthejourneysofthesetwowomen.Thecharactersinthis storyarenotasdifferentasfirstexpected,andconnectedinmorewaysthan one.ButhowwillClararespondwhenshefacesthesamefatethatbefellEliza?

TheHouseonFallhaleBay

LaurenGood

January1821

Clarawatchedhertutorgazebeyondthewindow.She’dalwaysfoundEliza’s fixationwiththeoceanpeculiar,givenhowithadwidowedthewomanso earlyinlife.

Sheknewithadbeenexactlytwenty-oneyearsago.Thatstormwasstill usedtoteachtheyoungofnature’soccasionalbowingtotheforcesofrage. ManytoldClara,withwideeyes,howangerhadbledthroughthethick cloud,andhowtheboatsbelowithurledtheirmenoverboard.Elizaonce explainedthat,thenextday,shefeltasicknessinherstomach.Sheknewhe wasgone.Afterthatsherarelylefttheirhome.

Despitespendingsomuchtimethere,ClarastillfoundthelayoutofEliza’s homestrangeinthestrongestsenseoftheword.Eachpieceoffurniturehad beenplacedtoachieveanoptimumviewoftheseaahead,arulefollowedso closelythateverybackroomwasempty,clutteredonlywithcobwebs.

Surroundedbygardensthatwouldoncehavebeencarefullymanicured,

thehousestoodproudlyjustbehindthecoastaltrack.Overlookingthebeach below,itwithstoodthestormsthatoftenrodeontotheshoresofFallhale.The roof,atopofwhichstoodfourchimneys,stillslopedelegantlywithnotiles amiss,asifafightwithsuchweatherwasaneasyfeat,whilewisteria,wild withneglect,crawledupthewallsbelow.Clarathoughtthebuildinghad oncebeenbeautiful,andstillwas,tothosewithamoreforgivingeyelikeher own.

Eliza’shome,throughbothitsarrangementandabandonment,wasjust oneofthemanysecretsthatshroudedher.Shewasaclosedbook,alocked box,andthekeytowhatlaywithinhaderodedwiththewavesofeach passingdecade.

Andonthisday,shewasjustasindecipherable.

‘You’releavingyourhouse,’Clarawhispered,‘tome?’

‘Thatiscorrect.’Elizasmiled.Theexpressionpresseddimplesintoeach cheek—anodtoyouthmostlyforgotten.Hergreyhairwasnowonly pepperedwiththestrikingblackithadbeenwhenClarafirstmether,andshe woreitinatightbunatthenapeofherneck.

‘Andyou’re…sure?’

‘Really,Clara.’Thewomanshookherhead.‘HaveItaughtyounothing?’ Sheopenedhermouthtoreply,butnowordsescaped.

‘Uswomenarenotoftengivenwonderfuloffers,especiallyeconomic ones.’Elizapeeredoverherglasses.‘So,ifyoureceiveone,don’tmakeits benefactorthinktwice.’

‘Butthisismorethanawonderfuloffer.’Clara’smindhummed.‘It’sa house. This house.’Shegazedattheparquetfloorthatstretchedoutfrom underherfeet,motesofdustswirlinginbeamsoflight.Shelvesburstwith books,coveringthewallsalongwiththepaintingshungallaround.

‘Itisahouse,indeed.’

‘Whatwouldyoulikemetodowithit?’

‘Youcouldstartbylivinginit,isn’tthatwhatahouseisusuallyfor?’Eliza raisedherbrow.

Clarasmiledweakly.Inhertwentyyears,she’dgrownusedtothesmall bedroomaboveheruncle’santiquesshopandEliza’shome,thoughfamiliar,

couldn’tbemoredifferent.‘And…you’resure?’sherepeated.

‘Sure?Ofwhat?’

‘Thatyouwant me tohaveit?’

‘Doyoureallydoubtmyjudgementthismuch?’Elizagrazedherfingers againstthespinesonanearbybookshelf.

‘Oh,no!’Clarastoodupinhorrorattheaccusation.‘Ididn’tmeanto doubtyourjudgementatall.’

‘Wellthen.’Elizacountedfromtheleftoftherowandpulledoutabook withacrimsoncover.Sheopenedittorevealanenvelope.‘This,’shesaid, placingitinClara’shand,‘isacopyofmywill.Itsayseverythingyouneedto know.Youkeepitsafe,now.’

Clara’smindfumbledforareasontoexplainEliza’sdecisionandlandedon oneconclusion.‘Eliza…’

‘Yes?’

Shestudiedthewoman’sface.Ithadalwaysbeenpallid,butperhapsitwas moresotoday.‘You’renot…’Claraweighedupthecorrectwords,‘unwell, areyou?’

Elizalaughed.Despitetheiryearstogether,Clarastillfoundherresponses unpredictable.‘I’mquitewell.’

‘Then—’

‘Lifeisfullofsurprises,’Elizainterjected.‘Ihavelearntthatthehardway, I’mafraid.It’sbesttodothesethingswhenyouareableto,and…’Herpause leftasilencethatwasnotentirelycomfortable.‘Muchtomydismay,I’mnot gettingyounger.’

Claranoddedslowly.Eliza’smusingsoftenlefthershortofanadequate response.

Thewomanreturnedthebooktoitsrightfulplace.Shepattedittwice withherfingers,asifitwereananimalthathadbeenputbackinitscage,then letoutasatisfiedsigh.

ClarasquintedatthebookshelfasEliza’sbackwasturned,wondering whatothersurpriseslayamongstthepages.Sheglancedagainatthewoman. Clararealised,then,thatshewasmoreapartofthehousethanthe bookshelvesandthepaintings.Andthehousewasmoreofherthanthevery clothesshewore.

Shetookadeepbreath.‘Eliza?’

‘Yes?’Sheturnedaround.

‘Iwilldosomethingwonderfulwithit.’Sheclaspedthepaperbetweenher fingers.‘Ipromise.’

‘Mydear.’Thewoman’scheeksflushedwithwarmth.‘Thatisexactlywhy I’mgivingittoyou.’Theireyesmet.Clarawassuresomethingflashedacross Eliza’s,butbeforeshecouldassureherselfitwasn’tatrickofthelight,her tutorhadlookedaway.‘Now,comeandlookatthis.’Elizagesturedbeyond thewindow.‘There’sabeautifulospreydivingforfish.’

Clarasmiled,thenstoodbesideher.Astheywatched,anewsilencesettled betweenthem.

‘I’mhappyforyou,Clara,Ireallyam.’Francesleantbackonhischair.Asign reading Everett’sFineAntiques&Jewellery hungprecariouslyabovehishead, thedeskinfrontofhimlitteredwithpapers.Hestudiedthemostimportant oneofall,whichClarahadjustplacedontopoftheothers.

‘IpromisedIwoulddosomethingwonderfulwithit.’Sheleanedonthe banisteroftheshopstairs,handstwistedbehindherback.

‘Andyouwill.’Francessmiledather.

‘Butwhy me?’

‘Youtwohavegrowncloseovertheyears,haveyounot?’

‘Well,yes.But…I’mherstudent.’

Hepeeredoverhisglasses.‘Ithinkyou’realittlemorethanthat,now.’

‘Shemeansalottome,yes…’Clarapickedupaclothfromthechairby herfeetandbegantodusteachwoodenpostofthebanisteridly.‘Butit’sher home.’

‘Andshewantsittobeyourswhenshe’sgone,there’snothingwrongwith that.’

‘Isupposeshe’snevermentionedanyfamily.Apartfromherlatehusband, thatis.’She’dbeguntodustthesamepatchoverandover.

‘Exactly.’

Clarastoppedtolookathim.Aslightfrowntuggedathismouth,andhis eyeshadwilted.He’dalwaysbeenterribleatdisguisinghisfeelings.‘Uncle?’

Sheputtheclothdown.‘What’swrong?’

Hisexpressiondisappearedalltooquickly.‘Nothing’swrong.’Heshook hishead.‘I’mjusttryingtosortthesepapers.’

‘I’vejusttoldyouthemostexcitingnews.’Sheapproachedhim.‘Andyou haven’tsaidmuchatall.’

Francessighed,pickingupapen.‘I’mveryexcitedforyou,Clara,really.’

‘Areyou?’

‘Iam.’Heraisedhishand,penbalancedbetweenhisfingers.The precarioustiltcausedittoquiver.‘ButIhavethingstobegettingonwith.’

‘Moreimportantthanthis?’

‘Notmoreimportant,justpressing.’HerunclemovedEliza’swilltoone side,hiseyesdraggingoveritscontents.Buttheyremainedthereforonlya second,beforedirectingtheirattentiontoapieceofpaperbesideit.Hebegan toscribblesomethingillegible.

‘Fine.’Clarashrugged.

Butitwasn’tfine;itwasn’tfineatall.

Claraknewheruncle’sgame.She’dplayeditallherlife.Whenthetopic ofElizaarose,hefellintohiswork.Whenanythingthreatenedtoberevealed, hehid.‘Whatareyoudoingthat’ssoimportant,anyhow?’

Francesopenedhismouthtoanswer—orratherreply,herunclenever gaveactualanswers—butthebellabovetheshopdoorsounded.Howtimely, shethought.Reliefovercamehisfaceandsherolledhereyes,thensawthe expressionleaveasquicklyasithadcome.Itcouldonlybeonepersonthen. Claracursedherself.MrsReinhardtvisitedthesametimeeveryweek,andshe neverforgottomakeherselfscarce.

‘Arabella.’Francesnodded,pretending,again,tostudyhispapersas thoughhistimewasdemandedelsewhere.‘WhatcanIdoforyoutoday?’

‘Nothingmuch,’thewomanreplied.Shelingeredaroundhisdesk, runningherindexfingeralongitsedge.‘Yourhousekeepingmightneed work,’herraisedvoicedeclaredassherubbedherhandstogetherintight, briskmovements.

Thedustfelltothefloor,andClaragrittedherteeth.

‘Anynewsthatmightbeofinteresttome?’ShehoveredoverFrances.A puppeteerclutchingherstrings.

Claraswallowedthegrowinglumpinherthroat.

‘Nonewsatall.’Heruncle’sfalsecaptivationbythedocumentsonhisdesk

dwindled.

‘Nothingwhatsoever?’Arabellapressed.

‘Nothing.’

‘Noengagements?’

Clarafeltaburningwarmthriseinhercheeks. IfArabelladidn’tspendso muchtimequestioningothers,perhapsshewouldasksomemuch-neededonesabout herself.

‘Noringsboughtfrommyshop,atleast,’Francesreplied.

‘Interesting,IwascertainMary’sdaughtergotengagedyesterday.’Her tonewasoneofdissatisfaction.

Clara’sskinprickledwithirritation. Whyisthisofanyconcern?

‘Perhapstheywentelsewhere,’Francesmuttered.Helickedhisfingerand turnedthepageofabooktohisright.Claranoticedthetremorinhishand. ‘Whywouldthey?Everyoneknowsyoursarethebestprices.’

‘Timesarehard.’Heshruggedwithnonchalance,well-rehearsedbutnot convincing.‘Eventhebestpricesarenotenough.’

‘Mary’sfamilyhavealwaysdonewellthough.’

Clarasawthewoman’swanderingeyeapproachthedocumentsonher uncle’sdesk.Shecouldn’tendureitanylonger.‘Thenwhydon’tyouask Mary?Orherdaughter?’Shewalkedovertotheircustomer,theclothinher handsnowtightlywoundinherpalm.

‘Ah,hello.’Thewoman’ssmilehardlypulledatherpursedlips. ‘MrsReinhardt.’Clarawasbetterattheact.Shesmiledenoughforthe dimplesinhercheekstoshow,movingtoheruncle.Inthebriefmomentthe woman’seyeswereforcedtobeonher,ClarashovedEliza’swillintothe pocketofherapron.

Thenoiseofthehurriedmovementwasenough,however.Arabella, interestedinanythingthatwasn’therconcern,rarelymissedanopportunity likethisone.

Hereyesnappedbacktothedesk,thenonceagaintoClara.‘Areyou hidingthingsfromme?’

‘Notatall.’ShesmiledwhileFrancesshuffledonhischair.Herunclehad alwaysbeenapooractor.

‘Areyousure?’

‘Quitesure.’Shenodded.

Arabella’sfacechangedfromfrustrationtodelight.‘Ibetthishas somethingtodowithElizaPembroke.’

Clarabelieveditwasthewoman’sunwaveringambitiontoforcehertutor intoeveryconversation.

‘I’vealwayssaidshe’sanoddsortofcharacter,’Arabellacontinued.‘And I’mnottheonlyone,Ipromiseyou!’

Francesbowedhishead.

‘Oddhow?’Claracrossedherarms.

‘Strangedecisions.Thathouse,forastart—’

‘Whataboutherhouse?’Clara’scheeksburned.

‘Youwouldassumeitwasabandoned!Haveyouseentheconditionofit? Anditcouldbebeautiful,youknow.’

‘Ithinkit is beautiful,’Claraprotested.

‘Well,youwould.’

‘What’sthatsupposedtomean?’

‘I’veneverunderstoodwhyyousentClaratothatwoman,Frances.’ Arabellaturnedtoheruncle.‘Andtobe taught!’Shethrewupherhands. ‘Goodnessknowswhatshe’slearning.Notdusting,Icanseethatclearly.’

‘Eliza’saverygoodteacher,isn’tshe?’Claralookedatheruncle;he’d paled.‘Isn’tshe?’

Francesachievednothingbutanod.

‘Areyounotnearlyofage?’Arabella’sforeheadwrinkled. ‘Iam.’

‘Thenwhyonearthdoyoustillhaveatutor?Youhavesurelylearntthe basicaccomplishments.’Shewalkedcloser,frowning.‘Now, use them.Do youwishtobeaspinster?’

‘Likeyou?’Claranarrowedhereyes,furiousatheruncle’scontinued silence.Herheartthuddedrelentlessly,indisbeliefthatthetwowordshadleft hermouth.

‘Pardon?’

‘Clara,’Franceshissed,‘no.’

‘Youruncleisright,’thewomansquawked.‘Youshouldknowthatisno waytospeaktoyoursuperiors.’

Superiors? Herwholebodyburnt,then.

‘LasttimeIchecked,MrsReinhardt,youwereinnowaymysuperior.’

Claraspunonherheelandmarcheduptheshopstairs.Shestampedintoher bedroom,andslammedthedoor.

Herroomwastheonlyplaceshecouldtrulybealone,althoughtheodd spiderstillcreptin.Thehousesatabovetheshopandshe’dfound,froman earlyage,thatthecreatureswereverymuchattractedtooldthings.

Awhitesheethadbeensmoothedoverthebed,theblankcanvas welcomingsprawlingsilhouettesfromthetreesoutside.Onachairinthe corner,drapedinablanket,satafrayedteddybear.Alongwithasketchof Clara’slateparents,itwashermosttreasuredpossession.Shepulleditintoher embraceandsatuponthebed,gazingahead.Clutchingatitsmattedfur,she tookadeepbreath,attemptingtoregaincontroloftheangerthatpulsed throughher.Clarawastiredoftheneedpeoplefelttopryintoothers’affairs, especiallywhenitconcernedEliza.Shewastired,too,ofthewayheruncle toleratedthegossip.Usedittohisadvantage,even.Ashisbusinessslowed, ClarahadnoticedhisincreasingneedtopleaseeventhelikesofMrs Reinhardt.

Shefellbackonthebed,lettingoutasigh.Rollingover,shefeltthe crumpleofpaperinherapron.Thewill.Itdawnedonheragain;thehouse, thepromiseshewoulddosomethingwonderfulwithit.Sheshuthereyes, desperatetoforgetaboutitforawhile.

‘Clara?’heruncle’svoicecalled.‘Comeandeatsupperwithme.’

‘I’mnothungry,’shereplied.

‘Please,Clara?’

Shecouldfeelhimwaitingoutsidethedoor,imaginingtheusualpained expressiononhisface.Howtiredshewasofappeasinghim.Retreating footstepssoundedagainstthefloorboards,andsheburiedherselfinthe shadowsofherbedcovers.

Soonenough,themoonreplacedthesunastheworld’sruler.Downstairs, Claraknewherunclewouldbedejectedlyturningthesigninthefront windowto“closed”,andthecandlelightthatilluminatedtheobjectswithin wouldbeblownfromexistence.Stillnessenvelopedtheshopwithinitsarms, hushingittosleep.Herbreathreluctantlyslowed.

January1800

It’syourhusband,he’sdead.

ThewordspiercedEliza’searsassherippedthebootsfromherfeet.They tumbledacrossthesand,lacesflailing,theirleatherscuffingagainsttherocks. Theexpressionontheman’sfaceashebrokethenewswouldneverleaveher. Norwouldhislabouredknockagainstthefrontdoor.Ithadlackedthe familiarswingofArthur’srap: once,twice,thrice.No,she’dthoughtasthenoise echoedinthehall,thecallerwasn’tArthur.Andshe’dknownthen,inthevery depthsofherstomach,whatthey’dcometosay.

‘I’msosorry,’he’dwhispered.

‘Forwhat?’Tearsstungathereyes.Thelegsbeneathherwereunsteady andshewrappedherfingersaroundthedoorframe,nailsdiggingintothe rivets.

Themanremovedhishat,bowinghishead.Theusualcustoms.He’d explainedthattheroleofherhusbandasspotsmanwastosignal.Thatway, theyknewitwassafetobringgoodsintoshore.Theall-clearnevercame.It seemedhisrowingboat,whichcouldbehiddeneasilyashecheckedthecoast forsoldiers,hadbeensweptoutwiththestormandhadtakenhimwithit.

‘Thisisyourfault,’Elizahadbit,herbodycold.

‘Idon’tunderstand.’

‘Hecouldn’thavedoneit.’Thetearsthathadoncestungathereyesnow

streameddownherface.Herwordschokedpastthem.‘Hecouldn’thave joinedifthereweren’tpeoplesmugglingalready.‘You’—herfingerpointed— ‘youtakedesperatepeopleandusethemforyourownadvantage.’

‘Now,thatisastrongaccusation.’Histonewaspacifying,asthough speakingtoachildthatneededtheirbed.

‘Whywashechosenastheonetosignal?Whywashetheonewhohad totakethemostrisk?’

‘Yourhusbandwasasmuchapartofthisasweallwere.Youknowthat really,MrsPembroke.’

Shedidn’tremembermuchelse,apartfromthestingasherhandstruckhis face. Asshewalkedalongtheflatsofthebeach,Elizafoundherselfwishingshe’d nevermarriedsoyoung,thethoughtrollingintoadesirethatherhusband hadneverexistedinthefirstplace.Ifshe’dnotmetArthur,shewouldstillbe swathedinthenaivetyherfather’swealthallowed,safeandsurroundedbythe wallshe’dbuiltaroundher.Thewallshe’dbuilteventallerwhenhermother died.

Guiltovercameherassherealisedwhatshewaswishingfor,theweight suchwishescarried.Fingernailsranpacesthroughherhair.Shewasdesperate toscratchthefeelingsbeneathherscalpaway,aseasilyasshe’derased pencillednotesunderthecommandofhergoverness.ButtherewasnoMrs Hindelforhertoreportto,now.She’dlefther—everything—behindforthe mansheloved;themanwho’dthenlefther.Itwasherturntofeelthepain. Sheletgooftheshawlshe’doncecarefullywrappedaroundherself.Shedidn’t feelcarefulanymore.Itbouncedinthewind,flyingintheairasittestedits newfreedom.

Thecoldlickedathercheeks,herchestrisingasitfilledherlungs.The shoreaheadcrawledbackandforth,backandforth,asoothingmonotonyin aworldwithfewconstants.Thebeatoftheoceanbroughtherbacktothe onebehindherchest.Sheforcedherhandagainstit,feelingthethrobofher heart.Howshelongedtoberidofit:thecertainuncertaintyoflife.

Theurgetorungrippedherfeet.Herfootfallquickeneduntilshesprinted towardsthesea,kickingthesandupbeneathhertoes.Itflewupherlegs,

coatingherskinandthehemofherdresswithgrit.Saltwaterpooledaround herfeetasshereachedtheshallows,immersingheranklesintheincoming tide.Butonshewaded.Sheneededtowashthegriefaway,asifitwasgrime stucktoherskin,embeddingitselfineverycrack,beneatheveryfingernail. Soonitlappedaboveherwaist,icecold,butshedidn’trunbacktothesand withpainedbreath.Thenumbnessfeltdifferentnow,comforting.

Shelookedtothehorizon,andwonderedwhereherhusbandwaslying now,whetherhewasgratefulhewasn’tburiedbeneathFallhaleground. Perhapsitwasablessing;henevertrulybelongedthere.

‘Canyouhearme?’

Avoicepuncturedherthoughts,thesoundfollowedbyrapidstridesinto thewater.Shelookedbehindher.Ayoungmanlookedback,hisfacepained. Shecouldjustmakeouthisfeaturesinthedarkness;itwasMrEverett,the ownerofthestrangelittleantiquesshopintown.

‘MrsPembroke?’Hewasstaring.‘Whyareyouinthewater?’

‘I’m…’shepaused,hermindracing,‘paddling.’

‘InJanuary?’Helaughed.Itwasaforcedsound,farfromgenuine.‘Here, you’reshivering.’Heremovedhiscoatandofferedit.

‘Thankyou,’shemutteredandtookit,wrappingitaroundhershoulders.

‘Whyareyouhere?Honestly?’Theman’sstarehadintensified,lookingup anddownashetookinherdampclothes.

Elizarealised,inthatmoment,howvulnerableshemusthavelooked underthegapingsky,thevastnessofthecoastsurroundingher.Shewanted tolaughatitallthen,howridiculousherlifehadturnedouttobe.‘I…I’mnot sure.’Shewipedherfacewithherpalms,sandcollectinginhereyelashes.She blinkeditaway,andwadedtowardstheshore.

‘You’recold.Ishallescortyouhome.’Heheldouthishandforhertotake astheyreachedthesand.

‘I’mquitewell,really,’Elizarefusedhim.Takingaman’shandinpublicas anewlywidowedwomanwasboundtospurrumour.Andtobeonthe wrongsideofgossipwasthelastthingsheneeded.

MrEverettacceptedgraciously,noddingingestureforhertowalk onwards.Elizadidso,herheadbowedtothesand.Theskirtsofherdress trailed,pickingupgrit.Shewondered,alumpforminginherthroat,howshe wouldpayforatailortofashionhernewclothes.Itwouldbeafutileactto

forceherselfintolastyear’sdressesformuchlonger;therewouldsoonbelittle roomleftforhergrowingbelly.

‘I’veoftenadmiredyourhouse,MrsPembroke.Ifit’snotimpertinentof metosay,thatis.’

Elizaturnedtohim,forcingthethoughtofherunbornchildawayfor whatsheknewwasforcedconversation.‘That’sverykind.Andno,Idon’t thinkit’simpertinent.’Sheexhaled,pushingairthroughhernostrils.‘Iused toadmireit,too.’

ShenoticedtheflashandflickerofMrEverett’sexpressionatheruseofthe pasttense.Unsurewhetheritwasoneofconcernorintrigue,shechoseto ignoreitallthesame.

Herstatementwastrue.Justafewmonthsbefore,thehouseandits beautiesseemedtocarrysomuchhope,despitethedisdainherfatherhad gifteditwith.Itwashisfinalbidatkeepingupappearancesafterhisonly daughtermarriedfarbelowherstatus.Appearanceshadmeantagreatdealto herfather.Somuchsothathe’drefusedtobeherfatheranymore.

‘Iusuallywalkatthistimeofnight,’MrEverettspokeonceagain. Elizacontinuedonwards.‘AsdoI.’

‘It’speaceful,youcanhearmoreatthistime.’

‘That’strue.’

Itwasn’t.Herhousehadbeenfartoopeaceful—no,silent—asoflate.There wastoomuchopportunitytohear,toponder,tospiral.

‘Sometimes,’hecontinued,‘Iwishitwasalwaysnight.’

‘ButMrEverett,thennothingatallwouldgetdone.’

‘I’minclinedtodisagree.Thequietallowsmuchmoreroomtothink.’

‘Mm,’Elizaconsideredwhatitwouldbeliketowelcomethoughtsrather thanpushthemaway,willingthemnottoreturn.Shebegantowalkthesteps thatstretchedupthecliff,liftingherskirtstopreventherselffromtripping. ThescuffofsandagainststonesoundedasMrEverettfollowedcloselybehind andshekepthereyesahead,pullinghiscoattighteraroundherchest.Herwet clotheshadsentthecoldrightintoherbody,andshedidherbesttostopher teethfromchattering.Ithadbeenfoolishtogoaloneatthatlatehour,to worryAnna,herlong-sufferingservant.Theywouldbecallingforasearch partysoon.

Thehousestretcheduptotheskyinitsusualway,thoughitsgrandeur

seemedmoremockingthanimpressivenowElizahadnobodytoshareit with.Perhapsherfatherwasrightaboutherleaving,shethought,though regretteditassheknockedatthedoor.Itwasquicklyanswered.

‘Oh,I am gladtoseeyou.I’vebeenawfulworried.’

‘I’mallright,’Elizasmiled.SheneededtheassuranceasmuchasAnnadid.

‘I’vekeptthefirelitinthedrawingroom.’Hereyes,dancing,widenedas theyfellonMrEverett.

‘IhappenedtopassMrEverettintown,’Elizasaid.‘Couldwegivehimtea beforehemakesthejourneyhome?’

Anna’seyesdartedbackandforth,fromEliza’swetclothestoMrEverett’s presence.Shedreadedtothinkoftheassumptionsthegirlwascomingtoand hopedanyrumourdidn’tstretchbeyondherownhome.‘Isthatallright, Anna?’sheasked.

‘Ofcourse.I’llbringtheteatothedrawingroom.’ ‘Thankyou.’Sheturnedbacktohernewcompanion.‘I’msosorryfor leavingyououtinthecold,pleasecomein.’

Heremovedhishat,andsheledhimacrosstheentrancewayandintothe drawingroom,throughthethirddoorontheleft.Shebithercheekatthe sightofthefirewhichhadburntoutcompletelyand,foronce,wishedshe couldkeepuptheappearancesherfatherhadsoprioritised.

‘I’llseetothefirewhilstyougoupstairsandchangeyourclothes,’Mr Everettsaidasthoughhavingreadhermind.Hewalkedtothehearthand kneltdown.

‘Areyousure?’Elizablinked,failingtofullyrememberthecircumstances thathadledtoamantendingtoherdrawingroomfire.Howtheneighbours wouldgossip,especiallythatdreadfulArabella.

‘I’mquitesure.’Hesmiled.Itwaswarm.‘Nowpleasegoandgetsomedry clothesbeforeyoucatchyourdeath.’

Elizawinced.Whatifshedidn’twishtoavoidsuchathing?

‘Icandothis,pleasesit.’

Shenoddedslowly.Themanpouredthehotteaintoacup,passingitinto herhands.Ashedid,hiseyesfellupontheringonherfourthfinger.Hisface changed.

‘Yourhusbandboughtthatringfrommyshop.’Henoddedtowardsher lefthand.‘Idon’tforgetanyofmycustomers.’

‘Mylatehusband,’shecorrected.

‘I’msosorry.’Hebowedhishead.

Elizalookedathimclosernow.Hishandsweresmallerthanthoseofthe menshe’dknown,thefingersthatcradledtheteacupstainedwithink.He broughtittohislips,takingaslowsip.Hehadslightindentsoneithersideof hisnosefromill-fittingglasses.

‘Thisislovelytea,’hesaid.Itwasaclumsyattempttofillthesilence. ‘I’mgladyouthinkso.’

‘AndI’mgladtohavemetyouproperly,despiteyour…’

‘Currentcircumstances,yes.’Elizalookedaway,staringatthefireinthe hearth.Itwasamassofflamesnow,spittingonthefloorbeforeit.She wonderedwhatwouldhappenifitgrew,takingthehouse,andher,along withit.

‘Yourhusbandseemedtobeagoodman.’

Elizahesitated,consideringthestatement.‘Perhaps.’

‘Perhaps?’Heturnedtoher. ‘Hecouldbefoolish.’

‘Foolish?’

‘Hedidn’twant—’Elizabroughtherindexfingertoherlips,regrettingher words.Hergazemovedfromtheflamestothetracesofdustuponthefloor, herhandsfallingtoherstomach.

‘Wantwhat?’Francesasked.Eliza’sarmsflinchedandrestedonthearms ofthechair.

‘Money,’shewhispered,aknotforminginherabdomenwiththeliethat passedherlips.‘Hedidn'twantmoney.’

‘Surelythat’sagoodthing?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Warmernow?’Thewordspuncturedthesilence,andEliza’sthoughts.

Shenodded,herbodybeginningtothaw.Annahadleftteaonasilvertray betweenthem,andshewenttopour.Francesstoppedher.

‘TheBiblesayssomethingaboutgreedbeingoneofthegreatestsins,I’m sure.’Hegrinnedandraisedhiseyebrows.

‘Wearehuman,’shemuttered.‘We’reallguiltyofsin.’

Francesopenedhismouthtoreply,butnothingescaped. Elizastoodup,andthenwalkedtothewindow.Thegentlethudofher feetsoundedintheagainsilentroom,andshestaredahead.Theviewofthe seastirredthethoughtsinhermind,unwillingtoreleasetheimagesitclung to:herhusband’sfacewhenshetoldhimthenewsoftheirunbornchild;the gravenesspaintedacrossit;themanatherdoor,tellingherhewasdead.She wastiredoflivinginaworldofmen;theyrarelyseemedtobringgoodnews.

‘Eliza?’Francescalled.‘Iseverythingallright?’

Andnowherewasanother,whomforsomeunidentifiablereason,shehad allowedintoherhome.

About TheUnhappyMedium

TheUnhappyMedium isayoungadultparanormalnovelthatexploresmental illnessinteenagersandtheeffectsitcanhaveonayoungperson’sidentityand development.Theprotagonist,17-year-oldCassie,possessestheabilitytosee ghostsafteratragicaccidenttwoyearspriorthatkilledhersister.

Thestoryfollowsherjourneyasshetriestosolvethemurderofalocalboy whilealsostrugglingwithherowngrief,allthewhilenavigatingher complicatedrelationshipwithNate,theghosthauntingherhomewhoshe’s falleninlovewith.

Theboyinthephotographwasdead.Granted,hehadn’tbeenwhenI’dtaken itattheendoflastyear,whenFreddieBrookshadledthecollegefootball teamtotheirfirstchampionshipvictoryinsevenyears.Evenbeneaththe liquidofthestopbath,hissmilewaselectric,hisstraightwhiteteethpinkin thesafelight,cornrowsgatheredatthenapeofhisneck,thesweatonhis foreheadbrightlikepolishedsilver.Lookingathim,itwasimpossibleto knowhe’dbedeadwithinsixmonths.

Thewholetownandthosesurroundinghadbeenabuzzwiththenewsfor weeks;thebodyofastudentfoundintheparkbytheabandonedchurchoff FowlerRoad.Thepolicehadruleditgangrelated,anotherboysweptupin thechaosandcalamityofsomethinghedidn’tunderstand.Justanother haplesstragedy.

Ihadn’tsaidtwowordstohimwhenhe’dbeenalive,somethingthat mighthavebotheredmemoreifwe’druninsimilarcircles.Asitwas,IfeltI hadtoomuchgriefofmyowntospareanymoreforaboyIbarelyknew. Instead,myheartwentouttohisfamily.Iknewbetterthanmostthe wreckingstaboflosingsomeonesodearbeforetheyevenhadthechanceto flourish.

Thechicken-shapedtimersquawked,andIsnatcheditup,cuttingitoff. Carefully,IdippedmytongsintothesolutionandslippedFreddiefromthe trayintothefixingsolutionbesideitandresetthetimer.Then,Isettowork tidyingthedarkroom.“Darkroom”mighthavebeenastretch;let’scallaspade aspade,itwasacupboard,anasymmetricalspacecarvedfromanartblock corridor.Ifnotforthesheeramountofclutteranddiscardedartsupplies,it couldfitsix,maybesevenpeopleinside.Withthestackedboxesofprinter paperandabandoneddrumsofwhiteacrylicleakingontothelaminatefloor, Iloweredtheoddstoasolidthree.Thecabinetsalonetookupthefulllength ofonewall,eachpadlockedtokeeptheirrestrictedcontentssafe;craftknives, chemicals,orwhateverelsestudentsmightfeeltemptedtosteal,orhuff,or— Godforbid—drink.NoonehadchasedmeuponthefactthatI’dkeptthekeys sincethestartofterm,butthenitwasn’tasthoughanyoneusedthespace, givingmyprintsalonetheroomtobreatheastheyspreadnicelyacrossthe stretchesoftwineI’dstrungfromtheshelves.

IemptiedthechemicalsintothesparedrumI’dsetaside,thenrinsedthem inthesinkandleftthemupsidedowntodry.Iscrewedthecapsbackontothe bottleofchemicals;thephotographyteacher,MrBurges,hadnotonly labelledeachwithlettersthelengthofmyforefinger,butalsocolour coordinatedthetraystothelidofwhichchemicalstheyweremeantfor.Blue fordeveloper,redforstopbathandgreenforfixer.Itriednottotakeit personallyasIshovedthembackintotheirrespectivespacebeforecatching thetimerbeforeitstartedscreechingagain.

OnceI’dpulledFreddiefromtheremainingtray,Ihunghiminthesingle spaceleftonthetwineandsteppedbacktoadmiremywork.

Burgesoncesaid,‘Itisthejobofthephotographertocapturethatwhich theordinaryeyeoverlooks,’andIsmiledfondly;thesubjectsofmywork wentalittlebeyondoverlooked.Oneshowedamanstandingaloneina fourth-storeywindowoftheGrandRosseauHotel,anachronisticinhisbraces

andbowtie,hisedgesblackenedandwarpedlikethecornersofaburning photograph,piecesofhimdriftingawaylikesmoke.Anotherportrayeda youngwomanintie-dyehaltertopandflaredtrousers,starklyoutofplaceyet stillunnoticedbeneaththeshadeofcommuterumbrellas.Thefrontofher darkafrowasbraidedawayfromherbloodyface,herheadangledjustright toshowthemarkathertemplewherethebulletwentin.

Thelastprintwasmyfavourite,tuckedbetweenthehotelmananda photoofchildrenrunningthroughamistyplayground.Itshowedaboy,no olderthanme,perchedinnocuouslyontheedgeofawoodendeskchair,his longlegsfoldedatdisproportionateangleslikesomeonetryingtoshovea spiderintoabox.Hefocusedintentlyonthebookinhislap,nosekissingthe page,dampcurlscastinghisfeaturesinshadow.Therewasnothing immediatelywrongwiththeimage,butevenasItracedmyfingeralongthe lineofhisjaw,Imarvelledatthefacthewasthereatall.Itwaseasytoforget sometimesthatnoteveryonesawwhatIcould.Noteveryonewalkedhandin handwiththedead.

Therewassomethingalluringaboutseeingsomeonewhodidn’tknow theywerebeingobserved.Ofbeingabletocaptureapersonastheytruly were.Inthephoto,Natehadn’tbeenabletohidetherattyholeinhiscuffor stareoutthewindowlikethestarvingscholarhesolikedtobelievehewas. Thiswashismostauthenticself;aboysoenrapturedbythebatteredcopyof GreatExpectationshecradledthattherestoftheworldhadsimplyfaded away.Mostofthetime,hemadeapointofstayingasfarfromtheeyeofmy lensashecould,duckingoutofshotsordisappearingentirely.But,ifthere wasonewaytodistracthim,itwastohandhimthekeystoanotherworld. I’daskedhimoncehowhecouldreadthesamebookoverandoverwhenhe alreadyknewtheending.

‘Howcanyouphotographthingsyouseeeveryday?’he’dreplied.

‘BecauseIneverseethesamethingtwice.Atleast,notinthesameway.’

He’dlookedup,lipstwitching.‘There’syouranswer.’

Mythoughtsweretrampledbythesuddenfloodoflightinthedarkroom. Momentarilyblinded,Icouldonlyhearsomeoneshuffleintotheroom.They grumbledtothemselves,thendraggedthesinglestoolacrossthehardfloor withatoe-curlingscreech.Blinkingthespotsfrommyeyes,Inoticedthe personhadburrowedtheirheadinthefarcabinet,keysstillswinginginthe

lockastheyrummagedinsidelikearodentmakinganest.Bythegaudy patternontheircardigan,IguesseditwasBurges.Isuppressedasigh.

AsfarasRobinson’sfacultywent,Burgeswasn’ttheworst.Atfirstglance, hecouldalmostpassforeccentricandyoung,freshoffaPGCEwithhisfull headofchestnuthairandtortoiseshellglassesthatspentmoretimeonthe chainaroundhisneckthantheydidhisface.Oncloserinspection,youcould pluckthegreyinhisfour-daystubble,tracethedeeplinesinhisfacecarved fromsomethingotherthanlaughter.Hegotapassforhisunorthodox methodsgivenhe’dlosthisdaughtertheyearbeforeandstillcamebackto teach.Itwasamiracle,really.I’dneverthoughtyoucouldcomebackfrom thatkindofloss.Icertainlyhadn’t.

‘Aha!’Heannounced,bumpinghisheadasheshuffledbackoutofthe cabinet,kneesclickingasheroseandsmileddownathisprize.Itwasasmall, crumpledboxwithaflip-toplidthatIquicklyrealisedwasapacketof cigarettes.Iglancedatthesmokedetectorontheceiling,winkingitsonered eyeeverycoupleofsecondstoshowitwasworking.Clearly,Burgesnoticed ittoo.Hedugintohispocketandpulledoutwhatlookedlikeasmallfurry animalfrominside.Leavingthecigarettesonthecountertop,heclimbedup onthestoolwithallthegraceofapuppytryingtoclamberupabigstepand slippedthemouthofthesockoverthealarm.I’dseenthistrickbefore,afew yearsagowhenvisitingmysisteratuniversity.Thesmokehadhungheavy inherdormroom,richwiththelaughterandchatterofpeopleoldenoughto seeminvincibletome.Withthesockinplace,hemadehiswaybackdown andleantbackagainsttheopencabinetwithasighofrelief.Hetuggedouta cigarette;itbarelylookedrecognisable,letalonesmokeable,butBurges straighteneditoutasbesthecouldandslippeditbetweenhislipsanyway. ItwasatthispointIthoughtIshouldsaysomething,clearmythroator scuffmyshoe,makesomekindofsoundsohe’dknowhishideawaywasn’tas secretashe’dlike.Thenagain,I’dalsoleftitalittletoolongtodosoandnow nothingwouldmakethissituationanylessawkward.Besides,itwasbarely theendofthelunchbreakandafterafullmorningofclasses,Ididn’tthinkI hadtheenergyforBurges.Everyconversationwithhimwasaroulette.Atthe bestoftimes,it’dtakethreetriesbeforeheevennoticedyouweretalkingto him,attheworsthe’djuststareatyoulikehewasseeingsomeoneelse entirely.Theformerwasanuisance,butthelatter…Let’sjustsay,Iwas

gettingtiredofpeoplelookingatmewithoutreallyseeingme.

Ipulledmycardiganalittletighteraroundmyself,resignedtostandidly bywhilemyteachersmokedaloneinacupboard.Butmyelbowcaughtone ofthetraysI’dleftdryingandIonlyhadasecondtocringebeforeitclattered tothefloorlikeahandfuloffirecrackers.

Burges’shandflewtohisheart,andhegazedwide-eyedintothesemidarkness.Igingerlypokedmyheadaroundtheprintsandraisedahandin meekhello.‘Jesus,Cassandra!’Helookedatthecigarette,thenbackatme beforetryingpointlesslytohideitbehindhisback.‘Ididn’tthinkanyone— whyareyouhere?’HelookedmeupanddownasIslippedfrombehindthe wallofphotographs.‘Youshouldbegettingsomelunch.’

Iignoredtheconcernededgetohisvoice.‘Cassieisfine.’Thesmellof burningtobaccowasrifeintheair,soIadded,‘Iwasjustfinishingup.’

Heblinked,eyesfocusingonthehangingphotographsasifonlyjust noticingthem.‘Aretheseforyourportfolio?’Hisgazeskippedquicklyover thephotographofFreddietosettleonthemaninthehotelwindow.There wasaquiethissasheflickedthebuttofthecigaretteintothesink. ‘Extraordinarywork.Notthatyourworkistypicallyordinary—oranyonein classforthatmatter.Ijust—whatImeantwas—’Heslippedhisglassesonto hisnoseandpeeredcloser.Inoticedastainonhisshirtcuff,adarksplodge againstthepalepolka-dotfabric.Paint,probably.Orink.Hisbrowfurrowed. ‘Youremembertheprojectforthistermisportraits,don’tyouCassie?’

‘Ido,’Isaid,tryingtokeepthesmilefrommyvoice.Tohim,itwasjusta window,justabusstop,justacluttereddeskinagirl’sbedroom.Hecouldn’t seetheghostsinthephotographs,noonecould.Noonebutme.

HeglancedquicklyatthephotographofFreddie,thenbacktome,hisjaw tight.Itcouldn’tbeeasytoseethefaceofadeadstudentupclose.‘Anddo youhaveanyideawhoyoumightphotograph?’

‘Idon’tliketakingpicturesofpeople.’Ahalf-truth,buthopefullyenough toendthisconversation,letBurgeshuffthatlittleteacherlaughthatseemed tosay‘Teenagers,’beforelettingmeonmymerryway.

Instead,hefixedhispaleeyesonmine,magnifiedthree-foldbyhisglasses. ‘Whynot?’

BecauseIdon’tlikehowpeoplelookwhentheyknowyou’relooking. Iwanted toseepeopleastheywere,notwhotheythoughttheywere,orwhothey

thoughtIwantedthemtobe.Stephhadalwaysdonethat,theperfectsister withtheperfectsmileorpose,makingeventhemostmundaneofsettings magnificent.

Ishookthethoughtofherawayandshrugged.Ithoughthe’ddropit,but thenIsawthewayheregardedme,thatproblem-solvingsparkinhiseyethat saidthiswaswherehecouldmakethedifferenceheandallteacherslikehim dreamedof.‘HowaboutIgetintouchwiththedramadepartment?I’msure they’dbehappytoposeforyou.’Itdidn’tsoundlikehewasasking.‘Or someonefromfashion?I’msurethey’dbethrilled!’

Icouldn’tthinkofagoodenoughexcuseintime,sojustofferedhima nod.I’dfindawayoutofitlater.

‘Marvellous!’heannounced,clappinghishandsasthelunchbellrangits agreement.Burgesturnedtothedoor,jawtautasthesoundofstudentsbegan tobubbleinthehallway,growingcloserastheyfloodedfortheirnextclass. ‘Cassie,aboutbefore—’

‘Ididn’tseeanything.’

Hesighedinrelief.‘Iappreciatethat.’Heeyedthedoor,mouthworking asiftherewassomethingmorehewantedtosay.Orperhapshejusthad somethinginhisteeth.Theafternoonstampedegrew,thecacophonyof laughterandconversationonlyslightlymuffledbythedoor.Burgeslooked likehe’dratherstepintoarealstampede,Mufasastyle,thanfacewhatwas waitingontheotherside.‘I’llletyouknowwhenIhearbackfromthe departmentheads.’

Inodded,hopinghewouldn’t.Withabitofluck,he’dbesweptupinthe currentofthehalloutsideandforgethe’devenoffered.‘Thankyou,sir,’Isaid anyway.

Henoddedacoupleoftimes,thensteppeduptothedoorlikeaman wouldthegallows.Ionlyhadamomenttobracemyselfbeforehewrenched itopen,lettingthelightandsoundoftheriotoushallwayspillin.Amoment later,heslippedoutintothefray,thedoorclickingshutbehindhim.

Iletthethunderoutsideeasetotheoddscreechoftrainersagainstwaxed floorbeforeIevenconsideredfollowing.Bagonmyshoulder,Iturnedto leavewhenIcaughtthewinkofsomethinginthecornerofmyeye.Burges hadlefthiskeys,thechunkyplasticchainstilltwirlingalittle.Igrabbeditand headedoutintothehallway.ItwasonlyasIlockedupbehindmethatI

properlylookedatthekeychain.Itwasoneofthosenoveltyplasticonesyou boughtfromattractiongiftshops,abouthalfthesizeofaPost-Itwitha photographinside.Itwasalittledistortedwhereithadbeenresizedtofitthe frame,butIcouldstillmakeouttheprettyfreckledfaceoftheyounggirl smilingbackatme.

ItWasAllYellow

Yearsago,Robinson’sCollegehadbeenanartgallery,thefoyeranimposing spacewithcurvingstaircasesateitherendleadinguptothefirst,secondand thirdfloor.Once-grandstonepillarshadbeenpaintedsterilewhite,walls strippedbareofwhatevergrandeurhadoncehungthereandreplacedwith chessclubposters,notablestaffannouncementsandnoticesforfreechlamydia tests.

InthecentreofthefoyerstoodamagnificentEdwardianfountain,the waterlongsincedrainedandreplacedwithsoil,thecentralstatuesexchanged forshrubberyandplantsatthebaseofahugemonsterathatstretchedtowards thesecond-storeybalcony.Ioftenwonderedhowthey’dgottentheplantinto thebuilding,ifithadbeenbroughtinsmallerandsomehowthrivedbeneath thefluorescentlights.Someofthesmallerplantsstillborethescarsofthe Sport’sEducationstudent’syearlywaterballoonfight,neonrubberhanging fromthebrancheslikeafungus.

Thereweren’ttoomanypeoplemillingaroundbythetimeIstepped down;amanloiteredoutsidethefacultyofficesneartheglassfrontdoorsina suitthatmighthavelookedofficialifitwasanyothercolourthanbrown.A couplesattogetherononeoftheunnecessarilylowcouches,theirlegsso

entangledIcouldn’ttellwhowasonwhoselap.

Iwalkedpastthemanddumpedmybagonthefountain’sedgebefore hoppingup.Iwincedatthedamp-heatscentofsweatingsoillefttobakein thesun.PeeringupthroughtheholesintheSwiss-cheeseleaves,Icouldsee theskylightfourlevelsup,theonlypartofthegallery’soriginalarchitecture thatremaineduntouched.Afternoonsunlightpouredin,fracturingaround themetalholdingtheglassinplace,gildingthestarkwallsinshaftsofgold.It broughtasimple,mundanebeautytothespace,thekindIknewIcouldnever replicateoncamera.NotthatIminded;thebestthingswerethoseyou couldn’tcapturewithalensorpencilorpaint,thosethatcouldonlybedone justicewithbeingseen.

Accordingtotheclockonthewall,Istillhadeighteenminutesuntilthe nextbus.IfImissedthatone,I’dhavetowaitanotherforty-sixminutesifI wantedtogetaseatforthehalf-hourridehome.ItoccurredtomeIstillhad anessaydueforEnglishonDaphneduMaurier’s Rebecca. Italsooccurredto methatIhadn’tactuallyfinishedDaphneduMaurier’s Rebecca.

Figuringthatwasbetterthandossingaround,Ireachedintomybagfor thebook.‘Shit,’Imurmured,checkingandthendoublecheckingeveryslot andpocketinthebustedoldcanvasbeforeoptingtojustupenditsentire contentsontotheconcreteledge.Myphotographyportfoliowasthere,still initsprotectiveplastic,alongwithmyunfinishedsketchbookwithitssticker ofagormlesslookingfrogonatoadstool.TherewasthesandwichMumhad allbutshovedintomyhandsthatmorning,anarrayofpencilsandpens,some ofwhichhadleakedintothecanvas,butno Rebecca. IknewI’dputitinthis morning,distinctlyrememberedhavingitmyhandandtellingNate—

Ofcourse.

‘Bastard.’Ishovedtheinnardsbackintothebag,threwtheuntouched sandwichinthebin,thenresignedmyselftositandbeboredforthenext—I checkedtheclockagain—fourteenandahalfminutes.

Thecoupleacrossthefoyerwerenowsocloseitlookedlikeaspit-covered battleforwhocouldconsumetheotherfirst,andIcouldn’ttellwhowas winning.Tomyleft,aboyinamatching NIKE tracksuit-capcombowas shakingavendingmachine,kickingandcursinglikeitowedhimmoney whileagirlinatattybrownjacketwatchedoninamusement.Sheturnedto me;thefluorescentlightshadwashedthewarmthfromherbronzeskin,

ExcerptTitle

BellaFerrier

makingherseemashyandgrey,heralmost-blackbraidstarkincomparison. Withacursorysmile,sheopenedhermouthasiftosaysomething,butthe doortothecounsellor’sofficeopenedandtherewasMrsGarrityinallher fluffy,pearl-studded-jumperglory.Withoutaword,thegirlpushedoffthe wallandslippedinside,butGarritylingeredforamoment,shootingmea sympathetic,ifdisapproving,lookbeforepullingthedoorclosedbehindher. SincestartingatRobinson’s,I’dbeenbookedintoseeMrsGarritynine timesandhadshownupagrandtotalofonce.Itwasn’tanythingpersonal.If youcouldgetpastthesheddingjumpersandoverpoweringscentofcoldand flumedication,I’msureshewasalovelywoman.Butthatdidn’tchangehow sickIwasofsittingoppositestrangerswhiletheylistedpositiveaffirmations they’dfoundonFacebookorasked,‘Howdoesthatmakeyoufeel?’after everysentenceandcalleditcounselling.Yes,losingmysistersucked,the sputtering,punched-in-the-throat-when-you’re-least-expecting-itkindof sucked,butsittinginaroomwithawomanwhosomehowmanagedtorelate everythingbacktothelatestepisodeof Eastenders wasn’tgoingtostopitfrom sucking.

Iturnedfromherofficejustintimetoseesomeonenewenterthefoyer. IttookalongmomentbeforeIrealisedwhoitwas.EstherHopkinswas unrecognisable,lankhairpulledback,shouldershunchedinahoodiefartoo bigtobeherown.Shedraggedherfeetasshewent,comingtoastopinfront ofanoticeboardjustofftotheright.Itwassurrealtoseeherlikethis.Anyone whosteppedfootinRobinson’sknewwhoEstherwas,shemadesureofthat. Sheexistedsofully;shedrovetoofastandlivedtooloud,aburninglightthat drewinthosearoundherlikemoths.Ifyouwanteddrugs,parties,sex—and, ononeoccasion,acanoe—shewastheoneyouasked.

Chapter1

Duisdiamurna,iaculisut,vehiculaac,variussitamet,mi.Donecidnisl. Aliquameratvolutpat.Integerfringilla.Duislobortis,quamnonvolutpat suscipit,magnasemconsequatlibero,achendreriturnaanteidmi.Quisque commodofacilisistellus.Integersodalesloremsednisl.Morbiconsectetuer maurisquisodio.Utdolorlorem,viverravitae,viverraeu,euismodnec,enim. Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.

Atleast,shehadbeen,beforethemurder.

Morbinisleros,dignissimnec,malesuadaet,convallisquis,augue. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Proinaliquam,leoatluctustempus,eroslectuseleifendmassa, quissollicitudineratmagnanonleo.Vestibulumvelmetus.Donecsagittis velitvelaugue.Fusceinnislvitaemassavenenatisrhoncus.Praesentorcivelit, lobortiseget,suscipitsemper,congueeu,est.Quisquemalesuadavolutpat enim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattisbibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl. Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendissefermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesent

About TheGrassIsn’tAlwaysGreener

RachelandSuziarebestfriends.Theycomefromdifferentworlds.Rachel grewupinacouncilhouseontheedgeofBristol.SuziinamanorinSuffolk. Butthishasnevermattereduntiltheyfallinlovewiththesameman.To recoverfromtheirheartbreak,theyembarkonseparatejourneysofselfdiscovery.RachelretreatstoacottageinCornwall,wheretheruggedrawness ofthelandscapeencouragehertoexpressherfeelingsthroughart,andthe peoplewhosurroundherslowlybegintofilltheSuzisizedhole.Suziisleft adriftinBristol,filledwithguiltandalongingforheronetruefriend.Can theyeverforgiveandlearntoloveagain?

Astoryoffriendshipandlove,withundertonesofnatureandquestions aroundclassandwhetherwecaneverescapewherewecomefrom.

Quisquemalesuadavolutpatenim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattis bibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl.Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendisse fermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesentpharetra.Inconsequatfelisintellus.Inmi enim,rhoncusullamcorper,sagittisat,placerateget,mauris.Suspendisse auctoreratatipsum.Aliquamvitaetortoridmassatincidunteleifend.

Inhachabitasseplateadictumst.Maurisrutrumenimvitaemauris.Proin mattiseleifendpede.Sedpretiumantesitametelit.Quisquepedetellus, dictumeget,dapibusac,sodalesdictum,lectus.Pellentesquemidui,molestie sitamet,adipiscingid,iaculisquis,arcu.Nullatellussem,viverraeu,ultricies ac,mattiset,velit.Maecenasquismagna.Utviverranisleuipsum.Maecenas rhoncus.Duismattisnisinecsapien.Nullameuantenonenimtincidunt fringilla.Integerleo.Duisegetenim.

TheGrassIsn’tAlwaysGreener

Curabiturfeliserat,tempuseu,placeratet,pellentesquesed,purus.Sedsed diam.Namnunc.Classaptenttacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubia nostra,perinceptoshymenaeos.Aeneanrisusest,porttitorvel,placeratsit amet,vestibulumsitamet,nibh.Utfaucibusjustoquisnisl.Etiamvulputate, sapieneuegestasrutrum,leonequeluctusdolor,sedhendrerittortormetusut dui.Etiamidpedeporttitorturpistristiquelacinia.Suspendissepotenti.Etiam feugiat.

ChapterTwo

Racheljumpedwhenavoicecameoutofthedarknessasshesteppedintothe entrancehall.

‘Hello,whatyouupto?’

Sheswiftlyhitthetimedlightswitch.StoodinhisdoorwaywasColin. ‘Youmademejump,’sheresponded,reachingforthebanister,tryingto makeaquickescape.

Helookedupather.Hishairwasunwashedandstucktohishead.Hehad dousedhimselfincheapaftershave,thestenchfilledtheairandcaughtinher throat.

‘Isawyouthroughthewindow.Beenforawalk?’Hiseyeswanderedover herbody.

‘Yes.I’mofftoworknow.’Sheclimbedacoupleofstairs.‘Mustchange, bye.’

Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.Crasgravidasem utmassa.Quisqueaccumsanporttitordui.Sedinterdum,nislutconsequat tristique,lacusnullaportamassa,sedimperdietsemnuncvitaeeros. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Pellentesquesitametmetus.Nullamtinciduntposuereligula. Aeneanvolutpatultricesligula.Intincidunt.Aeneanviverrasuscipittellus. Suspendissesemlorem,ornarenon,vestibulumut,temporporttitor,est. Quisqueconvallisaliqueteros.Nuncnecnullaegeturnaconvalliseleifend. Nullafeugiaterosataugue.Integerfeugiatnisivitaevelit.Crascursusipsum veldolor.Sedpulvinar.Etiamvelitorci,pellentesqueat,porttitorblandit, luctuseu,justo.Donecinodiosednislvenenatisfeugiat.Phasellussodales, pededapibusrhoncusdignissim,justoturpisornarefelis,inimperdietpede metusquistellus.Proinimperdiet,quamagravidapulvinar,estsemfaucibus felis,sitametconsequatpedeturpisidante.Infacilisissodalesarcu.Mauris tincidunt.Classaptenttacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubianostra, perinceptoshymenaeos.

‘Oh,okthen.’Disappointmentdrippedfromhistone.‘Givemeaknock

whenyougetback.’

Racheldidn’trespondbutranupthelastfewstairstoherflat.Oncein,she quicklyturnedthelock,leantagainstthedoorandshuddered.Looking towardsherbathroom,shewishedshehadtimeforashower.Instead,she quicklysprayedherselfwithdeodorant,changed,thengrabbedasachetofcat foodandshoveditinherbag.

Havingsilentlyclosedherdoor,shepeeredoverthebanisters.Colin’sdoor wasclosed.Seizingheropportunity,shetookadeepbreathandfleddownthe stairs.Leavingherflatwaslikerunningthegauntlet,theobstaclebeingColin andhisunwantedadvances.Onceoutsideshecouldbreatheagain.Shelooked atherwatch.

Ah,I’vegottenminutestogetthere.

Shemarchedalongthepavement,weavingthroughtheconstantflowof workerswho'dditchedtheircarsforagreenercommute.Anewstreamof pedestriantrafficthatRachelwasalwaysswimmingagainst.Fiveminutesto getthere.

IhatebeinglateandMarcohatesitmore.

Urgencypushedherforward,asalmonbattlingitswayupriver.

Lookingthroughthewindow,therestaurantwasstillindarkness. Relieved,shenippeddownthesidealleyandintothebackcourtyard.Noone wasaround,soshequicklyopenedthesachetofcatfoodandpoppedthe contentsdownontheground,thenditchedtheevidenceinawheeliebin.

Slippinginthebackdoor,shehungherjacketandbagononeofthestaff pegs,thenwenttothecloakroomtowashherhands.Straighteningouther skirt,shewalkedintothekitchen.

‘You’relate,’Marcogrumbledwithoutturningaround,keepinghiseyes andattentiononthesaladhewaspreparing.Shelookedupattheclock,six onthedot.

‘It’ssix,andgoodeveningtoyoutoo.’Hersmilewaswastedontheback ofhishead.

‘Youshouldbehereattento.’

ButIgetpaidfromsix. ‘Sorry.I’llgettoit,’shesaidwhilstwalkingintothe restaurant.

‘Icanalwaysfindsomeoneelsewhoisn’tlate,’Marcocalledafterher,the samethreatmostdays.Liam,whowasbehindthebarcleaningglasses,raised

hiseyebrowsatRachelwhosmiledandmouthed hello back.

Itwasabusynight;thispleasedRachelasthetimewentbyquicklyand thetipsjarslowlyfilled.Therewerenoparticularlydifficultcustomers,except foronemanwhowantedeveryitemonthemenuexplainedindetail;notjust theingredients,buthoweachdishwasprepared.Rachelmadeupwhatshe didn’tknow,notwantingtohassleMarco.Heseemedsatisfiedwithher answers,eventuallydecidingonthespaghetticarbonara,muchtothereliefof hishungryparty.

ExcerptTitle

BellaFerrier

AsRachelstoodbythebar,waitingforthelastcustomerstofinish,she musedoverhowinvisibleshewashere.Sheplacedmenusinfrontofchatting coupleswhorarelyevenglancedinherdirection.Thesamewhenshe broughttheirfood.Ofcourse,therewastheoccasionalgratefuldinerwho wouldlookherintheeyewhentheythankedher.Therehadalsobeenthe over-friendlywanderinghandsorwinking,nudginggroupsofmen;these Rachelfoundhardertodealwiththanthecomplainingcustomers.Butmost eveningshereshewasunseen.

Herfeetandbackwereaching.Shehadn’tsatdownforfourhoursand longedtogethome,takehershoesoffandcrashontohersofa.Thinkingof herflatbroughtanimageofaloomingfigurestoodinhisdoorway.

Chapter1

Colin.

Whenshe’dfirstmovedin,Colinhadimmediatelyintroducedhimselfand seemedpleasedshewasthere,sayingthelastresidentwasstand-offishand howhehopedtheycouldbefriends.He’dseemedlonelyandRachel,anxious nottocomeacrossasunneighbourly,hadinvitedhimroundforcoffee.Big mistake.Colinhadarrivedandafteranhourofsmalltalkandtwocupsof coffee,Rachelhadtriedtowinditup,buthedidn’tgetthehint.Hekept rummaginginhispocketandwhileshetriednottolook,shekeptwondering whathewassearchingfor.Itslowlydawnedonherthathewasn’ttryingto findanythinginhispocket.She’dbeenscaredanddesperateforhimtoleave, butafearofconfrontationstoppedherfromtellinghimtogo.HerfriendSuzi would’veeasilydealtwiththissituation.

Duisdiamurna,iaculisut,vehiculaac,variussitamet,mi.Donecidnisl. Aliquameratvolutpat.Integerfringilla.Duislobortis,quamnonvolutpat suscipit,magnasemconsequatlibero,achendreriturnaanteidmi.Quisque commodofacilisistellus.Integersodalesloremsednisl.Morbiconsectetuer maurisquisodio.Utdolorlorem,viverravitae,viverraeu,euismodnec,enim. Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.

Justkickhimout.

ButRachelwasn’tlikeSuzi,andthethoughtofbeingrudeorassertive madeherpalmsdampwithanxiety.Luckily,Rachelhadbeensavedbyan opportunecallfromSuzi.TellingColinshereallydidhavetotakethecall,she

Morbinisleros,dignissimnec,malesuadaet,convallisquis,augue. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Proinaliquam,leoatluctustempus,eroslectuseleifendmassa, quissollicitudineratmagnanonleo.Vestibulumvelmetus.Donecsagittis velitvelaugue.Fusceinnislvitaemassavenenatisrhoncus.Praesentorcivelit, lobortiseget,suscipitsemper,congueeu,est.Quisquemalesuadavolutpat enim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattisbibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl. Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendissefermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesent

hadescortedhimtothedoor.

Sincethen,Colinhadbeenaconstantshadowinherhallway.Shenever invitedhiminagain,oracceptedhisnumerousinvitationsforcoffee,butit waslikehehadasixthsense,alwaysopeningthedoortohisgroundfloorflat justassheenteredthebuilding.

Thelastcustomerswerejustputtingontheircoatsandmovingtowards thedoorandshesighedinreliefassheturnedthesignoverto“closed”.She spentthenexthalfhourclearingupandresetting.Liamhadalreadysubtly countedoutthetipsandhandedRachelhershare.

‘Seeyoutomorrow?’heaskedassheputonherjacket. ‘Lunchshift,’shereplied.‘Seeyouthen.’

‘Anddon’tbelate,’Marcocalledfromthekitchen.

LiamandRachelsmiled.‘Goodnight,Marco.’

LiamwalkedoffupthesidealleyandRachelwaved,thenpretendedto lookforsomethinginherbag.Whenshewassurehewasgone,shelooked behindthebins.Thecatfoodhadgone.

Ah,good.Goodnight,Guinevere.

AsifsheheardRachel’sthoughts,thefoxappearedfromaroundtheback wall.Hercoatglistenedintheamberstreetlight.WhenRachelhadfirstseen her,nearlyayearago,shehadbeenverythinandscruffy.Withagoodmeal wheneverRachelhadashift,shehadflourished,andoftenvisitedatclosing time.RachelhadalwayslovedtheArthurianlegendsand Excalibur hadbeen oneofherparents’favouritefilms.She’dgrownupwithtwotabbycats, MerlinandArthur.Whennamingthefoxshe’dtoyedwithMorgana,butthe foxwasabittimid,soshedecidedGuineverewasmoreapt.

ThefoxandRachellookedintoeachother’seyesforamoment,then Marcoopenedthebackdoor.

‘Getoutofthere!’Marco’svoiceshatteredthestillness.

Guineveredisappearedsilentlyinanorangeblur.

‘Bloodyvermin.Alwaysdiggingaroundinthebins.’

Rachelcringedatthewordvermin.Foxeswerebeautifulinhereyesand deservedrespect.Theirhomewasvanishingunderman’sgiantfootprint,and shewantedtodowhatshecouldtohelp.‘Goodnight,Marco,’shesaidagain asshetoodisappeareddownthesidealleyonherwaybackhome,hopingto beabletogetintoherflatasstealthilyasafox.

Quisquemalesuadavolutpatenim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattis bibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl.Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendisse fermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesentpharetra.Inconsequatfelisintellus.Inmi enim,rhoncusullamcorper,sagittisat,placerateget,mauris.Suspendisse auctoreratatipsum.Aliquamvitaetortoridmassatincidunteleifend.

Inhachabitasseplateadictumst.Maurisrutrumenimvitaemauris.Proin mattiseleifendpede.Sedpretiumantesitametelit.Quisquepedetellus, dictumeget,dapibusac,sodalesdictum,lectus.Pellentesquemidui,molestie sitamet,adipiscingid,iaculisquis,arcu.Nullatellussem,viverraeu,ultricies ac,mattiset,velit.Maecenasquismagna.Utviverranisleuipsum.Maecenas rhoncus.Duismattisnisinecsapien.Nullameuantenonenimtincidunt fringilla.Integerleo.Duisegetenim.

Curabiturfeliserat,tempuseu,placeratet,pellentesquesed,purus.Sedsed diam.Namnunc.Classaptenttacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubia nostra,perinceptoshymenaeos.Aeneanrisusest,porttitorvel,placeratsit amet,vestibulumsitamet,nibh.Utfaucibusjustoquisnisl.Etiamvulputate, sapieneuegestasrutrum,leonequeluctusdolor,sedhendrerittortormetusut dui.Etiamidpedeporttitorturpistristiquelacinia.Suspendissepotenti.Etiam feugiat.

ChapterThree

ThefrontdoorslammedshutandRachelbreathedasighofrelief.Colinhad left.OnherreturnhomefromMarco’slastnight,she’dalsohadalucky escape.Asshe’drevvedherselftoflyupthestairs,she’dheardsnoresdrifting throughhisdoor.

Rachellookedatherscrewedupattemptsofartwork.She’dhadavery unproductivemorning.Eventhoughshenowhadanideaofwhatshecould paint,itjustwasn’tgoingwell.Timehadrunoutandshe’dhadtoflytoa busylunchtimeshiftatMarco’s.Feelingdespondent,Rachelwasnowsaton hersofa,herphonetuckedunderherchinasshepaintedhertoenails,nottoo successfully.

‘Please,cometonight.Itwillbefun,Ipromise!’beggedSuzi.

‘YouknowIhatebeingathirdwheel.’

‘Itwon’tbelikethat.Charlieisbringinglotsoffriends,it’snotadate.’

‘Whenyousaybringingfriends,you’dbetternotbesettingmeup.’

‘You’resosuspicious.No,I’mnotsettingyouupwithanyone.We’rejust goingoutwithawholegangofhisfriends,andIwouldlikemybestfriend tobethere.Youkeepsayingwedon’tseeenoughofeachother,sohere’sour chance.’

‘Youcan’tblamemeforbeingsuspicious.It’snotlikeyouhaven’tdoneit before.’

Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.Crasgravidasem utmassa.Quisqueaccumsanporttitordui.Sedinterdum,nislutconsequat tristique,lacusnullaportamassa,sedimperdietsemnuncvitaeeros. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Pellentesquesitametmetus.Nullamtinciduntposuereligula. Aeneanvolutpatultricesligula.Intincidunt.Aeneanviverrasuscipittellus. Suspendissesemlorem,ornarenon,vestibulumut,temporporttitor,est. Quisqueconvallisaliqueteros.Nuncnecnullaegeturnaconvalliseleifend. Nullafeugiaterosataugue.Integerfeugiatnisivitaevelit.Crascursusipsum veldolor.Sedpulvinar.Etiamvelitorci,pellentesqueat,porttitorblandit, luctuseu,justo.Donecinodiosednislvenenatisfeugiat.Phasellussodales, pededapibusrhoncusdignissim,justoturpisornarefelis,inimperdietpede metusquistellus.Proinimperdiet,quamagravidapulvinar,estsemfaucibus felis,sitametconsequatpedeturpisidante.Infacilisissodalesarcu.Mauris tincidunt.Classaptenttacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubianostra, perinceptoshymenaeos.

‘Ok,ok,Iknow,you’vetoldmeenoughtimes.So,backtotonight.I’ll swingbyyourplacearoundeight.Can’twaittoseeyou.’

Withthatshewasgone.

Racheldroppedherphoneontothesofa,screwedthetopbackontoher nailvarnishandruefullyshookherhead.Suzialwaysgotherownwayinthe end,alwayshad,whichshe’ddiscoveredthedaythey’dmet.Suzihadbreezed intoRachel’shall’sroomcarryingabigboxburstingwithcolourfulcushions andthrows.‘Putyourkettleon,’she’dsaid.‘Icantellwe’regoingtobethe bestoffriends.’ Rachellookedatherbrightlycolouredcocktail.Howtheymanagedtoget thedifferentcoloursinlayers,shehadnoidea,butlovedthelookofit.It tastedsweetandstrong.Verystrong.

Betternothavetoomanyofthese.

‘It’saRainbowParadise,’Suzihaddeclaredasshehadplaceditinfrontof Rachelfiveminutesearlier.

‘What’sinit?’

‘Noideabutitlooksgreat.’Suzitookasipthroughtheluminousgreen straw,managingtojustavoidpokinghereyewiththeminiparasol.

Theyallsatatalargewoodentable.Thechairswereleathercoveredand feltsmoothandluxurious,thetablewasfullofglassesthatsparkledwith flickeringreflectionsfromthenumerouscandles.Thewinebarhadalow stoneceilingandarchwaysthatmadeitfeelabitlikebeinginacellar.Rachel smiledasshewatchedSuziworkingthegroup.Theyallseemedsoathome. Rachelhadneverbeeninthewinebarbefore.She’dwalkedpastafewtimes, gawpingatthepriceoftheproudly-announcedcocktailofthenightonan A-frameboardoutside.HerRainbowParadisewasnice,but£15nice?She wasn’tsosure.She’doftenwonderedwhohadthatkindofmoneytothrow awayonfancydrinks.Well,nowsheknew.Rachelnervouslyshiftedinher seat.Therewasastrongsmellofexpensiveperfumewhichcompletely overwhelmedher BodyShop WhiteMusk.

SuziwasdrapedaroundhernewboyfriendCharlie’sshoulders.Sheflicked herlongblondehair,whichtumbledoverherbrightbluesatinmididress. Withhisnavycheckedsuitandfloppyblondehair,theyvisually

complimentedeachothernicely.HerubbedSuzi’sarmandsmiledather. Rachelwaspleasedtoseeherlookinghappy.HavingmetCharlieacoupleof timesnow,Rachelcouldseetheyworkedwelltogether,similarintheir confidence,flamboyance,andthewaytheyheldtheattentionoftheroom. Shehopedthiswasarelationshipthatwouldwork.

Suzithenmovedontotalktoadark-hairedmanwhowasstanding slightlyawayfromthegroup.Everyoneelseatthelargetablecontinued talkingandlaughing,buthekeptbackalittle,notreallyjoininginwiththe chatterthatwasslowlygrowinginvolumealongwiththelevelofalcohol consumed.

ExcerptTitle

BellaFerrier

HestoodouttoRachel,notjustbecauseofhisstrikingblackhairand chiselledcheekbonesbutbecausehewasdresseddifferentlytoeveryoneelse, simpleinablackt-shirt,jeansandratherworn-lookingbrownleatherankle boots,whereasCharlie’sgangwerealllookingexpensivelysmart.She suddenlyrealisedshewasstaringathimwhenhelookedstraightather.She quicklyflickedhereyesdownandsmoothedherskirt.

Charliewasholdingcourtattheheadofthetable,hisfriendshanging ontoeverywordofeveryanecdote.Theyfoundallhisstorieshilarious.

Chapter1

Rachel,feelingshewassomehowmissingthepunchlineeachtime,smiled along,justtryingtofitin.Asmartlookingwomannexttoherturnedto speak.Rachel,who’dbeenswiftlyintroducedtoeveryone,desperatelytried torememberhername,thoughtitwasMeena,andprayedshewouldn’tneed touseitincaseshegotitwrong.

‘So,whatdoyoudo?’sheasked,lookingatRachelasifshewasanabstract artwork.

Duisdiamurna,iaculisut,vehiculaac,variussitamet,mi.Donecidnisl. Aliquameratvolutpat.Integerfringilla.Duislobortis,quamnonvolutpat suscipit,magnasemconsequatlibero,achendreriturnaanteidmi.Quisque commodofacilisistellus.Integersodalesloremsednisl.Morbiconsectetuer maurisquisodio.Utdolorlorem,viverravitae,viverraeu,euismodnec,enim. Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.

‘Me?’Rachellookeddownatherskirtfeelingself-consciousathow shabbyshelooked.‘Oh,Iillustratechildren’sbooksandI—’ ‘Really?Howquaint.Idrawforahobbytoo.’

Rachelwasabouttorespond,butCharliethenfinishedanotherstorywith aloudclimax;‘...andIsaid,it’sprobablybestyoudon’tbendoverinmyoffice again.’

Everyonefellaboutinhysterics,includingMeena,whoseemedtoknow whatthestorywasabouteventhoughshe’donlyheardthepunchline.

Mike,afriendwhoseemedtobeatCharlie’ssidethroughouttheevening, offeredtobuyeveryoneanotherdrinkanddisappearedtothebar.

Morbinisleros,dignissimnec,malesuadaet,convallisquis,augue. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Proinaliquam,leoatluctustempus,eroslectuseleifendmassa, quissollicitudineratmagnanonleo.Vestibulumvelmetus.Donecsagittis velitvelaugue.Fusceinnislvitaemassavenenatisrhoncus.Praesentorcivelit, lobortiseget,suscipitsemper,congueeu,est.Quisquemalesuadavolutpat enim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattisbibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl. Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendissefermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesent

RachelturnedtocontinueherconversationbutrealisedMeenahadmoved onandwastalkingtosomeoneelse.Shetookasipofhercocktail,desperate tokeepheruneaseatbay.LookinguptowardsSuzi,itwasasifshe’dcalled hername.SuziinstinctivelyturnedtoRachelandcametojoinher.

‘Youok?Havingagoodtime?YoumustcomeandmeetConor.’Suzi grabbedRachelbythearmanddraggedherovertothedark-hairedmanshe’d beenstaringat.

‘Conor,thisisRachel.Rachel,Conor.I’mjustgoingtohelpMikewith thedrinks.’WiththatSuzistruttedoff.Rachelfoundherselflookingupinto thepalestofblueeyes,sparklingwithamusementatSuzi’snotverysubtle disappearance.

‘Hi…I’m…Rachel,’shefaltered,hermindasuddenswirlingmess,even herownnamelostinthefog.

‘Yes,IkindofgatheredthatfromSuzi’sintroduction.’Hesmiled,amused byherobviousnervousness,buttherewasakindnessinhistone.Hewasn’t mockingher.TherewasaslightIrishlilttohisvoice,whichsurprisedher;all Charlie’sotherfriendssoundedthesame,upper-classEnglish.

Rachelrelaxedabitandsmiledatherownuselessnessatsmalltalk.

‘SohowdoyouknowSuzi?’

‘Wewenttoartcollegetogether.’

‘Really?Anotherartistthen?’

Rachel’scheeksflushed,rememberingMeena’swords.‘Um,well,kindof. Ialsowaitress.’

‘Whatkindofartworkdoyoudo?’Heseemedgenuinelyinterested.

SoonRachelfoundherselftellinghimallaboutthebooksshe’dworked on,thefavouritecharactersshe’dcreatedandtheirdifferentworlds.Whilehe listened,hiseyesneverlefthers,asmileonhislipsandhisheadtiltedtowards hersohecouldhearheroverthehubbubofthebar.

Suzireturnedwiththeirdrinks.

‘Anotherbitofparadiseforyou,myfriend,’shesaidwithaknowinglook, ‘andapintforyou,Conor,’shecontinuedwithobviousdisapproval.

‘I’veneverdevelopedatasteforthose,’Conorsaid,noddinghishead towardsRachel’smulti-colouredglass,andtookacontentedsipofhisbeer.

SuziwaltzedofftoretrievehercocktailfromCharlie,swingingherself gracefullyontohislapandholdingherdrinkuphigh,amovementworthyof

atenin Strictly.RachelandConorsmiledateachotherastheywatchedher sweepingturn.

‘ThebestVienneseWaltztwirlI’veseeninawhile.’

‘Soundslikeyouknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,’Rachelsaid.

‘Mysisterusedtodancewhenwewerekids.IwasdraggedalloverIreland tohercompetitionsandIcouldn’thelpbutpickupthelingo.’

‘Youweren’ttemptedtojoinher?’

‘No,notforme.Iwasmuchmoreinterestedinridingthandancing.’

‘Yourodehorses?’ThisalsosurprisedRachel;theonlyhorsepowermost ofCharlie’sfriendsseemedinterestedinwasthefour-wheelvariety.

‘Yep,andstilldo.That’showIknowCharlie.HeownstheracehorsesI helptrain.’

Therewego,thejigsawsuddenlyfittedtogether.ThiswashowConor waspartofCharlie’sworld,aloveofhorses,ormakingmoneyfromthem,at least.

‘Doyouride?’Conorasked.

‘No.Tobehonest,horsesscareme;they’rejustsobig,sounpredictable.’

RachelsawabriefflickerofdisappointmentinConor’seyesandsuddenly wishedshedidrideandwassurprisedatherdesiretopleasethismanshe’d onlyjustmet.

‘That’sashame.Isupposeyouwon’tbecomingtoLansdownonthe weekendthen?’

‘What’satLansdown?’

‘Bathracecourse.OneofCharlie’shorsesisracingthisSaturday.Itwillbe goodfun.Evenifyou’renotthatkeenonthehorses,you’llhaveagrandtime. YoushouldcomealongwithSuzi.’

Ican’tstopthinkinghowlovelyyouraftershaveis,muskywithahintofcitrus. ‘DidIhearmynamementioned?’Suziaskedassheskippedovertojoin them.

Concentrateoryou’lllookafoolagain.

‘ConorwasjusttellingmeaboutBathRaces,saidyouweregoing?’

‘Ohyes,youshouldcomeRach,ohyou’dloveit!It’ssoexcitingespecially ifyoumaketheoddbet;betterputmoneyonCharlie’shorse.It’ssuretobea winner.CleverBoy’sgotthebesttrainerintheSouthWest.Isn’tthatright Conor?’SuziraisedhereyebrowsatRachel.

‘Wouldn’tliketosay,there’slotsofgoodtrainersaround,’Conorsaid modestly.

‘Well,Charlie’salwayssingingyourpraises.Hey,Charlie,’Suzicalled. Charlielookedoverhisshoulderather.‘Rachel’sgoingtocometotheraces withusonSaturday.’

‘Belovelytohaveyouthere.Themorethemerrier,’Charliereplied,then turnedhisattentionbacktothoseatthetable.‘Now,whofanciesanother drink?’

Everyonerespondedwithachorusof yesplease.

RachellookedbacktoConorandfoundhimsmilingather.‘Well,itseems likeyou’reofftotheracesthen.’

‘Idon’thavemuchchoicewhereSuziisconcerned,’Rachelreplied, inwardlysmiling.

AndnowIhaveanexcusetoseeyouagain.

Quisquemalesuadavolutpatenim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattis bibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl.Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendisse fermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesentpharetra.Inconsequatfelisintellus.Inmi enim,rhoncusullamcorper,sagittisat,placerateget,mauris.Suspendisse auctoreratatipsum.Aliquamvitaetortoridmassatincidunteleifend.

Inhachabitasseplateadictumst.Maurisrutrumenimvitaemauris.Proin mattiseleifendpede.Sedpretiumantesitametelit.Quisquepedetellus, dictumeget,dapibusac,sodalesdictum,lectus.Pellentesquemidui,molestie sitamet,adipiscingid,iaculisquis,arcu.Nullatellussem,viverraeu,ultricies ac,mattiset,velit.Maecenasquismagna.Utviverranisleuipsum.Maecenas rhoncus.Duismattisnisinecsapien.Nullameuantenonenimtincidunt fringilla.Integerleo.Duisegetenim.

ChapterFour

No,no…No!

Rachelfeltherstomachsinkthroughtheground.Herlegswenttojelly andasurgeofbilehitthebackofherthroat.

Curabiturfeliserat,tempuseu,placeratet,pellentesquesed,purus.Sedsed diam.Namnunc.Classaptenttacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubia nostra,perinceptoshymenaeos.Aeneanrisusest,porttitorvel,placeratsit amet,vestibulumsitamet,nibh.Utfaucibusjustoquisnisl.Etiamvulputate, sapieneuegestasrutrum,leonequeluctusdolor,sedhendrerittortormetusut dui.Etiamidpedeporttitorturpistristiquelacinia.Suspendissepotenti.Etiam feugiat.

‘Howcouldyou?’Hervoicecracked.

Marcowasstoodinthemiddleoftheyard.Heldinhisgrubbyfistwasthe lifelessbodyofGuinevere,danglingbyherregaltail.‘Ican’tclearmyown yardofdisease-riddenvermin?’

‘But…’Rachel’seyesswamwithtears,blurringthesight.

Marcotuttedandmumbledsomethingaboutbeingoversentimental.He liftedthelidofthelargewheeliebinsetagainstthewalloftherestaurant’s backyardandthrewGuinevereinside.Shelandedwithagentlethudonwhat Rachelknewwouldbeaweek’sworthofvegetablepeelingsanddiscarded leftovers.Hebrushedhishandstogether,asifproudofajobwelldone. ‘Wehaveworktodo.’Hewalkedtowardsthebackdooroftherestaurant, thenturned.‘Areyoucoming?’

Rachellookedupintohiscoldeyes.Notknowingwhatelsetodo,she noddedandslowlyfollowedhimin.

Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.Crasgravidasem utmassa.Quisqueaccumsanporttitordui.Sedinterdum,nislutconsequat tristique,lacusnullaportamassa,sedimperdietsemnuncvitaeeros. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Pellentesquesitametmetus.Nullamtinciduntposuereligula. Aeneanvolutpatultricesligula.Intincidunt.Aeneanviverrasuscipittellus. Suspendissesemlorem,ornarenon,vestibulumut,temporporttitor,est. Quisqueconvallisaliqueteros.Nuncnecnullaegeturnaconvalliseleifend. Nullafeugiaterosataugue.Integerfeugiatnisivitaevelit.Crascursusipsum veldolor.Sedpulvinar.Etiamvelitorci,pellentesqueat,porttitorblandit, luctuseu,justo.Donecinodiosednislvenenatisfeugiat.Phasellussodales, pededapibusrhoncusdignissim,justoturpisornarefelis,inimperdietpede metusquistellus.Proinimperdiet,quamagravidapulvinar,estsemfaucibus felis,sitametconsequatpedeturpisidante.Infacilisissodalesarcu.Mauris tincidunt.Classaptenttacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubianostra, perinceptoshymenaeos.

Throughouttheevening,Rachelwasonautopilot,hermindandface blank.Takeorders.Presentthefood.Cleartheplates.Deliverthebill.She couldn’tletherthoughtsdrifttothebeautifulcorpseinthebin.

Function,don’tfeel.

Wheninthekitchenshecouldn’tlookatMarco,notevenathishands. Thehandsthatwerejustholding…Stop. Hemadethingsevenworsewhen hestartedhummingandsingingalongtoNessunDorma.Happyinhiswork.

Rachelfeltsickinhispresence.

ItwasquietforaFridaynightandshecouldn’tdecideifthiswasgoodor bad.Busymeantmoretipsandthetimepassedquicker,butherlimbswere heavywithexhaustion.Maybeitwasablessingtherewerelesstablestowork.

ThenoiseofMarcoliftingouttherubbishbagfromthemetalkitchenbin, broughtRachelswiftlytofocus.

No,hecan’tthrowrubbishontopofher.

Shespedintothecorridor,blockinghispath.‘I’lltakethatoutforyou.’

Shemadeagrabfortheblackbag.

‘Ok,butdon’tgetyourclothesdirty.’Hethenadded,‘andwashyour handsproperlyafterwards.’

Rachelnoddedasshewalkeddownthecorridortothebackdoor.Making sureshecloseditbehindher,sheslowlymadeherwaytothebin.Unsureof exactlywhatshewasgoingtodo,shecasthereyesaround,lookingfor…

Yes,afruitbox.

Sheliftedthelidofthebin.Guinevere’sbodylayontopofseveralbin bags.Herunseeingeyesweredullbuthercoatshone,reflectingtheamber streetlight.ThefoxhadbeensohealthythankstoRachel’scare,upuntil Marco’spoisonhadcoursedthroughherveins.Thefox’slipsweredrawn back,andhertonguefelloutthroughheropenmouth,evidenceofherfinal torturedmoments.Asiftooffersomecomfort,Rachelreachedouttostroke herfortheveryfirsttime.Shewascold,butherfurwasstillsoft.

Lookingaroundtochecknoonewaswatching,RachelliftedGuinevere outofthebinandgentlyplacedherinthebox,usingthebinbagfullof today’swastetofillthespaceGuineverehadleft.Findingasheetofnewspaper thathadblowninandtangleditselfaroundthegate,shecoveredGuinevere withitlikeablanket.Slidingtheboxbehindthebin,shescurriedbackinto therestaurant.

Throughouttherestoftheevening,Rachel’smindreplayedvarious scenariosofwhatmighthappeninthefinalchapterofGuinevere’slife;or rather,epilogue,asMarcohadalreadybroughtittoanabruptend.Shewasn’t

entirelysurehowshewasgoingtogettheboxhomewithoutanyone questioningherastoitscontents.Then,whenhome,whatshewasactually goingtodowiththebodywasstillundecided.Buttheonethingofwhich shewascertain:shewasn’tgoingtoleaveGuinevereinMarco’swheeliebin togotothelandfill,tobeburiedamongstthecity’simmensemountainsof rubbish.

Afterclosing,Racheltookhertimeclearingawayandresettingfor tomorrow.Liammadevariouslamecomments—Haven’tyougotahometoget to?NothingbettertodowithyourFridaynight?—butsheletthecommentswash overher.Liamleft,wishinghergoodluckattheracestomorrow.

Ican’tthinkaboutthatnow…Theraces,seeingConor.

Hermindwasfocusedontheoldcardboardboxbehindthegiantbin.

MarcowasstillcleaningupinthekitchenasRachelputonhercoat.She quietlyslippedpast,notwantingtobringattentiontoherdeparture.But Marcohadeyesinthebackofhishead,‘Getgone,Idon’tpayovertime!’

ExcerptTitle

BellaFerrier

Chapter1

Itwasdarkintheyard,butasshemovedtowardsthebin,thesecurity lightpingedon,spotlightingher.Shemovedoutofitsbeamandcreptbehind thebin.NoisesfromthekitchenreassuredherthatMarcowasstillbusy,so shecarefullypickedtheboxup.Keepingclosetothewalltoavoidthebeam oflight,shestealthilyside-steppedoutoftheyard,downthealleyandout ontothepavement.

TherewereafewpubsbetweenMarco’sandherflatthatspewedout groupsofdrinkersasRachelmadeherwayback.Carryingherpreciouscargo, shedodgedaroundthem,notlookingattheirfaces,notwantingtoengage withanyone.HersolepurposewastogetGuineverehome.

Whenshegottothepavementoutsideherflat,shefaltered.

WhatdoIdonow?Ican’tburyher.Iliveonthefirstfloor.

Duisdiamurna,iaculisut,vehiculaac,variussitamet,mi.Donecidnisl. Aliquameratvolutpat.Integerfringilla.Duislobortis,quamnonvolutpat suscipit,magnasemconsequatlibero,achendreriturnaanteidmi.Quisque commodofacilisistellus.Integersodalesloremsednisl.Morbiconsectetuer maurisquisodio.Utdolorlorem,viverravitae,viverraeu,euismodnec,enim. Loremipsumdolorsitamet,consectetueradipiscingelit.

Shestoodforamoment,feelinglost.Holdingtheboxclose,alumpgrew inherthroat.Lookingaroundathercar,shedecidedthatwasthebestoption fornow.Havingopenedtheboot,sheclearedaspacefortheboxandplaced itin,ceremoniouslycoveringitwiththetartanblanketthatwasapermanent residentofherboot.

‘Whatyougotthere?’

Rachelyelpedinsurpriseandbangedherheadhardagainsttheboot.She reachedahandtothebackofherheadthatwasalreadythrobbing.

Morbinisleros,dignissimnec,malesuadaet,convallisquis,augue. Vestibulumanteipsumprimisinfaucibusorciluctusetultricesposuere cubiliaCurae;Proinaliquam,leoatluctustempus,eroslectuseleifendmassa, quissollicitudineratmagnanonleo.Vestibulumvelmetus.Donecsagittis velitvelaugue.Fusceinnislvitaemassavenenatisrhoncus.Praesentorcivelit, lobortiseget,suscipitsemper,congueeu,est.Quisquemalesuadavolutpat enim.Vestibulumleosem,molestiea,mattisbibendum,feugiatfacilisis,nisl. Namscelerisqueodio.Suspendissefermentumfaucibusfelis.Praesent

‘Ohno,you’vehurtyourself.Quick,comein.’Colinreachedoutanarm toputaroundhershoulder.

‘Youstartledme.I’mfine.’Rachelsidesteppedtoavoidcontact.Then slammedtheboot.

‘I’llgetyousomeiceforyourhead.’Colinwasstilltryingtoputhisarm aroundherastheymovedtowardsthefrontdoor.

‘Whyareyououtside?’Rachelwastryingtoworkoutwhathad happened.

‘Iheardanoiseandlookedout.Iwascheckingthatnoonewasmessing withyourcar.’Hiseyeswentbacktotheboot.‘What’sinthatbox?’

‘Nothing,justsomevegleftoverfromtherestaurant,formyparents.’

‘Oh.You’dbettercometomine,soIcanputsomeiceonyourhead.’His eyesweresparkling,andhelickedhislipsasifhewasabouttositdowntoa sumptuousmeal.

‘Noneed.I’mgoingtobed.Goodnight.’

BynowtheywerethroughthedoorandRachelmanagedtoslipupthe firstfewstairs.Colinshutthefrontdoorandturnedbacktoher.Hisfacewas shiny,athinlayerofperspirationcoveredhisruddycheeks.

‘Idon’tthinkyoushould.Whatifyoufeelunwellinthenight?Whatif youpassout?’Hetookasteptowardsher.‘Youmightafteraheadinjury.’

‘I’mfine.’Rachelwentupacouplemorestairs.

‘Leavethedoorunlocked,then…Incaseyoucollapseorsomething.’

Shesaidnothingbutfleduptheremainingstairstothesafetyofherflat. Onceinsideshedoublelockedthedoorandputthechainacrossbeforeshe sankdownontothesofa.Shefeltthebackofherhead.Itwashotandabump wasalreadygrowingbut,lookingatherhand,therewasnosignofanyblood. Herhandswereshaking,andshefelttoofullofadrenalinetosleep.Shemade herselfacupofteaandturnedtheteleonquietly,moreforthe companionshipthananyinterestinwhatwason.Thinkingoverwhatshe wasgoingtodowithpoorGuineverefilledhermindasshedrankhertea. Decisionmade,shesetheralarmonherphonefor6am.Theexhaustionfrom theemotionalturmoilandawaitressingshiftfinallycaughtupwithher,and sheslowlyheavedherheavylimbstobed.

Asiffloatingonacloudoflowmist,Rachelslowlymadeherfuneral procession,theonlycoffinbearerofthesmallboxwithitsblanketshroud.A blood-reddawnskywasjustvisiblethroughtheblacksilhouettedtreesof LeighWoods.Itwasonlyashortdrivefromthecityandherflat,butitfelt magicallyfarremovedfromanythingurban.Rachelfeltpairsofeyes followingher,watching.Shelookedaround:therewasnosignofanyother livingcreature,butsheknewtheywerethere,otherwildanimalscometopay theirrespects.

Atthefootofanoldyewtree,Rachelstoodstillandbreatheddeeply,and asshedrewinthedamp,mossy,woodyair,asenseofpeacedescended.The ancientbranchesandrootsoftheyewweretwistedandcrooked,yearsof reachingouttotheskyandburrowingdeepintotheearth.

Here…Thisiswhereyouwillfindpeace.

Rachelsilentlyplacedtheboxamongsttheprotectiveroots.Shedidn’t haveaspade.Havingsearchedherflat,thebestshecouldfindwasalarge servingspoonandascrewdriver.Looseningtheearthwiththedriverand thendiggingitoutwiththespoon,shekneltamidthedisappearingmistand dugthegrave.Creatinganaturalmattressofmossatthebottomofthehole, shelayGuinevereontop.

Goodbye,myfriend.

Itwasquickerandeasiertouseherhandstomovebacktheearthand coverher.Pattingitdownandsmoothingitflat,shewipedherhandsonher jeansbeforesayingonefinalgoodbye.

Withaheavyheart,shewalkedaway,watchingthemorningsunburn awaythefinalwispsofmist.

About TheLastSilkThread

Theyearis1949andEgyptisinpoliticalturmoil,butLeilaShukryhasno idea.GrowingupinanaristocratichouseholdinCairowithanabundanceof wealth,eighteen-year-oldLeilaspendshertimeattendinglavishpartieswith herstepsiblingsandplanningherwedding,butanencounterwithambitious Nizarremindsherthatshewantsmore.Whenhercontrollingparentsend Leila’sengagementandpromisehertoahigher-rankingsuitor,sheis devastated.Leilaeventuallyagreestothemarriageunderonecondition:she isallowedtoenrolatauniversityfarawayfromherfamily.Butwhathappens whenshecannotadapttohernewfound‘freedom’?AndwhatwillLeilado whenNizaruncoversadarksecretabouttheShukryfamilythatdestroysthe livesofLeila’sclosestfriends,anddividesthecountryforever?

TheLastSilkThread YosrElSherbiny

7thNovember1952

AweekafterstaringatNizar’sphonenumberonthescribblednote,Leila gaveintohergnawingcuriosityandaskedthefamilybutlertogivehimacall andinvitehimtothesarayaforashortvisit.Shewassurprisedwhenhe agreed.Leilawaitedonthecouchintheguestsalonandsmokedherfourth cigarettethatmorning,knowingthatitwassafesttomeetastrangeratthe saraya.

Leilauntiedherribbon,lettingherlongblackhairfallstraightontoher faceandback,andcrackedherknuckles.Hermother’sdisapprovalofthis habitwouldbeminorcomparedtohowshewouldreactwhenshefoundout aboutLeila’splansfortheday.

ShewouldhavetomakeupanexcuseforNizar’svisit.

Herfatherwasaway,hermotherwasvisitingfamilyfriendsandhersisters werewiththeirnannieshavingbreakfastatNadyHeliopolis,taking advantageofthepleasantNovemberweather.Leilasatatthepianotocalm

hernervesandstopherfootfromshaking.Shehadneverinvitedamanover before,notevenGalal.Sheclosedhereyesandpushedthekeyswithher fingertips,smilingasthestartofherfavouritetuneformed.Shestartedtoget lostinthebittersweetmelodybutwasstartledbyavoicebehindher.

‘IsthataSteinway?Americangrandclassic?’Nizarstoodinthehallway, animpressedsmileonhisface.Leilafoundherselfadmiringhiscarefully pressedwhitelinensuit.‘HowdidInotnoticethisbeautyduringyour birthdaydinnerlastyear?’

Sheturnedherattentionbacktothepianotohidethenervesonherface. ‘Itiscommoncourtesyforinvitedgueststowaitforahouseholdstaffmember tointroducethembeforetheywanderoffintothehousebythemselves,’she replied,tryingtosoundannoyed.

Whenshefinishedtheverse,shetookadeepbreathandturnedaroundto politelysmileathim.‘ThisisoneoftheonlySteinwaysoutsideofAmerica, accordingtotheBacha.’Shespokequickly,almoststutteringoverherwords. ‘Doyouplay?’

‘No,butIgrewupinahouseofmusicians.Mymotherwasapianist.I apologise,mademoiselle.IinsistedthatKamalnotbotheryouasyouwere playing.IwouldliketogreettheBacha…Ishehere?’

Leilawasexpectingthisquestionsoshehadpre-plannedaresponse.‘He isawayonabusinesstripbuthegavemefullpermissiontowelcomeyouat thesaraya.Hesendshisregards.’

Nizargaveaplayfulsmileandhadaglowinhiseyes.Itwasalmostlikehe couldseerightthroughher.‘ItisashamethatIkeepmissingtheBacha.But IamgladthatyouinvitedmetoyourwarmhomeandthatIhadthechance tohearyouplay.Ididn’trecognisethissong…Didyouwriteit?’

‘Youhaveagoodear.Yes,Iheardthismelodyinadreamacoupleofyears ago,’saidLeila,tryingtoremember.‘Itwasaratherodddream.Thedetails areblurry,butIrememberIwaswalkingonthepierwatchingthefishing boatsatdawn.’

Nizarwasalreadymakinghimselfcomfortableinherfather’swhiteleather armchair,lookingatherwithanticipation.

Hewasgettingtoocomfortable,tooquickly..Shecrackedherknuckles andtookacoupleofdeepbreaths.

Sheshiftedherbodybacktothekeysassheplayedonechordafter

another,fillingtheroomwithhersoftmelody,unabletostop.Shewould ratherletNizarthinkshewasarudehostessthanshowhimthatshewas nervousbeingalonewithamaninaroom.

‘Tellmeaboutyourmother.Whatsongsdidsheplay?’sheaskedoverthe music.

‘MymotheronlyplayedpiecesbySyrianorEgyptiancomposers.Shewas verypickywithhernationalities,’repliedNizar.‘Ihaveabroaderrangeof taste.Butshewasincredibleonthekeys.Shewasanincrediblewoman.’

Leilastoppedplayingandturnedtowardshim.

‘Ireallylikehowwellyouspeakofyourmother.Idon’tfeellikeit’smy placetoaskyouquestionsabouther,aswedon’treallyknoweachother.’

Shebentdowntopickupasilktotebag,andpulledthejournal,Nizar’s gift,outofthebag.

Nizar’sfacegrewserious.Heabruptlystoodupandstartedwalking towardsher.

‘Thankyouformeetingme,atsuchshortnotice.Ihaveafewquestions foryou,’shesaidslowly.‘Asthoughtfulasitwas,whydidyougiftmethis journalandkeepitsecret?Andinyournotelastweek,youaskedifwecould befriends.Whydoyouwanttobemyfriend?’

Hissmilereturningtohissharpface,hetookoutatinynotebookfromhis pocket.

‘Doyouhaveapen?’heasked.

Leilablinkedathimbeforeleaningoverthepianoandgrabbingthefirst penshecouldfindfromthesidetable—herfather’sdiamond-studdedgold fountainpen.

‘Wouldthiswork?’sheasked.

Hislaughterreturnedashewalkedbacktohisarmchairinthecorner. ‘BeforeIanswerallyourquestions,Iwouldliketorequestthatyoukeep playingthatwonderfulmelodyyouwroteuntilyouaresatisfied.’

Leilawasconfusedbutdidasshewasrequested.Sheplayedalittlemore powerfully,speedingupbeforethecrescendoandslowingdowntointensify thedrama.Shecontinuedandaddedacoupleofimprovisedchord combinations,themusicechoingthroughthehallwayandintonearbyrooms.

Onceshefeltsomewhatcontentwiththemelody,sheglancedoveratthe strangerwhowasalsodonescribblinginhistinynotebook.Heclosedhiseyes

andstartedreciting.

‘Blackpiano,tellmeyourfears.Sittinginthecentre,youspeak,butare silentbeyondyouryears.Andwhenyouleave,I’lldrymytears.Andtellthe worldyourstory.’

TheentirepoemranginLeila’searsandbythetimehehadfinished,she foundherselfunabletospeak.Shefeltlikeshewasbareinfrontofthis stranger.

‘Iwasinspiredbythetalentedpianistintheroom,theoneplayingher ownmelody,’continuedNizar.

Leilahidherslightlyblushingfacebehindacurtainofblackhair.

‘EversinceIwasachild,Ifoundcomfortonlyinwriting,’hesaid,closing hisnotebook.

‘Yourpoemisbeautiful,’saidLeila,findingherwordsagain.‘Tellme moreaboutyourwriting.’

‘Iwritetwotypesofpoems—onesthatIselltosomeofthecountry’s famoussingersandonesthatIkeephiddeninthefloorundermybed.But that’sastoryforanothertime.’

Hestoodupandcircledthepiano,thenasifhehadjustremembered, pulledanenvelopefromhispocket.Anotherblueenvelope.

‘IhavetwoticketstoaconcertbyAbdalWahab,whichistakingplacea weekfromtoday;Ithinkyouwouldenjoytheevent.Please,bringGalalor anyotherguestwithyou.I’llbebackstageifyouwanttosayhelloafterthe show.’

Leilainstinctivelytooktheenvelope,unsureofwhethertoacceptor declinetheinvitation.ShelovedAbdalWahab’ssoulfulmusic,buther parentswouldneverapproveofherattendingapublicconcert.

‘Thisisverykindofyou.Iwillspeaktomyparentsanddomybestto attend,withorwithoutGalal.Butfirst,Ineedtoreturnsomethingthat belongstoyou.Itwasneverminetokeep.’

SheplacedthejournalinNizar’shand.

Helookeddownatthejournal,thensmiledatLeila.‘No,mademoiselle. Thisonlybelongstoyou.EversinceGalaltoldmeaboutyouandshowedme someofthestoriesyouwrote,Iwasveryimpressed.Hementionedthatyou wantedtostudyliteratureandIknewIhadtosupportafellowwriter.The journalisyours,tocaptureyournewstories.’

Hisblueeyeshardenedashespokeinalowsternvoice,andhisfingers turnedwhiteashisgriptightenedaroundthejournal.‘Youmustpursueyour educationifthatiswhatyoudesire.Mymotherdidn’tandshealways regrettedit.’

Ashiseyesbecamebeady,histhinrosylipspartedslightlyandhischeeks raised,Leilacouldimaginewhathelookedlikeasalittleboy.Sherecognized asadnessinhisvoice.Sheheldherbreath,waitingtohearmoreabouthis mother.

Instead,Nizargavealongexhale,thensaid,‘Idonothaveaproperanswer foryou.ButIcouldreallyuseafriend,especiallyonethathasapassionand talentforwriting.Wecanbewritingpartners.’

Leilathoughtaboutherownfriends—fromthehighschoolersattheallgirlsEcole,tothecountryclubgirls,toherchildhoodfriendMayy.They lovedherstories—alwaysaskinghertoentertainthemduringbakesalesor birthdayparties.ButhearingNizaradmiringherstoriesmadeherfeelready tosharethemwiththeworld.Shewasreadyforuniversity.

‘Iwillconsiderit,’sheeventuallysaidwithasmile,takingthejournalback fromNizar’shand.‘ButIhavetotellGalalaboutthegift.It’sonlyright.’

‘Itoldhimafteryourbirthdaydinnerlastyear.Henevermentionedit?’

‘No,’shereplied,bemused.Shemadeamentalnotetotalktohimabout thisonceshegotaholdofhim.Ifsheevergotaholdofhim.‘Nonetheless, thankyouforsupportingme,stranger.’

Nizar’seyessoftenedandsmiled,‘Thankyouforinvitingmetoyour lovelyhome,mademoiselle.’

‘No,youmuststayforanafternoontea.Motherandthegirlswillbe cominghomesoon.’

Morereasonformetoleave,’hesaid,laughing.‘Nazlihanimisapowerful womanwho,Imustadmit,scaresmebeyondwords.It’sbestthatIleave—I needtopickupmylittlecousinfromherswimminglessons,eitherway.’

LeilalaughedandstooduptousherNizartothedoor.

‘Youaregoingtobeafinewriteroneday,’boomedNizar’svoiceashe walkedoutofthehouseandintotheharshsunlight.

14thNovember1950

‘YouthrewtheringinGalal’sface?Yourengagementring?Mydarling,what happened?’askedZizi,hersultryvoicebutteringuptheheavinessofthe question.Shestoppedapplyingherlipstickandraisedonethineyebrowat Leilathroughthemirror.Sheadjustedthestrapsofherbluesequintop,the oneshehadboughtspecificallyfortheconcert.

LeilahaddecidedtomakeuseofNizar’sticketsafterall

‘Well,hedeservedit,’shereplied.Shelookedathersisterwithoneeye,as sheenhancedtheotheronewithblackkohl.Shehopedthatthemakeupcould coverhershockedexpressionattheeventsthatunfoldedthatsamemorning. ‘Hepassedbythehousetodayandapologisedfornotspeakingtomefor weeks,andnotevenshowinguptomybirthday.’

‘Galalisagenuineandcaringman,Leila.Hemusthavetrulymeantitand hadadamngoodreason.’

Leilashruggedhershouldersandtriednottocry.‘WhenIaskedhimwhy hewasdistant,hestayedsilent.ThenItoldhimthatIgotacceptedinto university.Doyouknowwhathesaid?’

Zizishookherheadthenre-powderedherfacetoholdherfoundationin place.

‘Heheldmyshoulders,lookedstraightintomysoul,andtoldmethatI shouldgiveup.ThatIwouldbeheartbrokenandwouldnotfitin.Whatkind

ofmandisappearsforweekswithoutanexcuse,thentriestohurthisfiancée? Acruelman.’

Leilafelthervoicecrack,soshefocusedherattentiononapplyingdrops ofcasteroilacrosshereyebrowsandeyelashes.

‘I’msosorry,mydear.Doesmotherknowaboutyourfight?Areyoutwo brokenup?’questionedZizi,throwingherarmsaroundLeilaandburyingher underlayersofcurls.

‘That’sthebiggestissue—whenItoldmother,shewasn’tsurprised.Not onebit.Itwasasifshecuratedthewholeargument.Ithinkthere’ssomething she’snottellingme.God,I’msoconfused,’muffledLeilaintohersister’shair. Thetearsstartedformingandshecouldn’tstopthefirstcouplefromsilently falling.Sheangrilywipedthemaway.

‘Ohhoney.Thingsalwayshaveawayofworkingthemselvesout,’Zizi saidsoftly,wipingsomeloosepowderfromLeila’scheek.‘It’snotoverwith Galal.Andworstcase,ifitis,motherwillsetyouupwiththenexteligible bachelor.Igiveyouaweekofsingledomifyou’relucky.’

Leilawasn’tquitereadytodealwiththeideaofsuddenlylosingGalal,let alonemeetingsomeoneelse.‘Toosoontojokeaboutthis,Zizi.Let’sjust enjoytonight.Iwanttomakesureourlietothebachaisworthwhile.’

Thesisterscouldn’tbelievehowcrowdedtheamphitheatrewas.Itwas crawlingwithallsortsofpeople,themajoritybeinggroupsoflocalwomen asyoungastwelveandasoldastheirAnna, maysherestinpeace. Theyalso couldn’tbelievethattheywerefinallyattendingaconcertinpublic,onethat wasn’ttakingplaceintheprivacyoftheirsaraya,norwithacrowdoffifteen peopleorless.Thelayoutoftheamphitheatreallowedtheaudiencetolook ontoastagethatwasfloatingontheNileandwaslargeenoughfora40personorchestra.Thecolourfulspotlightsthatgentlyglowedaboveevery orchestramembermimickedthestarsinthecleardarksky.

Leilaandhersistersqueezedeachother’shandsasthescreamsbegan.Abd alWahabsteppedonthestage,inhissuitandsmile,hissignaturescarfaround hisneck,followedbythreesecuritymen.Hewavedatthehungryaudience andsatdownonawoodenstoolandfacedthecrowd.Hepickeduphis electricguitarandraisedafootontoasteptobalancehisinstrument.

Alongwiththeorchestra’scombinationofkeys,stringsandbeats,his voiceechoedintothenightskyandthewomen’shearts.Thesecuritymen stoodcloseby,withtheireyesonthecrowd.

Galalwouldhavelovedthis.

WitheverysadthoughtofGalal,Leiladancedharderandsanglouderto thesongs.Shetriedtoletthemusicpossessherandtakehersomeplaceelse.

Getittogether,Leila.Hedoesn’tcareaboutyou.Havesomepride. Shetriedtofocusonthecrowdaroundher.Everyotherwomaninthe concertwasunderdressed,inflatsandplaineverydaydresses.Shespotteda womandressedinaweddinggownandveil,casuallyswayingtothemusic amidstherfriends,asifshedressedthatwayeveryday.Thebrideevenhelda bouquetofsmallpinkrosesthatshewavedintheairwhenthedrumbeat faster.

‘Nooneseemstomindthatinsanewomaninthewhitedress?’Leila shoutedintohersister’sear.

‘IfIhadknownthedresscode,Iwouldhavewornmydress,too,’Zizi shoutedback.

Betweeneachsong,abravewomanwouldriskherdignityandsocial statusandmakeabeelineforthestage,onlytobeblockedbytheprepared guards.Womanafterwomantriedtoreachthesinger,butwithnoluck.Leila watchedasthebrideraisedherdentellesleevesandpushedherhairbehindher ears,nottakinghereyesoffthesecurityguards,andsignalledsomethingto herfriends.

Leilacouldn’tbelievewhatshewasseeing. Inthemiddleofoneofthesongs,thebrideandherfriendsmanoeuvered throughthecrowdandrantowardsthelessguardedsideofthestage.Asthe decoysdistractedtheguards,thebridelungedacrossthedeck,almostfalling inthewater,causingLeilatogaspoutloudandcoverthesidesofherface withbothhands,smudgingherfoundation.Thebridepulledherselftogether, scrambledontothestageandsprintedtowardsthesingerwhowasinthe middleofperforminghischorus.Sheburstintohystericaltearsandwrapped herarmsaroundhisneck.Leila,whowasholdingherbreath,screamedin triumphandwavedherhandsintheair,incelebrationofthebride’ssuccess. Theorchestracontinuedtoplayasthesingerconsoledthebride,whowason thevergeofcollapsing.Whenshefinallyfainted,thesecurityguardscarried

hertothebackstagearea.

Leilawonderedifthewarriorbridewasalright.

Astheorchestracontinuedtoplay,thesingerlaughedpolitelyand remindedtheaudiencethattherewouldbeachanceforsigningautographs andshakinghands,orevenalittlecheekkissing,aftertheconcertwasover. Leilawatchedthecrowdinaweastheycontinuedtheireveningasifnothing hadhappened.

Duringtheverylastsong,whenallthewomenwereexhaustedfrom baringtheirsouls,thetrumpetplayerstartedhissolopiece.Astheinstrument played,AbdalWahabgavetheaudiencearadiantsmile,andbegansinging hisnewsong.

‘Blackpiano,tellmeyourfears.’

LeilafrozeasshelistenedtothesamewordsthatNizarrecitedtoherinthe familyroom.Shelookedaroundquickly,paranoidthatthecrowdwould figureoutthatthelyricsweresomehowrelatedtoher,butnoonewaspaying anyattentiontoher.Theyweresilent,entrancedbyNizar’swordsandLeila’s melody.

Shemouthedalongtothesong,afraidthatsomeonewouldseeherand knowabouthernewfriendandhiswaywithwords.‘Andwhenyouleave, I’lldrymytears.Andtelltheworldyourstory,’shesoftlysang,feelingatiny bitofhopeforthefirsttimethatday.

Thejazzycombinationofwordsandtrumpetcontinuedforalongtime, meltingawaythehorroroftheday.LeilaandZiziclickedtheirfingersinthe airandswayedtheirhipsfreely,unintentionallyblockingtheviewofthe singerforagroupofwomenstandingbehindthem.Foronce,thelastthing thatLeilacaredaboutwascommoncourtesy.

23rdNovember1950

Leilahummed,herheelstappingonthestone-filledpavement.Shewason herwaytomeetNizar,whoshewasslowlygrowingfondof.ShetoldMayy abouttheirnewfriendship,andherbrokenengagementtoGalal.

LeilacouldtellthatMayywasshocked,butshehadlistenedcarefullyto thewholestory,fromthestranger’sthoughtfulgifttoLeila’sfrustrationwith Galal,andthering-throwingscenario.WhenLeilawasdone,Mayyhugged herfriendandtoldhershehaddonetherightthing.Itwasthefirsttimeshe didn’thearspitefulcommentsaboutherruiningherfutureandbecominga spinster.

EverytimeLeilaaskedhermothertocallGalal’stodiscusswhathappened, Nazlihanimwouldgiveheradeathstareandtellherthedamagebetweenthe familieswasalreadydone. Noself-respectingmanwouldtakeawomanwhotosses herringinhisface, accordingtoNazlihanim. Yourengagementisofficiallyover.

Thatday,hermother’secstaticvoicewokeherupearlierthanusual.The wordsreplayedinLeila’smindasshemadeherwaytotheshop…Ihavegreat newsforyou,Leila.Behomeintimefordinner,andI’llmakesurethechefprepares aspecialvealescalopepanne,yourfavourite.

Leilashuddered,thinkingaboutthesemi-threateningwords,andwalked quicker.Shelookedaroundtoseeifsherecognisedanyoneinthestreetbefore enteringtheshop,whichwaslocatedwithintheconcretemazeofCairo’s

AttabaSquare,ashortwalkfromKhanAlKhalili.

Insidetheemptystore,shelookedupatthefreshlypolishedmahogany wallsfilledwithwoodenclocks—shehadneverseensomanyinoneplace. Someofthemoreantique-lookingclocksweredisplayedbehindaglass cabinet,visiblefromthestreet.ThesymphonyoftickingsoundsfilledLeila’s ears;theclockswerenotinsync,whichcreatedamasterpieceofticsandtocs whichshefoundsoothing.Theshopwassmallandincludedtwoworkshop tablesforthewatchmakers,aswellasanimpressivecollectionofphonograph andothermusicboxes.

Leilaheardanoiseemittedfrombehindoneofthewallpanels.Ahidden doorswungopenandashortblondemanwithalargebinderandafabric pouchappeared.Heworeachemisewithachequeredpattern,aswellasthin rectangularspectaclesonhisface.Hisblueeyeslitupwhenhesawher.

‘Goodmorning,mademoiselle.Welcome—I’mBashar.Happytoseea newface.Pleasehaveaseat.’HepulledawoodenchairforLeilainfrontof oneoftheworkshoptables.Theysatoppositeeachother.

‘CanIofferyouanythingtodrink?Myofficeboymakesthebestchai barad; hecanevencompetewiththeteatheyhaveatEl-Fishawy,’Bashar claimedwithawink.

Leilawasintrigued;shelovedtheteatheymadeattheprestigiouscafé, wheretheypreparedthedrinkbyboilingthemixinabasinofsand.Thebest partisthatitwasalwaysreadyforserving.

‘That’sverykindofyou.Butperhapswhenmyfriendarrives?Heasked metomeethimhere,’Leilareplied,suddenlyworriedthatthestoreowner wouldaskquestions.‘Imustsay,mydriverpassesthroughthispartoftowna lot,butIhavenevernoticedthisshop.Yourclocksarespectacular,’continued Leilapolitely,quicklychangingthesubject.Herfavouriteonewasaslim floor-mountedgrandfatherclockwithrosegoldhandsandglasscase.Itwas similartotheonethatshehadseeninherfamilyalbum—theoneinherAnna’s beachhouseinIzmir.

AcustomerwalkedintotheshopandBasharexcusedhimselftoassisthim. Leilawatchedashetookagoldchronographwristwatchfromthecustomer andexaminedit.Acrosstheroom,hetookoutacoupleofsmalltoolsfromhis pouchandplayedaroundwiththewatch.

Shecouldn’ttellBashar’sage,butbyhistiredeyes,recedinghairlineand

callousedhands,sheestimatedthathewasn’tyoungerthan40.Leila’sfather wasmucholder,buthisexcellentskincareroutineandnutritiousdietgave peopletheimpressionthathewasmuchyounger.That,andthefactthathe hadneverworkedwithhishands.

Nizarwalkedintothestoreandhunghiscoatattheentrance.Hegreeted BasharwithaheartfeltembraceandhurriedovertoLeilawithasmilethat madeherthinkthathewasuptonogood.Thewarmstore,mixedwiththe smellofwood,madeherfeellikeshewasinsideasauna.

Shefelthercheeksburning.

‘Youdon’thavetoblusheverytimeyouseeme,mademoiselleLeila,’ laughedNizar.

‘Don’tmakemeregretagreeingtomeetyou,’shereplied,loweringher voiceandlookingaroundcautiously.

Nizarpulledupachairandsatbesideher.‘Howareyoufeelingtoday? Youlookalittleworried.Isyourfamilyalright?’

Leilasighedandshruggedhershoulders.

‘Theyaredoingaswellasever.I,ontheotherhand,feellikeI’veruninto awall.’

‘I’msorrytohearthat,mydear.I’mallears.Beforethat,Imustask—has myuncleofferedyouourspecialtea?’

‘Your...uncle?’

NizarmotionedtoBasharacrosstheroom,whohaddissectedtheentire wristwatchandlaidoutitsbitsandpiecesonthetable.Theresemblancewas there,butthedialectswereverydifferent.Basharspokeinastrangedialect thatwasnotatallEgyptian,whereasNizar’saccentwasfluent.Leilarealised thatsheknewverylittleabouthernewfriend.

Hereyeswidenedandshereplied,‘Yes,blesshim.Inthatcase,Imusttry thetea.’

Nizardisappearedbehindthewallpanelandre-emergedwithatray.

‘Whatdoyouhavebehindthere?’Leilaaskedcuriouslyasshesippedthe tea,enjoyingthesweetflavour.Itreallydidtastebetterthantheonesheused tohavewithGalalatEl-Fishawy.Pushingasidethoughtsofhimwithevery sip,sheuncrossedherlegsandrelaxed.

‘That’swherewehidetherestofthefamily,ofcourse,’teasedNizar.‘We haveastoragespace,asmallpantry,andamassivecollectionofbooksand

drawingsonclocksfromaroundtheworld.’

‘Doesyourunclerunthestorebyhimselfsinceyou’veenrolledatthe Academy?Iknowtheydemandalotoftheirpilots,’saidLeila.Shewascareful nottomentionGalal’snameinfearofraisingquestions.

‘Thankfullywehavetwostoreassistantsthatworkacoupleofdaysa week.Theyhappentobemycousins.Soistheteaboy.’

‘Runningafamilybusinesstogethersoundsratherpleasant.Theonly personwhohasgottencloseenoughtomyfather’sbusinessismystepbrother, Ahmet.Thebachadoesn’tevenlethisownbrothersgetinvolved.’

Leilapulledoutacigaretteandcontinued,‘Youruncle’sdialectisquite unique.YoumentionedthatyoumovedtoEgyptacoupleofyears ago...Whereareyouoriginallyfrom?’

‘Easyonthequestions.Let’sstartwithdiscussingyouragendafirst.’Nizar smiledashelithercigarette.‘Whathappenedthatmadeyouthisupset?’

‘Mymotherhasincreasedheroutingswiththekhatabeeneversincemy engagementwascalledoff,’saidLeila.‘That’smynicknameforhergroupof friends—womenwhosesolepurposeistoflipthroughcataloguesofmento findpotentialsuitorsforsinglewomenmyage,orolder—Godforbid, accordingtomother.Thismorning,shecamebackfromherbreakfast meetingwithahugegiftboxofpreciouscheesesandolivesandaskedthe familytobehomeintimeforadinnerannouncement.Shewasevensmiling atme.That’snotagoodsign.’

‘I’mnotreadytomoveonfromGalal,’shecontinuedmiserably,rolling thecigarettebetweenherfingers.‘Imisshim,Nizar.Andeventhoughitwas mydecisiontoendthings,Ihaveasneakysuspicionthatmymotherhad somethingtodowithhowdistantGalalhadbeen.Iknowshemusthavesaid somethingtopushhimawayfirst.Hashesaidanythingtoyouaboutme?’

Shealreadyknewtheanswer.Nizar’skindeyesfoundhersandheshook hisheadslowly.

‘HeknowsthatyouandIhavebecomefriends,sohewouldnevertellme. I’msorry,Leila.IwishIcouldhelpyou.’

Leilapausedforasecondbeforesheasked,‘Thismightbeaskingfora lot…butwillyouconsidertalkingtohim,forme?Please,askhimifmy motherwasinvolvedinanyway.’

‘Ofcourse,Iwill.Ifthatiswhatyouwant.’

‘Thankyou…Iwouldn’taskifIwasn’tdesperate,”Leilamanagedtosmile andtriedtofeelhopeful.‘Ifhehadjustshownalittlesupportandcare,I wouldn’thave…’

Hervoicebroke.Nizaropenedhismouthtosaysomethingbutquickly stopped.Instead,heofferedhissilence,whichLeilagreatlyappreciated.They satandlistenedtothetickingoftheclocksandsippedtherestoftheirtea.

Basharinterruptedthesilencewithhiswarmvoice.‘Nizarhabibi,you alwayscomplainthatyoubarelyhavefriends.Iamgoingtostartdoubting yourwordsfromnowon.’

‘Khalo,thisisLeilaShukry—wemetlastyearthroughacolleagueofmine. Iprettymuchdidn’tgiveherachoice,’chuckledNizar.‘Also,shesawstraight throughyourhorribleEgyptianaccent.’

‘WhatNizarmeantisthatIwouldlovetolearnmoreaboutyourjourney toEgypt.Wherewereyoubeforeyouopenedthisshop?’askedLeila,her moodgrowinglighterfromthedistraction.

‘Mydear,thesimplicityofyourquestionopensupmanydimensionsin mymind.Theshortversionisthis.WearefromDamascus.Butthemadame, thechildrenandIhavelivedinCairoeversinceIbranchedouttostartmy businesshere.Aftermysisterpassedaway,Godblesshersweetsoul,Ibrought myonlynephew,Nizar,here.Istillcan’tbelievehisEgyptianaccentisbetter thanmine.’

Leilahadsomanyquestionsandnoideawheretostart.Shewondered whathappenedtoNizar’smother.

‘Comeon,Leila,’Nizarsaidabruptly,interruptinghisuncle.‘Let’sgofor awalk.Ibetyouhaven’texperiencedthesouqthesamewayIhave.’

About TheLateNoraTrip

Erin’sexcerptisthefirstchapterofherfirstnovel, TheLateNoraTrip,which followsatwenty-six-year-oldshopassistantonherpathtoartisticglory. Whilstnavigatingseverehealthanxietyandincreasingfinancialprecarity, NoraTrip’sartisticambitionstakeadarkturnwhensherealisesthatdying mightbeherbest,andperhapsonly,routetosuccess.Convincedthatshe’s terminallyill,Nora’sfocusturnstoachievingposthumousrecognition, utilisingtheculturalcapitalshehasaccruedfromherwealthyfriends,but riskinglosingherdysfunctionalfamilyandclassidentityintheprocess.

TheLateNoraTrip isadarklycomic,literarynovelthataimstouncover ouruniversalfoiblesthroughdisparateclassfriendships,competitivesiblings andeverydayobservation.

TheLateNoraTrip

Recently,Norahasbeencravingacelebritydeath.Notthedeathofsomeone old,notsomeonewe’veallbeenholdingourcollectivebreathsfor,but someonewhosedyingwouldbeashock.Maybetheresultofasecretlongtermillnessknownonlybythefamilyandacoupleofclosefriends.Maybe suddenheartfailure.Maybeaflukeaccident:draggedouttoseaorcrushedby ayachtofftheCaliforniancoastline.Shethinksthiswoulddousallalotof goodinaunifyingsense.

Didyouhearthenews? Itwouldneedtobesomeonewejustwouldn’tbe abletobelieve. Canyoubelieveit? Itwouldbeashame. Suchashame. Perhaps evenawful. Isn’titawful? Andpeoplewouldusewordsliketalentandtragic, heroandicon,evenifitfeltfalsetodoso. Theywereaninspirationtosomany. Towhichwe’llallagree,evenifwedon’t.

Shedoesn’tthinkitreallymatterstoomuch,butshe’dquitelikeittobean actor.Thatwaywecanallgobackandrewatchtheirextensiveportfolioof

seminalperformances,whichwouldoffermoreextrasensoryimmersionthan, say,justamusicmogul.Televisionchannelswouldimmediatelycleartheir schedulesforback-to-backreplaysofthedeceased’sworkfromchildactorto worldwidetalentandcelebritysuperstar.Thoseofuspronetoalittle introspectionwillstareintotheirstarrysilver-screeneyesandwonderwhere itallwentwrong;howthisbeaconofthespianflaircouldhavedimmedaswe alldoeveryday.

Nora’scravingforacelebritydeathhasintensifiedgreatlyoverthepast twenty-fourhours.Lastnight,sheandherthreefriends,whoallhavenames offlowers,crystalsorGreekgoddesses,wentforamealoutataThaiplacein Nora’sneighbourhood.Thiswasabigmoment,astheyoftenrefusetocome tohersideoftownbecause there’snotmuchgoingon, bywhichtheymeanthat thecafésdon’ttendtohavegluten-freeoptionsandthestandardhousehold incomeisbelowthenationalaverage.

Whenthefoodarrived,Norarosetoretrieveknivesandforksfroma trolleyontheothersideoftherestaurant.Sheaskedthetableifthey’dlikeher tofetchthemsometoo,towhichthereplywastheabruptpoint-makingsnap ofchopsticksandjudgmentalshakesofthehead.Theestablishmentstored theirtradition-aversesupplyofutensilsinthemostfarawayplacepossible. Norarefusedtobelievethiswasanythingotherthandeliberate,fortheshame shefeltmeanderingbacktothetablewasaboutasintenseasshehadeverfelt before.Onceseated,shemadequitetheshowofaddingextrachillioiltoher junglecurry,which,shethought,didmanagetoearnherbacksomerespect. Sheremainsunsurewhetherthenose-runningspicewasentirelyworthit. Asthemealprogressed,itbecameincreasinglyclearthatOpalhadan announcementtomake.Hereyesbegantowater,bulgingwiththepowerof anuntoldstory.Upuntilthispoint,NorahadmanagedtothwartallofOpal’s attemptstodirectconversationtowardstheverypressingissueattheheartof theevening’sunease,but,assheturnedanalmostimpossibleshadeofpink, Norafinallygavein. Haveyoudecidedyet,Opal?

Duringsummer,Opalhadbeenofferedamonth-longgroupexhibition withtwootherartistsofherchoice.She’dspentmostofhertimesincethen agonisingdramatically,andatlength,overwhotopick.Or,rather,which

oneofthemtoleaveout.

Opalprevaricatedwildlyabouttheimportanceoffinancialbackingand, asNoraspearedacubeoftofuwithherembarrassingfork,sheunderstood whatwasabouttohappen.Shebreatheddeeply,bracingfortheimpactof Opal’simpending,ruinousconclusion. I’msosorry,Nora,butyoujustdon’thave themoneyorthecontacts.

Thenewsofherrejectionwas,atbest,catastrophic.Norathoughtabout screaming,butquicklydecidedagainstthisinfavourofperformed indifference.Afterseveralsecondsofthunderoussilence,sherepliedthat it’s fine,I’msureI’llgetmychancesoonenough. Noradidn’tbelievethisatall,butit seemedlikethesortofthingsheshould’vesaid.DahliaandHestiabothrushed theirwineglassestotheirmouths,steppingoverthisimprobabilityasmost peopledovomitonthestreet.Noraendedhercontributionstothemealby lettingOpalknowthat you’vegotsomethinginyourteeth,bytheway, even thoughshedidn’t.

is,butNorafearsthatifshedoesn’tdothatthennoonewillknow.Dahlia noddedtowardsthecopyof ArtReview carefullycuratedtopeekoutfrom underneatharecentcopyof Frieze toproveherpoint,which,Norawill admit,didproveitquitewell.HestiaquicklyadmiredNora’sseasoning choicesinthetabouleh. DoIdetectasafoetida? Shehadpronouncedasafoetida wrong,butNoradidn’tcorrecther.Sheactuallythinksthatthisshows growth.

NowOpal’sdecisionwasintheopenair,herdemeanourhadshiftedback toitsusualpomposity.Sheprecededthepouringofcoffeewitharatherselfservingmonologue,whichNorarecognisedimmediatelyassheisalsovery self-serving.ShespentagooddealoftimeduringOpal’ssoliloquyinternally analysingtheprefix‘mono’andthoughtshemightcointheterm‘monoserve’ intohervocabularytodescribeinstancesofintenseegocentricity.

ToaddtoNora’swoes,itwasatthispointinthenightthatsherealisedhow insufferableshehadbecome.She’dinvitedeveryonebacktoherflatto continuethecharadeofapathy,whereDahliawasdissectingfurniturechoices onahomewarewebsiteandsimplycouldn’tdecideonhernextpurchase. I justcan’tdecide! Itwasclearlyquitedistressingforher,butwhensheshowed thegrouphertoptwoselectionsonLoaf,Norafeltthestirringofannoyance. Thegroupagreedwithadmiringchirpsthatthenavy-bluevelvetwas superior. Thebuttonpanellingissimplysumptuous. Quitetakenastheywereby thedetails. Andrealoakfeet! Thecompact,mustardScandichairbarelygota lookin.

Noraapologisedforovercookingthegiantcouscousshe’dmadeincase theywerestillhungry. I’msosorry,it’sruinedthetabbouleh. Butnoonemade anyefforttoconsoleher.Shedecidedtopointoutthatbotharmchairswere soutterlypredictablethatitmadehernauseous. Haveyouconsideredadesign withabitmorepersonality? Admittedly,thisdidcomeacrossmoreaggressively thanshehadplanned,butshe’snotcertainthatshealwayslikesherfriendsall thatmuch,sosomebitternessisboundtofilteritswayintohertone.Dahlia toldherthatshedoesn’talwaysneedtoprovehowedgyandinterestingshe

Opalhadrecentlymovedtoanewartist’sstudiososhewould havemore roomtoprepareforTheExhibition. Sheexplainedthatithadbeenadifficulttime forher,andshehadbeenstrugglingwithimpostersyndrome. Ijustdon’tfeel likeIbelonginaspacefullofsuchtalentedfemalecreatives. Itwasdifficultfor NoratolistentothesecomplaintsbecauseOpalisveryrich.Theothers seemedtoreallysympathisewhichtriggeredNoraintoaslightmonoserve, makingthepointthatitisimpossibletofeellikeanimposterinaworldthat hasalwaysincludedyou. That’slikeMichaelGovesayinghefeelslikeanimposter inaPrezzo. Theyalllookedatheroddly,notunderstandingthejokeatall. ThisishowNoralearntthatPrezzoisnotposh.

ShewentontotellOpalthatitwasperfectlyvalidforhertofeelselfdoubt—whichIimagineismoreakintowhatyou’rereallyfeeling—buttoleave thepseudo-scientificimpostersyndromefor thoseofuswhohavebeen marginalisedandundervaluedourentirelives. Opalquippedthatitwashard growingupastheonlyfamilyinthevillagewhoweren’tmillionaires. Itwas soembarrassing. AtwhichpointNorathoughtitbesttostartclearingtheplates. Asshewasdoingso,shefeltitwasherresponsibilitytoalleviatesomeofthe tensionthatshefearedshehadcreated. Don’tyoujustloveitwhenAmerican realitycontestantsearnestlydeclarethat‘goinghomeisn’tanoption’beforepromptly beingeliminated. Theylikedthisbecausetheyarealsoawfulpeople.Itwastheir turntoshownoanimositywastobeheldandHestiaaskedwhereNora’smug setwasfrom. Ilovehowit’sallmismatched.Sochic!Sochic! Noraliedandsaid

shegoteachseparatepieceatvariousvintagemarketswhen,really,theywere ajoblotfromacharityshop.

Tonight,Nora’srighthandisstifffromholdingchopsticksforthefirsttime. ShefollowedaYouTubedemonstrationandratherfittingwasthesearch amongstherhistoryofhow-tos,what-tosandotherlifeskilltutorials:howto pronouncecrudités,whattodowithartichokes,howtosavemoneyon minimumwage.Thealgorithmisfullyawarebynowofhervariouscultural, practical,andfinancialineptitudes.

Shehastocircleherthumbaroundandaroundtoloosenthemusclesthat havebeenseizingthebamboobatonswiththesamepanickedgripthat normallyoccursonthesteeringwheelassheattemptsbusymulti-lane roundabouts.Thechopstickswerepinchedfromyesterday’srestaurant, sanitarilywrappedinwax-coatedpaper,grease-soakedfromherspringroll fingers.Shedecidedtotakeaknifetotheconjoinedwoodenendsbecausethe snapwouldhavefelttoofullinherotherwiseemptyflat.

Afterslowprogresswiththechopsticks,thebowloframenpreparedfor practicenowholdsjustthestone-coldbrothwhichsheassumesisacceptable toconsumeviaspoon.Thestainlesssteelfeelsclinicalinhermouthafterthe spongeygiveofthebambooand,asitscrapesagainsttheceramic,she wondershowshehasevermanagedtosurvivealifeofmetalcutlery.She accidentallyjerksasplashofthebrownbrothontotheblanketacrossherlap asaroguegunshotsoundfromherupstairsneighbours’televisioncausesher tojump.Sheisn’tsurewhethertorubatthespillordab,butshesupposesit doesn’tmattertoomuchsincethematerialisanequallymisohue.Others mightseeitfromahygieneperspectiveasopposedtoaesthetic,butstill,Nora makesnomovetowardstheTateModernteatowelhungovertheovendoor handleorginghamwashclothinthesink.

Thesporadicsmall-screengunshotsfromupstairsmakewayforthespin cycleoftheirwashingmachinethatisvigorousenoughtosendtheplates, potsandpansonNora’sdrainingboardrattlingwithasmash-threatening strength.Awoodenspatulaiscatapultedontothekitchenfloor.Aninprogresspaintingtipsfromthewall.Brushesrollaroundonherdiningtable andclatterovertheedge.Ifitwasn’tdarkoutside,thiswouldbefine,butitis

darkoutside,soshepullstheblanketoverherhead.Itisatthisprecise moment,withherfacepressedintoacorner,cloche-like,thatsherealisesshe hasputtoomuchlimeinthebroth.Thesmellemittingfromthepresently embeddingstainturnssourasitpicklesthematerialwithcitrus.Sheknows fromexperiencethatthespincyclewillendinexactlysixminutes,butthe commotionistime-stretchinglyfrighteningwhilstalone.Shehearsamug handlesplitcleanoffitsbodyandlongsforacelebritydeath.

Thereisaknockonadoorfromacrossthehall.Forasecond,itisloud enoughthatitsoundslikeitcouldbecomingfromNora’sownfrontdoor, butthenshehearsvoicesoverthethud,thudofthespinningandknowsthat noonewouldbecomingtovisither,sothethud,thudofherheartattempts toslow.Sheremainsquitestill,waitinguntilallisquietagain,wondering whichcelebrityshewouldliketodie.Itneedstohappensoon,too,because thenewscycleiswashingusalluponopposingshorelinesinbig,angry, Whirlpoolwaves.

ShehasbeenthinkingthatmaybeLeonardoDiCapriowouldbemost beneficial.Hisrepertoirecoversavastnumberofgenres,leadingherto believethathespinsaroundmostofourperipheralconsciousnessesenough thathisdeathwouldhithomewiththeforceneededtobegintherepairsshe sodesires.Hisfirstonscreenappearancewasin1995,twenty-fouryearsago now,soit’sabigtickintheboxof‘long-standingcareer’.Theonlyother actorshemightbeinclinedtosuggestisMerylStreep,butisunsurewhether wecareenoughaboutwomenforittohavethesameocean-pausingeffect. Sympathyisnotthefeelingweneedtoinvoke,but,rather,ajolt.Women dyingis,like,fine,butnoonecanquitesoeasilystomachthesuddendeathof astrong,healthy,leoninebeastofaman.

Whenthefranticsixminutesofspincycleareup,Noraisupsettobesat onceagaininherownsilence,herownmess,herownjudgement.Upstairs’ filmhaseitherpausedorcometoanendandtheonlygunshotsnoware happeningawayfromhere.Itdisturbshertoknowthattheyarehappening anywhereatall.Herstepsaretentativeassheretrievesthemughandlethat hasslidacrossthelaminate.Sheholdsitintheonlywayyoucanimagine:a miniaturelandlinereceiver.Sheliftsituptoherear.Anyonethere?No answer.Itgoesinthebin.

Sheinspectseachitemonthedrainingboardforbreakagesbeforestacking

thembackgentlyintotheircupboardhomes.Thedirtydisheswillwaituntil later,maybetomorrow.Norapicksupthefallencanvas,leansitbackagainst thewalladmiringlyandalmoststartstosobforhowtalentedsheis,forthe injusticeofOpal’sexclusionarydecisionabout TheExhibition.Shetakesaseat onthekitchenfloor.Itiscrunchywithlargecrumbsdraggedintodustasshe shufflesintothegapwhereadishwashershouldbe.Cross-legged,shejust aboutfits.Thefridgewhirrsasapuddlegainsgroundatherfeet.Shetapsit withatoe.Itiscoldfromthefridge’scloggeddefrostdrain.Asingle,wilted corianderleafsitssadlyinthepool.

Justbeforeherfriendsleftyesterdayevening,Norafloatedhercelebritydeath idea.Itwasmoreofagermatthispoint,andshefeltthattheyreallydidneed toknowthis,sosheofferedapolitepreface—thisisintheearlystagesof ideation—andaskediftheywouldtakethatintoconsiderationbeforeshe divulged.Theyagreedtodoso,but,shehastosay,itwasnotreceivedwell. Conversationmovedquitequicklyontothegossip-heavy lives ofvarious celebrities,asopposedtotheirdeaths. Ijustdon’tthinkshecanhackitasasolo artist. Norawasquiteannoyedbecausesheoftenhastolistentotheirideas aboutwhattodowiththeirhairorwhatsheshouldbedoingwithherlife. But,lookingback,theyhadconfirmedherhypothesis,forsheisleftnowwith theoverwhelmingfeelingthatacancerousDiCaprioistheonlythingleftin theworldthatwilleverbringthemtogetherastheyhadoncebeenbefore.

About Manacled

SetinLondon1859, Manacled tellsthestoryofFlossieHarkum,ayoung womanwhowakesinaprisoncellwithnoknowledgeofhowshegotthere. Shetriestopiecetogetherthetruththroughbrokenmemoriesandfeverinduceddreams.Thebooklooksatthemesofimprisonment(bothmentally andphysically),andthetreatmentofyoungwomeninVictorianEngland; withafocusonissuesthathaveamodernparallel.Thefollowingsection movesbetweenFlossieinthepresent,andhermemoriesofthepast.

Manacled

RebeccaRobson

Itisthedreadthatholdsmedown,makingleadofmyveins...Fearthrowsme franticallytoalltheworstpocketsofmymind.Iameverywhere...Insidethesewalls, scatteredintofragments,hidinginthegapsbetweenthebricks,inthebucket,inthe bed,underthebed,clingingtothegreasybacksoftherats…Iamdrippingfromthe ceiling,inthespider’swebwheremydreamsaretrapped,cementedtothebars,stuck inthelock,movingthroughtheair.Iamboundbydread.

IHaveBeenGood.

IamtogotoChapel.Ihavebeengood,thechaplainsays.Ihaveshown myselftobeinpossessionofhumilityandself-control.Ibelieveitismyfrailty thatpresentsmeasmeekandworthyofheavenlyprotection.Ishallnot mentionthatIdonotbelieveinGod,andthereforerisklosingtimeaway frommycell.

Myfirstservicewillbeaftersupperthisevening.Ihavebeengiven “Sundaybest”towear,thoughIcannotbesuretodayisSunday.Thisnew

attireisacleanandmendedversionoftheclothgownIalreadywear, allhis girlsaretolookrespectableforGod.Iamtokeeptheminmycellandwearthem onlyforChapel.

Ihavedividedmyroomintosections.Thetopofmybedisthebedroom. ThispartofthebedIonlyusewhensleeping.Itnowhasapillowmadefrom mynewprayerclothes.TheotherendofthebedistheDrawingRoom.Isit thereafterbreakfast.OppositetheDrawingRoomistheWaterCloset,andin thefarcorner,theDiningRoom.

Ihavetidiedmyhair.Icombeditout.Clumpswereforming,likelittle clodsofearth.Ihadtoripsomeofthemapart,theyweretoomattedformy combtosave.

Mycomb.Itbelongstome,ispartofme.Onthefirstnighthere,when thewardenbroughtmefood,hespoketome.

‘Someone’slookin’outforyou,’he’dsaid,slidingtheplatethroughthe hatchandwaitinguntilIhadtakenthefood;apieceofbeefwithpotatoesand carrots.‘Itain’tmethough,yamurderouswhore.’I’dlookeddownatthefood andwatchedhisspittleslidedownmymeatlikewhitegravy.Iatenothing thatnight.HadIknownhowhungryIwouldbecome,howthin,Iwould havewipeditoff,andeatenthemeatanyway.Instead,Iremovedtheflesh fromthebones,washedtheminmywater,andkeptthem.Overthenextfew days,Icollectedthreadsfrommydress,andtiedthebonestogethertomake arudimentarycomb.Ithasmorelikenesstoabird’sfoot,butitworks,inpart. Ishouldhavelikedtohavehadafork,butIamnotallowed. Aboycollectsmeforprayers.

‘It’shalfpastthehour,Miss,’hesaysquietlythroughthedoor. ‘Whichhour?’Ireply.

‘Five,Miss.Youarenottospeak,Miss,whileIescortyou,’hesays.‘I, myselfamallowedtospeakallhours.Well,notwhenIamworkin’orafter lightsout.’Hegrinsatme,showinganincompletesetofteeth.Halfthosethat aren’tmissingareblack,andthegapsbetweenlookcavernousandraw.‘Ican keepyouentertainedwhilewewalkthecorridors,’hesaysmatteroffactly, ‘andIwon’ttellnooneifyouforgetsyourselfandtalkbackalittle.’

Wedonotseeanyone,butthemusicofthisplaceringsout;voicesrolling overeachother,wavesoftorturedsoulsbreakingonthewalls.‘Youalright, Miss?’saystheboy.Hehasmarksonhisneck,bigpurplebruises.Inod,

carefulnottospeak,watchingthebruisesashewalkstwostepsaheadofme. Thenoiseofourfeetdoesnotcompetewithwhatisalreadyhere.Thereisa strongsmellofsweatandurineleakingfromthecells.Ipulltheneckofmy dressuptocovermynoseandfindcomfortinthewarmthofmyownbreath.

‘Iknewyouwasnew‘costheytoldme,butIcanseeitnow.Don’tworry, yougetusedtothesmell.Men’swingisworse.’Hegrinsatmeagain,‘Can't drownoutasmell!Not‘tilthenoseisready.’

‘Howfarisit?’Iaskintotheroughfabricofmydress.

‘Rightattheotherside,’hechuckles,‘It’sthewomenwhatgottodoallthe walking.’Heturnsroundandpuffsouthislittlechest.‘Andmeofcourse.I walkmilescollectinganddeliveringthegoodonestothechapel.’

‘Good?Youmean,wellbehaved?’

‘Yes,Miss.’

‘Don'ttheyevertrytorun?’

‘Run?Wherewouldtheyrun?Thereain’tnowhere.Besidesthat,ifI whistle,alongcomesawarden.There’susuallyoneinacellnearbyhavinghis waywithaprettyone,’hesniggers.‘Surprisedyoudidn’tknowthat,‘cosyou aren’tbadlooking.ReckonoldBlaggers'd‘aveyou,’hesays,asifsavingme fromadisappointment.

‘Blaggers?’

‘MrBlagdon.He’salright...Likestheredheads.Givehimtime;he’llbe pokin’hiskeyinyourdoor,’hegiggles,thenlookstomeandstops.Hemust seefearinmyfacebecausehequicklyadds,‘Don’tworry,Miss,ifyouendup onea’Blaggers’sladiesyougetextrafoodandsometimesadropa’gin,’he winks.‘He’snotsobad.JustlonelyIthink…’Wewalkforthenextfew minuteswithoutspeaking.Atonepointheslidesapieceofpaperunderacell doorthenlooksatmeandputshisfingertohislips.

WhenwearriveatChapelthereisalreadyaqueueofaboutthirteensilent women,dressedinthesameclothasme.Thewardenswatchthem.

Lust,disgust,disregard.

Theboydisappearsaroundacorner.Iwanttolookatallthewomenand takeineverydetail.Thereisayoungwomanwithhairsoshortitlookslike abrowncaparoundherhead.SheturnsaroundasIjointhebackoftheline. Almostimperceptiblyhereyesnarrowandherlipstwitch.Shehasbrown eyes,andafacethatmusthaveoncebeenrosyandfull,butnowistaughtand

angular.Tofindbeautyinthisplace,onemusthuntforit,siftingthroughthe mire.Thengripittightagainstthegasping,violentugliness.Itiseasytosee herloveliness,evenbeneathherravagedface.Strength,fortitude,anda defiancethatglimmersjustbeneaththesurface.

‘Lookattheground,’anofficershoutsatme.Sweatshinesonhisface, exceptwherehisbeardgrows,thickandblack.Thewomanlooksaway,and Ilookatthefloor.Mylegsbegintoshake;Iwillthemtostopbuttheyonly getworse.Thedooropensandwefileintotheroom.Ourfootfallsarelight aswewalktogether.

Thechapelisalargestoneroom,benchesinlinesallfacingtowardsa woodencross.Ifeelthirstyforbreath,butIcannotgetenoughair.The growingtightnessinmychestwantstodevourit.Mylegsarestilltrembling, andthefamiliarfeelingofcoldsweatspreadsovermybody.

‘Letmehelpyou,’whispersthewomanwiththeshorthair.Shesitsme downattheback.Hertouchisfirmbutgentle.

‘I’mCassie,’shesays.

‘Flossie,’Itrytoreplybutmythroatisfullofphlegmanditsoundsmore likeagurgle.Ithinkshewillsitnexttome,butshecarriesontowardthecross andsitsatthefront.

Thechaplainisnolongerthenervous,twitchingmanIhadcometo know,butsomethingdifferent.Hisdemeanourisrelaxed,helooksbigger, straighter.HereadsapassagefromtheBiblewithsomethingclosetopassion.

‘“Andletusconsiderhowwemayspuroneanotherontowardloveand gooddeeds,”takenfromHebrews,ten,versetwenty-four.’

Hepauses,pleased.‘ForwewanttoleadeachotherinthewayofGod.We doitnotforourownsalvation,butforeachothers’.’Hetakesabigbreathand welcomesthenewcomers.Thegirlglancesbackatmeandthenoveratthe womannexttoher,whoisoldandstooped.Iwonderwhatshecouldhave donetobeinherewhenshecanbarelyliftherhead.Perhapsshecouldraise itwhenshearrivedhere.Perhapsshehasbeenherealongtime.Iamalready closertothegroundthanwhenIarrived,curlinginonmyself.

‘Godiswelcomingofyourrepentantsouls,’thechaplainsays.

‘Godisgood,andwerepent,’thewomenreply.

‘Cassieisgoingtostandandreadforustoday,’hesays.Theshort-haired girlstandsandturnstowardus.

‘IwillbereadingfromTheBookofCommonPrayer,’shesays,andher voiceshakesalittle.Butitisnotthequiverofhervoicethatsurprisesmebut howrefineditis.Itdoesnotmatchhercoarseappearance,asifshehad borrowedalady’svoicejustforchurch,andputitonwithherSundayBest. ‘“Hehealeththosethatarebrokeninheart,”’shebegins.Sheseemstolookat me,justforamoment.Icouldbeimaginingit.Iwilltrytositclosertothe frontnexttime.Iamsurprisedathowquietallthewomenareaswelistento Cassiespeak. Howquietweare.We,agroup,asectionofsociety.Agroupnot wanted.Ignored.Omitted.Shefinishesreadingandtakesherseat.AgainI thinkshelooksatme,I’msureofitthistime.Ifeelsomethinginmycheststir. Thethingthatshouldnotbethere.

Aeneanrisus.Vestibulumscelerisqueplaceratsem.

Ithoughtthatonceatrickleofamemoryfounditswaythroughtheblackspaces, therestwouldcomefloodingback,dominoesofthoughtfallingagainstoneanother untilthewholestoryisrevealed.Butminds,labyrinthine,donotconnectneatlyin order.IrattledoorsyetIcannotgetin,othersopenbythemselvessosecretscancreep outlikecatsinthenight.Ihavefoundmemoriesnotlockedbutsimplyunopened;

Victor’schestabovemewithhispaleskinanddarkwiryhairsparselyspread,Clara bringingmeteathatIdon’tdrink,feelingmyheadwiththebackofherhand,Victor’s mother’slipsonaphotographwhenshethoughtIcouldn’tsee,agoldpenina mahoganyandivorybox,Briarwithanarmfulofflowersinthegardenlaughing witholdWilliamsashewipessoilfromhishandsontohiscoat.Asmashedteacup onthekitchenfloor.Butnotyou.

Irememberdreams,Irememberdays,butIneverknowwhichdreamisstitched towhichday,whichdaytowhichdream...Thisblanketofconfusioncoversmy wholelife;itismywholelife.Ionlyneedtoruffleit,tochangeitsshape,but Idonotwanttomove,tothinkanymore,toremember.Iwanttobestill, silent.Iwouldliketobearock,partoftheEarth.

IfIHadOnlyListened.

Inegetsapienvitaemassarhoncuslacinia.Nullamatleonecmetus aliquamsemper.Phasellustincidunt,anteneclaciniaultrices,quammidictum libero,vitaebibendumturpiselitutlectus.Seddiamante,lobortissed, dignissimsitamet,condimentumin,sapien.Pellentesqueneclectusnonrisus auctorlobortis.Vestibulumsitametdoloraantesuscipitpulvinar.Sedlacinia. Aliquameratvolutpat.Inhachabitasseplateadictumst.Vivamussitametsem vitaetellusultriciesconsequat.Integertincidunttellusegetjusto.Classaptent tacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubianostra,perinceptoshymenaeos. Morbipellentesque,maurisinterdumportatincidunt,nequeorcimolestie mauris,vitaeiaculisdolorfelisatnunc.Maecenaseudiamaleoporta interdum.Innonmassaquisodiofeugiatsagittis.Quisqueaclorem. Maecenasutsemsedipsumsuscipitmalesuada.Nullaquisduiquisante fermentuminterdum.Proinegetestaauguevehiculamattis.Pellentesquesed nisiatnisiscelerisqueiaculis.Phasellusorci.Nullaadipiscing.Suspendisseet leovelelitullamcorpergravida.Prointempor,ligulauttincidunttempor, maurisnibhfeugiatodio,nectincidunteratorcidictumpurus.Etiamluctus odio.Aliquamadipiscingurnaafelis.Quisquesedelitinerosaliquetultrices. Donecatsem.Vestibulumcursus.Integerdolor.Vestibulumsitametsemnec auguefermentumconsectetuer.Integerjusto.

Notlongafterwemet,Victortookmetoachurchyard.Itwasfarfrom Londonwithitsheavinggravesthatcouldkillapersonwiththeirsmell.In thecountrysidethedeadarequietbelowstones,lineduplikeschoolchildren withnowheretogo.Thesafetyofdeathsoothedme.NotVictor.Hetalked ofeternalfiresasifhecouldseethemattheedgesofthepath,asifonthe battlefieldofhisowneternity.Ididn’tknowthatthen.Then,Ionlyfeltthe strengthofhim,thealivenessinhisvoice,thepowerinhisheart.

Vivamusvelsapien.Praesentnisltortor,laoreeteu,dapibusquis,egestas non,mauris.Cumsociisnatoquepenatibusetmagnisdisparturientmontes, nasceturridiculusmus.Nullameleifendpharetrafelis.Maurisnibhvelit, tristiqueac,laciniain,scelerisqueet,ante.Donecviverratortorsednulla. Phasellusnecmagna.Aeneanvehicula,turpisincongueeleifend,mauris loremaliquamsem,eueleifendestodioetpede.Maurisvitaemaurissitamet estrhoncuslaoreet.Curabiturfacilisis,urnavelegestasvulputate,telluspurus accumsanante,quisfacilisisduinislanunc.

Theearlysummereveningrestedinitsuniquebeautyandsmallflying insectsdancedonthesunlight.Victortalkedofplans,moneyandindustry, butthestreamrunningalongsidethechurchsangoflifeandfreedom.Itwas coaxingmetoslipoffmybootsandstockingsandchillmyfeettoanicy ecstasywhilethesunwarmedmyface.Icouldhearthewatertickleoverthe stonesbeneathandIlongedtowalkacrossthemandfeelshuddersofpainand pleasure.IstoppedlisteningtoVictor,asIoftendidwithoutmeaningto.

‘Whatdoyouthink,dearFlossie?’heasked.Ihadnotheardthewords precedinghisquestion,andhewaslookingatmesoveryearnestlyandIliked him,andIcouldn'tbeartoadmitIwasthinkingofsomethingasfrivolousas paddling.

Nullavestibulumeleifendnulla.Suspendissepotenti.Aliquamturpisnisi, venenatisnon,accumsannec,imperdietlaoreet,lacus.Inpurusest,mattis eget,imperdietnec,fermentumcongue,tortor.Aeneanutnibh.Nullam hendreritviverradolor.Vestibulumfringilla,lectusidviverramalesuada, enimmiadipiscingligula,etbibendumlacuslectusidsem.Crasrisusturpis, variusac,feugiatid,faucibusvitae,massa.Nuncgravidanonummyfelis. Etiamsuscipit,estsitametsuscipitsodales,estnequesuscipiterat,necsuscipit

IrepliedasbrightlyasIcould,‘Whatawonderfulidea,Victor,’andthat washowIagreedtobemarried.

Whatnoonehadwarnedmeaboutmarriage,wasthatnotonlycanyou notdowhatyoulike,youalsocannotbewhoyoulike.ThiswasnotVictor’s fault.Oneofushadtoholdontoourselves,andhewassogoodatit,so ferocious,sofulltothebrimofVictor.Therewasnotenoughofmethen.

Iwasluckyinmanyrespects;Ididnothavetoattenddancesordinners,I didnothavetofollowthelatestfashionsorgetmyhairright,andmostofthe timehedidnotexpectmetogivemybodytohim.AllIhadtodowashide mytrueselfandnotgrow.Butlifealwaysgrowsinonewayoranother.Like aplant,Igrewaroundmyobstacles,butmyshapebecamechanged,strange. Nowthereistoomuchofme,spillinginalldirections.

Donotsleep,forifyoudothedreamswillcomeandtellyouwhatyoudonot wanttohear...Truthhauntsmelikeahungryspirit,penetratingmydreamsinstrange costumes...Thepigthateatsthroughmyjournals,angryandstrong,rollinginmy words...Iamnakedincottonsheets,thegrassthatisn'tcutgrowsandgrowsabovemy head,thickandgreen,smoothlikesofthair,Iwanttopullmyhandsthroughit,feel itonmybareskin.Atmyfeetthewormsturn,Ifeelthemthroughmytoes,silky, wet,pink...Beaksripthemfromtheearthandfrommyfeet,swallowthemwhole...I bleedintothesoil,theypeckatmyshoulders,theirfeathersonmyface,talonspull atmyhair,Itrytosearchthegrassbutitiswilting,yellow,brittle.

IfIHadOnlyStayedinBed.

IhatedmynewmarriednamebecauseIhadtoshareitwithVictor’smother. WewerethetwoMrsHarkums.WheneverIwasaddressedbythatname,it wasyetanotherreminderthatIwasboundtoher.

Itiscurioushoweveninaparkfilledwithchatterandmusic,shrieking andlaughter,certainsoundsbreakthroughandhitonedirectly.Iknew Victor’smotherwasapproachingevenbeforehervoicesliddownmyears, gluingmyteethtogether.Iknewherbytheheavytap,tap,tap,dragofher cane;stabbingthepathonlytostrokeitafterwards.Isometimeswonderifshe onlyhasacanetoassertauthorityovertheground.Ifeltherbeforeshestood nexttomeandlookedmeover,takinginmyhair,skin,clothes.Hergreen eyesalwayslingereduponsomething,waitingformyshametocome.This timesherestedhergazeuponmyfeet.Oneisslightlybiggerthantheother, aresultoffallingfromourfigtreewhenIwasveryyoung.Mymothersaid myfeetwerebeautiful.ShesaidIhadaMamafootandababyfoot.Iusedto makethemtalktoeachother.Whilewalking,paddling,orlayinginbed,my feetwouldchatterawaytooneanother:motherandchild.ButwhenVictor’s motherlookedatthem,theydidnotfeelbeautiful.

‘Goodday,MrsHarkum.’Shefrequentlyaddressedmewiththisshared name,Ipresumeshelikestowatchmewince.‘Ithoughtyouweresupposed toberestingintheafternoonsyetstillIfindyouinthepark,again.’

‘Goodafternoontoyou,MrsHarkum.’Ismiled,thoughmyteethwere stillclenchedandmyeyesfeltcold.‘Howlovelytoseeyou.Youarequite right,Iamrequiredtoliedownintheafternoons,butIfeelsorestlesstoday.’

‘Well,dear,ifyouarerestless,surelywhatyouneedis rest?Victorwillbe worriedaboutyouandwecan’thaveyoubothfrettingyourlivesaway,can we?’Shelookedovermyface.Ikeptitstill.

‘Iwasabouttowalkhomeanyway,’Isaid,knowingVictorwouldn’thave cared,orevennoticed,thatIhadgone.Hebarelylefthisstudy,venturing onlyforfood,sleeporthosecontemptiblemeetingsthatalterthecourseofhis moodsoremarkably.Thelastthingpressingonhismindwouldbemy afternoonstrollsinthepark.

‘Goodgirl.’Sheofferedmeherarm,whichItookthoughIdonotliketo betouchedbyher.Ialreadyfeltshewasinvadingmeandhertouchquickly begantofeeloverwhelming.Ihadanurgetoshakeheroff.Ididnot,of course,notthen.Ifound,ifIturnedmyheadslightlyawayfromherand angledmybodythesmallestfractionintheoppositedirection,Icouldbreathe alittlemoreeasilyandfeelalittlemoreseparate.Shestoppedusatthepond tofeedthebirds.Victor’smotheralwayscarriedalittlebitofbirdfeedinher bagandthegentlenesswithwhichsheobservedtheducksandswans disorientatedmyfeelingstowardsher.‘Beautiful,aren’tthey?’shesaid.

‘Yes,’Iagreed,asaparticularlydandydrakecaughtmyeye.

‘DoyouknowthatMrDarwindiscoveredwatersnailscantravellong distancesontheundersideofaduck’sfoot?’Ishookmyhead.‘Hefoundthis outusingthefeetofadisembodiedduck.’Shecarriedonsprinklingseedsby herfeetandsmilingasthebirdsbegantoclusteraroundher.‘Youare wonderingwhyadeadduck.’Iwasnotwonderingthatatall.‘Perhapslive ducksaretoohardtomanage.Perhapshedoesnotlikeducks.Nevertheless whatitgoestoshowishowonereallydoesnotneedtobealivetohelpthe brilliantpeopleofsocietyinthequestforscientificknowledge.’Shetookmy armagainandwalkedmeaway,leavingtheclatterofbirdsbehind.‘You know,Flossie,’shesaidalmostlaughing,‘youarequiteprettyinthislight.’

‘PerhapsVictorisnotwithouttasteafterall.’Shepausedforamoment, lookedintomyeyes,hersalittlewet,andsmiled.‘Well,letusbeoff,you don’twanttobelateforsupper,doyou?’

‘No.’

‘Nexttimeyoudecideyouarefeelingrestless,sendacoachformeandwe shallgoouttogether.Ishouldhatetohavetolookforyouagain.’

Idreamofmymother...Iamachildagain,lostinanancientbuilding...Amuseum. Icannotfindher.ThenIamher,atthebottomofaflightofstonesteps...Bigpartsof thewallsandceilingsaremissingandIcanseesectionsofthenightskythroughthe holes.Iammeagain,lookingdownthestepsatthebackofmymother’sheadand herdarkhairislongandloose.Sheisembracingamanwhoisnotmyfather,and theyholdeachotherlikehoneyholdsaknife;aslowfluidityonafixedpoint.ButI cannotseewhatthefixedpointis.Theydon’tseeme...Iwaketothestonewallsof mycell,mybed,bucket,blanket,bars.Iamthefixedpoint.

‘Thankyou,’Imanagedtosay.

About TheGriefTree

EverLifeisavirtualrealitytherapist,afriendlydeathdoulatohelpcoachyou throughabereavement.Butwhatwouldyoudoiftheavatarlookedlikethe personyou’dlost?Inthenear-futureworldofHere,Solomongrievesforhis wifeEliza.Hishopesanddreamsfortheirlifetogetheraregone,andheis tormentedthathiseffortstohelpherbacktohealthwerefornothing.Butjust ashisgriefthreatenstodestroyhim,astrangerappearsatthedoorwithan offertoogoodtobetrue;afreesubscriptiontothehigh-endEverLifeapp;a VRtherapisttohelphimrecoverfromhisgrief.WhenSolomonloadsupthe avatarforthefirsttime,heisshockedtoseethatitlooksandsoundsjustlike Eliza.

TheGriefTree isasciencefictionnovelfulloftwistsandturns: TheEcho Wife meets Neverwhere bywayof HowHighWeGointheDark.Atitsartificial heart,it’sastoryaboutgrief,technology,andthelengthsapersonwillgoto getthelifetheythinktheydeserve.

TheGriefTree

TomMason

Here

Therundirectorpostsascreenshotoftheweatherforecastintothegroup. Thetemperatureistolerableand—yes—thememorialforElizaisgoingahead. Themessageelicitsexcitableresponses,repliespoppingintothegroupchat likebubbles.Solomon,lookingdownathisscreen,doesn’tknowanyofthe participants.Thethoughtofmeetingsomanystrangersmakeshimnervous enoughtoneedthetoiletagain.

Heissittingontheedgeofthebed,eyesstrainingagainstthelightfrom hisdevice.Thelivingroomisgloomy,morninglightstrugglingtosqueeze pastthefurniturestackedagainstthefrontwindow;chairs,cupboardsanda sofacrushedtogetherasifforcedbyalistingfloor.Althoughitwasonly supposedtobeatemporaryarrangementtomakespaceforthebed,theroom haslookedlikethisformonths.Theimprintsofwherethefurnitureusedto beonthecarpethaveallbutfadedaway.

NervespingaroundSolomon’sstomachaspeopleposttheirselfies,photos

ofbrightclothingandneonfacepaint.Someoneisbringingadogandhe imaginestrippingoveritsleadontounforgivingconcrete.Hermemorial shouldn’tevenbegoingahead.Theredheatwarningwassupposedtolastall weekendand,whenSolomonlookedoutofthewindowbeforehewentto bed,thewiltingtreesinthestreetwerestill.Thismorning,hewoketogrey skiesandabreezeandthoughthewashavinganightmare.

‘Idon’tthinkIcandothis,’hesays,staringatthedecorationsonthewall: acaseofhermedals,andaphotofromherfirstdayasanentrepreneur.The medalsaremountedinayellowframe,thetotalraisedfromherfour marathonswrittenbeneatheachchunkypieceofmetal.Thephotoisfromthe firstRubbishRunnersevent.Shehaswildeyesandinherhand,raisedtothe skylikeaspear,alitterpicker.ShelookslikeBoudicainathleticwear. Solomonsighsandconsidershisownclothing:shortsandt-shirt.It’sbeenso longsincehedidanyexercise,notsinceshewasill,andeverythingistight andclingstohisbody.‘I’msorryI’mlettingyoudown,’hesays.

Heisabouttosendhisapologies,anexcuseaboutheatstroke,whenanew messageappearsinthegroupchat.Itisfromhismother-in-law. Whata wonderfuldaytohonourmydaughter’smemory.Lookingforwardtoseeing everyonethere.

Solomon’sshouldersslump.Themessageismeantforhim.

Thememorialrunwillfollowtheoldrailwayline,apedestrianisedroutethat cutsthroughthecity,andalargecrowdisgatheredattheruinsbyits entrance.Araisedplatformandtwofollywallsareallthatremainsofthe Victorianstationand,lookingatthestonecrumbsfromhisparkedcar, Solomonfindsithardtovisualiseasteamtrainspewingsmokeintotheair. Hisfirstemotion,watchingdozensofbrightlydressedrunnersmaketheir waytothemeetuppoint,isrelief.Hiswife’sfuneralwasintimate,nomore thantwentymourners:aninterrogationbywell-meaningfriendsand relatives.Inacrowd,hecanbeanyone.Hecraneshisnecksearchingforthe rundirector,awomancalledJowhousedtobeEliza’spersonaltrainer. Accordingtothegroupchat,she’llbeaddressingthecrowdbeforethe memorialbegins.That’swhenhe’llmakehiswayover.

It’salreadywarm,despitetheearlystart.Whilehe’dlovetoputontheair conditioning,therearefinesforidlingwiththeenginerunningandhecan’t affordtheticket.Hewindsdownthewindow.Thenoisecomingfromthe crowdsurpriseshim:overlappingconversations;childrenshoutingasthey racearoundthefolly;dogsatthehipbarkingimpatiently.Alumpcatchesin histhroat.Elizawouldloveseeingherfriendstogetherlikethis.Itisa celebration.Awayforthemtomoveon.Itisn’taplaceforhim.

He’sabouttoreturnhomewhenthere’sacrackofstaticandamuffled voicethroughamegaphone.Awomaninapinktutuaddressesthegroup fromoneofthederelictplatforms.Jo,hepresumes.Solomonistoofaraway tohearwhatshe’ssaying,butasthecrowdgathersaroundhertolisten,he feelsasharppangofguilt.It’senoughforhimtoreconsidergoinghome.He

getsoutofthecarandspendsthenextfiveminutescheckingthedoorsare locked.

BythetimeSolomonreachesthestation,Joisexplaininghowthe memorialrunwillwork.‘Don’tworryifyou’venotcometoaRubbish Runnerseventbefore,it’ssupereasy,’shesays,pointingtothreepilesonthe ground.‘Cardboard.Plastic.Non-recyclables.Chooseoneofthebasketsand putitonlikeabackpack.’

SolomonrememberswhenElizacamehomewiththeideaforRubbish Runners.Shehadburstintothelivingroom,backwhenitstilllookedlikea livingroom,faceredandsweaty.Inherhand,sheheldabagbulgingwith waste.‘Thisisjustfromonerun,’hiswifeexplained.‘ThisisthebigideaI’ve beensearchingfor.’Shespentthenexttwoyearsorganisinglitter-picking runsacrossthecityuntilshewasgettingenoughinsponsorshipandgrantsto quitherjobandrunitfull-time.Whenshegotill,therewasastoreofbranded merchandiseandRubbishRunnereventsweretakingplaceacrossthe country.

ThesoundoflaughterpullsSolomonbacktothespeech.‘Onceyou’ve pairedupwithsomeone,decidewhodoeswhat,’Josays.‘Ifyou’renot wearingabasket,thenyou’reapicker.Yourjobistocollectrubbishandput itinthebasketonyourpartner’sback.Pleaserememberyourlittergrabber beforeyousetout.Wedon’twantanyoneusingtheirpawsandneedinga tetanusjab.’

Achucklewashesthroughthegroup.Solomoncansensethenervous

excitement,aneagernesstogetstarted.Elizawouldapprove.Onthe platform,Joplacesherhandstogetherinprayerandclearsherthroat.‘Iknow we’reallraringtogo,’shesays,‘butIwanttotakeaminutetorememberwhy we’reallhere.’Shetakesashakybreath.‘Elizawasthebestbloodyperson.I knowwe’reallthinkingofherandherfamilyandI’msogladwecouldget togethertohonourhermemoryinsuchaperfectway.’Applauseripples throughthecrowdasJoclambersdownfromtheplatform.Solomonpullshis cap,stitchedwithaRubbishRunnerslogo,downtocoverhisredandswollen eyes.Honourhermemory?Everyoneherejustwantstomoveon.Heshould havestayedathome.

‘Solomon,’callsavoice.‘Areyougoingtotryandmakemydaughter proud?’ItisLydia,Eliza’smother.Shemakesherwaytowardshimthrough thecrowdwithasneer,herversionofasmile,andpullshimcloseforabrief andstarchyhug.‘I’mgladyoucouldmakeit,’shesaysinhisear.‘It’s importanttokeepyourselfbusytoavoidthegrief.’

‘Thankyoufortheinvitation,’Solomonsaysafterbeingreleasedfromher grip.Likehim,Eliza’smotheriswearingRubbishRunnersmerchandise,but hert-shirtsmellsfreshfromthepacketandtherearefactorycreasesacrossthe chest.Twowomenwearingthesamething—herfriends,hepresumes—trail inherwake.

‘Didyoucomealone?’Hismother-in-lawasks,concernfloodingherface. ThecrackleofthemegaphonesavesSolomonfromareply.Johasstarted thecountdowntotherunandthecrowdturntofacetheentrancetothe railwaypathlikeashoaloffish.‘Sorry,’hesaystoLydia,pointingtothethree pilesofbasketsontheground.‘Ihavetogetmystuffbeforewego.’

‘Butyoudon’thaveapartner,’shesays.Thereisacrackfromastartergun andthecrowdsurgesforward.‘Whydon’tyouwalkwithmeandmyfriends? Wedon’twantyoulookinglikeaBillyNoMates,afterall.’

Eliza’smotheristherunmarshal.Shehasbestowedthetitleonherself, printingitacrossatabardthatshepullsonoverherheadbeforetheysetoff. Herrole,sheexplainstoherfriends,istostayattherearofthepackandmake surenoonegetsleftbehind.‘Whowantstotryandkeepupwithallthese

fitnessfanatics?’shesaysastheyambledownthepath.

Elizausedtorundowntherailwaylineregularly,butthisisthefirsttime Solomonhasbeenontheroute.Despitethehousesoneitherside,brickwork leeringovertallgardenfences,heissurprisedathowsereneitis.Dense thicketsborderbothsidesofthepath,whilethicktreescreateasweetsmellingcanopythatshieldshimfromthesun.HetriestoimagineEliza here—feetbouncingontheconcrete,strongarmspropellingherbody forward—butcannot.It’shardtoseeherasanythingbutsick.

‘We’renotgoingtoofastforyouarewe?’asksLydia,breakingofffrom herconversationwiththeotherwomen.

Solomonlingersbehindthetrio,searchingforrubbishintheverges.In twentyminutes,hehasn’tfoundasinglepieceoflittertocollect.‘No,’hesays, fingerstightaroundthegrabbergiftedtohimbyoneofherfriends.‘Just tryingtodomybit.’Hecan’tfinishtherunwithanemptybasket.The thoughtmakeshisstomachtwist.

‘Idoubtyou’llfindanything,’hismother-in-lawreplies.Neithershenor herfriendshavehelpedhimlookforrubbish.‘Thebetterrunnerswillhave gobbleditallup.We’rejusthereformoralsupport.’

Thepaththins.Theembankmentsofvegetationabruptlystopandthe fourofthemareforcedintosinglefileastheyenteraginnel.Thenarrow passagewaymakesSolomonnervous,andhefocusesonthedetailsaround himtostaygrounded:abovethetallgraffitiedfences,hecanseetheslateroofs ofhousesand,throughgapsinthewood,smallgardensthatlooklikethey wereaddedasanafterthought.Thereisanunfamiliarsmellfromoneofthe homes,somethingfromhischildhoodthattakesafewsecondstorecognise. ‘Bacon?’saysEliza’smother,incredulously.‘Someone’sgotrichtastes.’ Solomonisthankfulwhentheyleavetheginnel.Theperfumefromone ofthewomen(hecouldn’ttellwhich)wasmakinghisnoseburnandoncethe pathwidensheisrelievedtoseethempressonaheadasheresumeshissearch forlitter.Lydiaandherfriends,gossipingaboutsomeonehedoesn’tknow, getsofarinfronthethinkstheymayhaveforgottenabouthim.

‘Comeonslowpoke,’hismother-in-lawshouts.‘Wewanttoaskyoua question.’Thethreewomentilttheirheadsinpityandhisheartsinks.He wondershowfartheyhavetogobeforethefinishline.‘IwasjustsayingI thoughtyouwerehavingaparticularlyhardtimeatthemoment,’Lydiasays

asheapproaches.‘I’venotheardfromyousincethefuneral.’ Oneofherfriendspouts.‘Howareyou?’sheasks.Solomondoesn’tknow hername.

‘Fine,Isuppose.’Hehatesthisquestion.Heneverknowswhatpeople wanttohear.

Eliza’smotherpatshimonthearm.‘Youstillhaven’tbeentovisityour wife.’It’snotaquestion.Shegoestotidythegraveonceaweek.‘It’s importanttogrieveright.Shewouldwantyoutogetyourlifebackasquickly aspossible.Youhavetomoveon.’

Solomondoesn’tsayanything.Lydiashakesherhead.Hecan’ttellifshe isdisappointedorjustsad.

NoonespeakstohimfortherestofthejourneyandSolomonisrelieved whentheyfinallyreachtheend,asmallparkjustofftherailwaypath.When theyarriveatthefinishlinebytheparkingspaces,mostoftheotherrunners havealreadygone.OnlyJoandtwovolunteersarestillthere,stoodguardby pilesofdiscardedbasketsandlitterpickers.Bagsbulgingwithrubbishare stuffedintheopenbootofanearbycar.Thesunisbeatingdownand Solomoncansmellthewastebakingintheheat.

‘Welcomerunners,’saysJocheerfullyastheyapproach.‘Lastbutcertainly notleast.’Solomonrecognisestheexhaustioninhereyes.‘Youcandropyour rubbishoffhere.We’regoingtotakeittotherecyclingcentreassoonas you’realldone.’

Eliza’smotherspeaksfirst.‘Onlyoneofuswascollecting,’shesays, pointingtoSolomon.‘Ourmanofthehour.’

Solomonstepsback,reluctanttotakethebasketoffhisshoulders.‘There wasn’tmuchtocollect.’

‘Nonsense,’saysJo.‘Everylittlehelps.’

Oneofthevolunteersglancesattheirwatch.Solomonsighsandmakeshis waytothecar.Everyonewatcheshimtakeoffthebasketandemptyitinto anopenbinliner.Asingleplasticbottlefallsout,butitmissesthebagand bouncesoutoftheboot.Hisfaceglowsinshameasitrollsbacktowardsthe group.

Hismother-in-lawreachesdownandpicksupthebottlewitha sympatheticsmile.‘Nevermind,’shesays.‘I’msureElizawouldstillbeproud ofyourefforts.’

It’smid-afternoonbythetimeSolomonreturnshome.Hishouse,builtfora differentclimate,willbeanoveninside,andhechoosestowaitinhiscarwith theairconditioningonuntilthedaycools.Satinthedrive,heenviouslyeyes theairconunitpipedintothepropertynextdoor.Thehouse,identicaltohis own,usedtobeownedbyamarriedcouplewhenhewasyounger,apairof womenwhopassedhimsweetsoverthefence.

Verylittlehasbeendonetohisownhomesincehewaslittle,andnothing hasbeenimprovedsincehisparentspassedawayafewyearsago.The brickworkiscrumblingandpaintflakesfromthewindows.HeandEliza weresavingupforrenovations—replacingthesingleglazing,adding insulation,installingsolarpanels—butthatmoneyhasgone.Everythingwent towardshercare.

Atdusk,heleavesthecar.Togetinsidehishouse,Solomonhastoforce thedooropenwithhisshoulderuntilthereisenoughofagaptosqueeze through.Hishoardingfillsmostofthecorridor,heapsofrubbish,bagsand bric-a-bracthatcomeuptohischest,leavingonlyaslimpassagewayforhim togetaroundthehouse.Hedoesn’trememberwhenhebeganhoarding. AfterElizadied,everythingjustseemedworthsaving.Inthekitchen,he ignorestheplatesstackedonthewoodencountersandthetakeawayboxes strewnonthefloor.Hebarelynoticesthesmellanymore.Bythebreakfast bar,Solomon—slowly,soasnottodisturbtherubbishalreadypiledonthe surface—setsdownthebottlefromtherailwaypath.Hepulleditfromthebin linerwhennoonewaslooking.

‘I’mnotgoingtoforget,’hewhisperstothehouse.‘Ipromise.’

About TheShadowofKings

SetinthelandofVirnéa,thisnovelfollowsIllia,aSicariusassassin.Sheisthe lastofherkind–orsoshethinks.FollowingtheTwoHundredYearWarthat endedontheNightofNoLife,theentireSicarianrace,saveIlliaandher parents(theSicarianroyalty),havebeenslaughtered:hidingfromtheworld, fulfillingthesummonsoftheSightPoolinsecret.Now,withherparents murderedbyorcs,Illiaquestionsherplaceintheworld,hatingthepaththat fateanddesignseemtohaveplacedheron.

TheSightPool,leftunchecked,hasbeensummoningIlliamoreregularly, withrequestsbecominglesshumaneandmoredangerous.Followinga difficultsummons,IlliaencountersKay,astrangerwhohasbeencapturedand torturedbytheverysameorcwhokilledherparents.Choosingtorescuehim, shetooiscapturedbytheorcs,andfromthereissentonalonganddifficult journeyfromcaptortocaptor,onlytolearnthatKaysuffersfromamnesia causedbythetorture.Hedoes,however,stillholdonevitalmemory:the long-sincelostBookofSicarius.IlliatravelswithKaytohelphimunlockhis memories,andastheyjourneytheyuncoveranunknownevildiggingits clawsdeeperintotheland.ItbecomesaraceagainsttimetofindtheBookand toprotectitfromfallingintothewronghands.

TheShadowofKings

JessicaLandsdowne

ChapterFive

‘Bindher,’Azerbarked.Illia’sarmswerepulledroughlybehindherbackas coarseropeswerewrappedandtiedtightlyaroundherwrists.Herhands throbbedasthebloodfoughttomakeitswaytoherfingertips.‘Andherfeet. Nochances.’

Shefelttooweaktofightthembythatpoint.Azer’sblowhadbeenfierce, andherheadwasstillreelingfromit.Bloodfromhertonguehadcaughtin thebackofherthroat,butshecouldnotquiteswallowit.Everythingwas dark;evenwithhereyesopenandwiththemorningsunbeamingbrightly, theonlythingshecouldmakeoutwastheblurredshapeofAzer’sface,his harshlinesandglaringorangeeyesnowlosttoher.Herscalpburnedwhere hestillheldherhair,andthesoundoftheoccasionalstrandburstingfromits rootwaspoppinginherears.

Sheswunginhisgraspashewalkedforward,thetoesofherboots scrapinglightlyontheground.

WhywasIso…sostupid? Itwastheonlythoughtcareeningthroughher brain.Shesimplydidnothavetheenergyforanythingelse.

Suddenly,thestrainonherscalpreleasedandherheaddroppedforward. Thereliefwasshortlived,however,forjustassuddenly,herfacecollidedwith theearth.Withagroan,shetriedtoliftherhead,butaleatheryfootforcedit backintothedirtandstone.Bloodslowlybegantopoolinhermouth.The stalesmellofdrydirtdidlittletomaskthenauseatingscentofAzer’sbarefeet, andIlliatriedtostrugglefree,desperateforcleanair.

‘Stay,’hegrowled,grindinghisfootagainstherhead,buryingitintothe ground.‘Youwillwaitforourchief.’

Heslowlyliftedhisfootfromher,butIllia’sbreathcaughtinherchest. FiftyyearswasablinkinthelifespanofaSicarius,butforanorcitwasathird oftheirlifetime.IlliarememberedZavrokasclearlyasifhehadkilledher parentsyesterday.

Butwillherememberme? Sheknewherappearancehadnotchangedmuch inthattime;maturedintoamoreadultstructure,yes,butenoughtono longerberecognisable?No.

Heavystepscausedthegroundtoquiverbeneathher.Airburstfromher lungsinsmallgaspswitheachthud,andherheartlurchedwitheachshudder oftheearth.Hewascoming.

‘She’stheone?’Zavrok’sdeepvoiceboomedaroundher.

‘Yes.’

‘Makeherlookatme.’

Azer’sroughfingersgrappledIllia’shair,followedbythatsamesearing painofeachindividualstrandthreateningtobreakfreefromherfleshasher bodyoncemoreleftthefloor.Anagonisedmoangurgledinherthroatasshe washauledfacetofacewithZavrok.

Hercheekthrobbedandametallictastelingeredonhertongue;Azer’s cruelstrikehadcausedhercheektoswell,andasitpressuredhereyetoclose, warmtearsseepeddownherface.Herlipstungastearsfloodedintothefresh woundfromwhereherliphadsplitonastoneashecrushedherfaceintothe dirt.

‘So,youdid all this?’Zavrokgesturedatthesmoulderingcarnageofthe campsite.‘Whatdidyouthinkyou’dachieve?Lookaround—you’re outnumbered!’

Illiasaidnothing.Shehadknownshewasoutnumbered.Ofcourseshe had.Shehadevenknownshewouldmorethanlikelybecaptured,ifnot killed.Butforsomeinexplicablereason,shehadtoatleasttry.

Zavrokstood,hiseyesboringintoherashewaitedforhertoanswer. ‘Whoareyou?’heeventuallygrowled.‘Youarefamiliartome.’

‘Humansalllookthesame,Chief,’Azeroffered.

‘Yes…’hemused,‘butthat’snotit.AndIdon’tthinkshe’shuman,not fully.’

Illiachokedalittle. Doesheknow?

‘Doyouthinksheis…’Azer’svoicewenttoaloudwhisper,‘awitch?’

Agaspranthroughtheonlookingorcs,andtherewasaunifiedshuffleof footstepsastheyallsteppedaway,murmuringsuspiciouslytooneanother.

Zavrokleanedinclosetoherandnarrowedhiseyesashescrutinisedher face.‘No,notawitch…ButIdon’tknowwhat.’Heputaroughfingerunder Illia’schinandjoltedherfaceup.Illiawinced.‘Who are you?’

AsZavrokrepeatedhisquestion,aweightdroppedfromIllia’schest. He doesn’tknow.

Theswellingonherfacemusthavemarredherappearance,andifhedid notrecogniseher,orknow what shewas,thenthatwashowshewouldallow ittostay.Fornow.Whenshewasready,shewouldensureheneverforgot whoshewaseveragain.

Satisfactioncoursedthroughherasshesmiledathim,herteethredwith thebloodthatoozedfromherlip,andasmalllaughgurgledthroughthepool inthebackofherthroat.Hereyesbegantodroop,andherhearingbeganto fadeashermindslippedintounconsciousness.

sun’sharshglare.Azer. Heglowereddownather.‘You’reawake.Good.Thenyoucanwalk.’

Notforamomentdidhiseyesmovefromherashekneltandpickedup thechainthatsecuredher,beforetwistingandsplittingoneofthelinks.He stoodoncemorethenjerkedsharplyonthechain.Illia’sarmsfeltasthough theywouldbedraggedfromtheirsocketsashehauledherroughlytoherfeet.

Hebentdowntolookather,andforamomenttheywerenosetonose. Hiscoldstaresentneedlesdownherspine.Sheknewthatheachedtokillher rightthenandthere,butsheachedtokillhimjustasfiercely.

Withnowarning,Azergrabbedher,threwheroverhisshoulder,and leaptoutofthepit.Herstomachlurchedintohisshoulder,knockingthe breathfromher.

Shegroanedandsplutteredthroughthegaginhermouth. Whereishe takingme? Sheforcedherheadupfromhisback.Orcsscurriedaround, packingdownthecampsite,loadinganythingintactontostolencartsand leavingbehindanythingtooseverelydamagedfromthefires.Afewpulled downtheperimeterwall.

Ifwe’retravelling,Imightactuallystandachanceofescape. Herneckbeganto seize,andsheletherbodyflopagainstAzer’sgreased,leatheryback. Heavystampingandviciousgruntingcausedhertoliftherheadonce more.

N’guru.

WhenIlliawoke,shefoundshehadbeenchainedtothesamepostwherethe strangerhadpreviouslybeentied.Daylightboredownintothepitandsweat beadedonherforehead.Herwristsandankleschafedfromthebindings,and herhandsandfeetwerenumbasherbloodstruggledtoreachthem.Acoarse andfoul-tastingraghadbeenforcedintohermouthandtiedinplaceand, whilsttheswellinghadalreadybeguntosubside,therewasstilltheacheofa deepbruiseinhercheekandthefiercecutinherlip.

Alargeformrosefromthefarsideofthepit,shadinghereyesfromthe

Gianthog-likebeaststhesizeofhorsesandferociousinbattle.Theirskin wasdarkandcoveredinthickbristles.Theyhadsixtusksthatweresharpas daggers,fourthatjutteduptowardtheirsnoutfromtheirotherblood-stained teeth,andtwothatcurveddowntowardstheirmandible.Illiahadonlyever heardofthem,andshehadwonderedwhetherthereportshadbeen embellished.Butastheorcsstruggledtotackthemwithwornleathersaddles, then’guruthrashedandbucked,theirtuskspiercingthefleshoftheorcsand causingblackbloodtooozefromtheirwounds.Itbecameclearthatthe descriptionsshehadheardweregrosslyunderstated.

Distractedbythemixedsensationsofterrorandfascinationasshewatched them,shecoulddonothingasshewassuddenlydroppedtotheground.Azer grabbedthechainsanddraggedherthroughthedirttowardsawoodencart, nodoubttakenmercilesslyfromunfortunatesoldierstransportingprisoners.

Heshackledhertothechain-postboltedtothecartfloor.

‘Incaseyougetanyideas,’hegruffed.

Yes,becausewithmyhandsandfeetboundandmymouthgagged,inbroad daylightnoless,Iamleftwithsomanyoptionsforescape. Sheglaredupathim, hopingitmightunnervehimatleastslightly,buthesimplygloweredback.

‘I’lluntieyourfeetwhenwemarch,’hestated,andstormedaway.

Therewasnotmuchtoseefromherpositionontheground.Wriggling inthedirt,shemanagedtoinchclosertothecart.Fromthere,shestretched up,restedherwristsonitsfloor,andpulledherselftoherknees.Shepauseda momentforbreath.Thelatemorningsunwashotteronthesurfacethanit hadfeltinthepitandsweatdrippeddownherbrow.

Shewassotired.

Eventually,shemanagedtoawkwardlytwistherselfaroundtositwithher backtothecart.

Oneoftheorcshadmanagedtosaddleandbridlethelargestofthen’guru andwasnowstrugglingtoguideitawayfromtheothers.Blackbloodseeped fromthefreshwoundsinhisfleshandstainedthesharpivoriesofthebeast. Whereverhewastakingit,then’guruclearlydidnotwanttogo.

Youandme,both. Hergazeturnedtothechainsaroundherwristsandthe ropesthatboundherankles. HowamIgoingtogetmyselfoutofthis?

Thiswasnotthefirsttimeshehadgottenherselfintoastickysituation, butitwasthefirsttimeshehadeverbeenwithouthelp.Balthazarhadalways beentherewatchingoverher,readytoswoopinandsaveheratamoment’s notice.Andifnothim,thenatleastshehadbeenabletodisappearintothe shadows,butthistimetherewerenoshadows,andsomethinginsideherfelt wrong.

Hermagicfeltdistant.

Shehadalwaysbeenabletofeelit,coursinglikeasofttinglingthrough herveins,buteversincesheregainedconsciousnessthatfeelingwas,forthe firsttimeinherlife,gone.Now,shewassatinthedirt,chainedtoaprison cartinanorccamp. Well,what’sleftofanorccamp.Mostoftheperimeterwall thatsurroundedthecamphadbeentorndownatthispoint.Someofthelogs werecarelesslyabandonedinthedirt,butotherswereluggedtowagons alreadyladenwithotherspikedposts.

Itwasstrange…Theyhadbuiltsuchanelaborateencampment.Itwasnot

uncommonfororcstohaveafewtents,andafewstolencartsladenwith barrelsofOrth,norwasituncommonforthemtostripthesurrounding woodlandsforfirewoodandsetupcampsitesthat,despitetheirnomadic nature,theymightstayinforaweek,maybetwo.Evenso,theyoften favouredsleepingunderthestarsratherthancanvas.Theyfearedfewthings, andsohadlittleneedforspikedfenceswhenaheftyaxe,ajaggedsword,or eventheirsheerbrutestrengthwouldservejustaswell.

Whythefortifications?Whathavetheybeendoinghere?

ItwashighnoonwhenAzerfinallyreturned,thistimewiththestrangerlimp overhisgiantshoulder.HewalkeduptoIllia,notsparingheraglance,and dumpedthemancarelesslyintothebackofthecartbeforebindinghimtothe chain-post.

He’sstillunconscious. Illiarolledhereyes. It’snotlikehe’sgoingtobeescaping anytimesoon.

‘Incase you getanymoreideas,’Azergrowled,asthoughhehadheardher thoughts.Heopenedhismouthtocontinue,butquicklycloseditagain.

Hoofbeatsapproached.

Illiaturnedtosee,butthebulkyframeofthecartobscuredherview. ‘Arewereadytoleave?’Zavrok’svoicecamebellowingfrombehindher, anditwasthenthathecameintosight.

Herheartseemedtostopbeating.Zavrokwasmountedatopthegiant n’guruthatshehadwatchedearlier,andIlliahadneverinherlifefeltsosmall. Itwasevenlargerthanshehadthought,andshecouldfeelitshotbreathon herskin.Blackeyeswithbeadyredpupilsseemedtobestaringrightather. Sharpenedboneadornedthearmouralongthetopofitsneck,andtwo humanskullshungfromthebackofthesaddle.Ittowereddirectlyoverher, itslowertusksdrippingstickyorcbloodintoherhairanditsbreathfillingher nostrilswithanodorousmixofwarm,damp,peatyearth,stalebloodandthe lingering,nauseatingstenchofdecomposingflesh.

Shedidnotdaremove.Shedidnotdarebreathe.

‘Ijustgottacutheranklebindingsandwe’reready,Chief.’

‘Good.Iwanttogoimmediately.’Hetuggedsharplyonthereins,and, withasnortofhot,decayingbreaththatruffledIllia’shairandchurnedher

stomach,then’gurureluctantlymovedaway.

OnlyoncethebeastwasasafedistanceawaydidIlliaallowherselfto breatheagain.

‘Oh,sosomethingscaresyou,’Azergrowled,kneelingbesideher.Acruel smirkwasplasteredacrosshisface.Hepulledaboneknifefromastraparound hiswaistandtraceditdownherleg.‘Notme.NotZavrokhimself.The n’guru.Interesting.’

Theknifenickedhertrousers,tearingintotheleather,andashiverracked herbody.Athousandivytendrilsseemedtocreepacrossherskin.Enaiyus’s screamsricochetedinherears.Theknifepiercedherfleshliketheivythat forceditswayintoEnaiyus’sskin.Thebittertasteofbilestungthebackofher throatandherbreathcaughtinherlungsasherheartdrummedviolentlyin herears.AblacknessseepedintohervisionandallshecouldseewasEnaiyus, hisfacehollowfrompainwhilethelifelefthisbody,asthebladetorethrough herflesh.

Stop. Shetriedtoshout,butnowordscame. Makeitstop.Pleasestop! But theragmuffledhercryandtearsbegantospillfromhereyes.

Azerlaughed.‘Weak.’Hecuttheropesthatsecuredheranklesbefore standingoverher.‘Getup.’

Illiaswallowedbackthelumpinherthroat,breathingheavilyasherheart begantoslow,butshedidnotmove.Hotbloodtrickleddownherleg.Azer kickedherintheribs;shegasped.

‘Isaid,getup,’hebarked.‘Don’tmakemesayitagain.’

Slowly,sheturnedherselfaround.

‘Faster.’

Sherestedherhandsonthefloorofthecartoncemoreandheavedherself slowlytoherfeet.

‘Wasthatsohard?’

Clutchingwithbothhandsatthenewbruiseinherribs,shelookedatthe unconsciousmaninthecart.Shehopedtotheheavensthathewasworthit.

Aeneanrisus.Vestibulumscelerisqueplaceratsem.

ChapterSix

Illia’smouthwasdry.Shehadnothadadrinksincebeforesheattemptedto rescuethestrangersplayedacrossthefloorofthecartinfrontofher. Wasthat lastnight,orthenightbefore? HowlongwasIunconscious?

Inegetsapienvitaemassarhoncuslacinia.Nullamatleonecmetus aliquamsemper.Phasellustincidunt,anteneclaciniaultrices,quammidictum libero,vitaebibendumturpiselitutlectus.Seddiamante,lobortissed, dignissimsitamet,condimentumin,sapien.Pellentesqueneclectusnonrisus auctorlobortis.Vestibulumsitametdoloraantesuscipitpulvinar.Sedlacinia. Aliquameratvolutpat.Inhachabitasseplateadictumst.Vivamussitametsem vitaetellusultriciesconsequat.Integertincidunttellusegetjusto.Classaptent tacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubianostra,perinceptoshymenaeos. Morbipellentesque,maurisinterdumportatincidunt,nequeorcimolestie mauris,vitaeiaculisdolorfelisatnunc.Maecenaseudiamaleoporta interdum.Innonmassaquisodiofeugiatsagittis.Quisqueaclorem. Maecenasutsemsedipsumsuscipitmalesuada.Nullaquisduiquisante fermentuminterdum.Proinegetestaauguevehiculamattis.Pellentesquesed nisiatnisiscelerisqueiaculis.Phasellusorci.Nullaadipiscing.Suspendisseet leovelelitullamcorpergravida.Prointempor,ligulauttincidunttempor, maurisnibhfeugiatodio,nectincidunteratorcidictumpurus.Etiamluctus odio.Aliquamadipiscingurnaafelis.Quisquesedelitinerosaliquetultrices. Donecatsem.Vestibulumcursus.Integerdolor.Vestibulumsitametsemnec auguefermentumconsectetuer.Integerjusto.

Thesunwasstartingtosetnow,whichprovidedsomereliefatleast,but thelackofwaterhadmadeheralreadyachingmindswirl.Herfeetfeltlike theyweremadeofstoneasshetrudgedalongbehindthecart.Azerrodeat herrearonan’guru.Anytimeshebegantofalterandslow,itsbreathburned thebackofherneckandforcedhertopickupherpace.

Vivamusvelsapien.Praesentnisltortor,laoreeteu,dapibusquis,egestas non,mauris.Cumsociisnatoquepenatibusetmagnisdisparturientmontes, nasceturridiculusmus.Nullameleifendpharetrafelis.Maurisnibhvelit, tristiqueac,laciniain,scelerisqueet,ante.Donecviverratortorsednulla. Phasellusnecmagna.Aeneanvehicula,turpisincongueeleifend,mauris loremaliquamsem,eueleifendestodioetpede.Maurisvitaemaurissitamet estrhoncuslaoreet.Curabiturfacilisis,urnavelegestasvulputate,telluspurus accumsanante,quisfacilisisduinislanunc.

Zavrokrodeattheheadoftheprocession,behindonlythescoutsandwell outofeyeshot.Itwasarelief.Beforetheirdeath,Illia’sfatheralwaysusedto tellherjusthowmuchshelookedlikehermother.Ofcourse,atthetime,she couldnotseewhathemeantatall,butaftertheypassedandasshegrew,she realisedtheresemblancereallywasstriking.Now,withtheswellinginher cheekalmostcompletelygone,thoughtherewasundoubtedlystillabruise,it wasterrifyingtothinkofwhathemightdoifherecognisedher.Shehadto escapebeforethathappened,butwithherhandsboundandagagstillinher mouth,shehadnoideahowshemightaccomplishit.

Nullavestibulumeleifendnulla.Suspendissepotenti.Aliquamturpisnisi, venenatisnon,accumsannec,imperdietlaoreet,lacus.Inpurusest,mattis eget,imperdietnec,fermentumcongue,tortor.Aeneanutnibh.Nullam hendreritviverradolor.Vestibulumfringilla,lectusidviverramalesuada, enimmiadipiscingligula,etbibendumlacuslectusidsem.Crasrisusturpis, variusac,feugiatid,faucibusvitae,massa.Nuncgravidanonummyfelis. Etiamsuscipit,estsitametsuscipitsodales,estnequesuscipiterat,necsuscipit

Herfeetburnedasshesloggedbehindthericketycart,andthewoundin herlegstungasitsdarkcrustcrackedwitheverystepandfreshbloodpooled inherboot.Everyounceofheryearnedtostopbutshehadnootherchoice.

Shehadnohopeofrescue.Theskywasbarren.Notevenabird,letalone Balthazar.Itwasthefirsttimeinherlifethathehadnotbeenthereattheexact momentthatsheneededhim.Hehadpromisedherthathewouldnever abandonher,thathewouldalwaysbethereinhertimeofneed.Hewas wrong.Shewastrapped,tired,thirsty,and,inallthewaysthatmattered, alone. Itwassunrisebythetimetheorcsfinallydrewtoarest,thoughitwasclearit wouldonlybebrief.Theysetupnotentsorbeds,insteadtheymerelysetup afewcampfiresnearbytoroasttheirmeatonandwarmtheirbones.

Stillchainedtothecart,Illiaslumpedgratefullyintothedirt.Herheart poundedinherchest,herhead,herarms,andherlegs,andsheachedinevery partofherbeing.Everythingwasdoubledandtheworldspunaroundher. Bilepooledinthebackofherthroat,butsheswalloweditdown,anddropped herheadbackagainsttheedgeofthecartandclosedhereyes.

Itwasnotlong,however,beforethesharpjaboftoesinhersidejoltedher awake.Azertoweredoverher,holdingbreadandadentedmetaltankard.‘If itwereuptome,’hegrowled,‘I’djustletyoudie,butChiefinsistsyoumake itto her alive.’

Thereitwasagain, her. Theykepttalkingaboutherbuthadnotonce mentionedhernamenorevenalludedtowhomshemightbe.Evenso,Illia’s entiresurvivalhingedontheguidanceofthismysteriouswoman,tothe extentthattheywerepreparedtoofferherfoodandwatertokeepheralive.

Illia’seyesdriftedtothecup.Hermouthwasdryandhertongue,asrough asoakbark,scratchedatthebackofherthroat.She needed thatdrink.

Azerplacedthemugandloafonthegroundandkneltinfrontofher, drawinghisfacenearhers.Hisbreathwashotandstankofrottingfleshand hissharpteethhadarichyellowhue.‘I’mgonnaungagyou, sav’ach,’ he breathedashelentincloserandreachedaroundher.‘Butifyoutryanything, anything,justbecauseIcan’tkillyoudoesn’tmeanIwon’tbreakyourlegs.’ Ashepulledtherancidscrapofclothfromhermouth,heshovedthetankard intoherhands.‘Drink.’

Eagerly,Illiabroughtthecuptoherlips,butthen,asthestenchofstale urinehithernostrils,shepausedandlookedatthemug.Theliquidwasthick

andanoff-browncolour. Orth—ofcourse.Whywoulditpossiblybeanything else?

Shehesitatedwiththemuginherhands.Hermouthwasdry,andher thirstwasbeggingtobequenched,andyet—

‘Isaid,drink!’

Illiagrimacedasshebroughtthefouldrinktoherlipsandgaggedslightly asitsstenchgrewstronger.Finally,withAzer’sstareburrowingintoher,the liquidpassedthroughherlipsandontohertongue;itburnedthebackofher throat.Utterlyparched,however,shefoundherselfchuggingbackthefilthy, brown,horrifyingexcuseforadrink.

Empty,thetankarddroppedfromherhandsandclatteredintothestony dirt.Itwaseverybitasvileassheimaginedittobe,andyet,shewishedshe hadmore.‘Please,’shestarted,hervoicehoarseandbarelyaboveawhisper. ‘No.’Azerbaredhisteeth.‘Iwastoldtokeepyoualive,nottreatyoulike aYuuzan.Yougetonecupandthecrust,andthat’sit—notmyfaultyou drankitquickly.’Hekickedthebreadacrossthegroundtowardsher.‘Now, eat,soIcangetmyfood.’

Illiapickeduptheloafwithbothhands.Dirtandgritclungtothecracked crustandtheknowledgethatAzer’sbare,grimytoeshadtoucheditnearly broughttheOrthbackup.Shedughernailsintoitandclumsilytorethe breadapart.Inside,itwassoftandspringy;ithadobviouslyonlybeenbaked ameredayortwoago,andnotbyorcs.Theytypicallyneverateanything otherthanmeatandwouldnevergoasfarasmakingbread. Whatpoorsoul didtheykillforthis?

Shelethalfofthebreadfallintoherlapandbegantopickoutlumpsofthe crumbtoeat.Despitethewelcomefreshnessofthebread,hermouthwasstill toodrytoeatitcomfortably,andso,sheateslowly,takingsmallbitesata time,wishingshehadmoreOrthtowashitdownwith ‘Eatfaster.’Azersnarled.Henodoubthadexpectedhertowolfdownthe breadmuchlikeshehadtheOrth,butIlliadidnotfeelhalfashungryasshe didthirsty.Infact,anyhungerpangshadsubsidedhoursbefore,whenher thirstandexhaustiontookover.However,shehadnoideawhenhernext mealmightbeand,reluctanttohavehimtakethefoodbackfromher,she begantoeatfaster.

Justasshewasabouttofinishthecrumbofthesecondhalf,Azerlunged

forward.‘Time’sup,’hesnapped,ashesnatchedthehollowed-outcrustfrom herhandandthrewitaside.‘Openyourmouth.’

ThedirtyraghunginhishandandswunginfrontofIllia’sface.She lookedfromtheragtohim,andbacktotherag.Itwasevenfilthierthanshe hadfirstrealised,anditwasstainedwithblood—notallofithers.Nauseated, shelookedbackatAzerandshookherhead.

‘Openyourmouth, sav’ach!’Heshovedtheclothagainstherlips,andit partedthem,slammingagainstherteeth.Itwaspulledtightlyandforcedinto hermouth.IlliagruntedasAzertieditoff,muchtighterthanhehadbefore. ‘Whenthetimecomes,’Azermutteredthroughgrittedteeth,‘IhopeI’mthe onethatkillsyou.’

AndIpromisethatIwillkillyoufirst.

Azersteppedawayfromherandmarchedbackintothegeneralbustleof thecamp,leavingherandthestrangeraloneandchainedtothecart.She staredattheground.Asmallweedwasjustbeginningtosproutupthrough thegrit.Sheflexedherfingersouttowardit,strainingthem.

Excresere.

Shewilledittogrow,buttherewasnothing.Notatwitchnoraflicker. Shetriedagain,butnothing.Howwassheeversupposedtogetfreeifshe couldnotevenmakeatinydandeliongrow?

Tiredandfrustrated,tearsbegantoblurhervision.

Excresere.Excresere! Shescreamedthewordsinhermindandtriedtoshout themthroughthegag,buttheysimplycameoutmuffledandunintelligible.

Asthetearsbegantobreakfromhereyes,shekickedatthesmallweed, unearthingitfromitsspot.Herheaddroppedagainstherchestandsobs rackedherbody.Herbreathswererapidandshaky.Thetearssoakedintothe ragthatwastiedtootightlyaroundherface.Herheartthrobbedinherthroat. Itwasallhopeless.

Shecouldnoteventellwhetherthisman,thestranger,wasstillalive. Surely,hehadtobe,giventhattheorcswerehaulinghimacrossthecountry. Hewassobeatenandabused,though,thattheymaywellhavejustbeen bringinghiscorpseto her.

Illiawipedhertearsonhershoulder.Whoever she was,shehadtheability tomakeorcsbehaveoutsideoftheirusualhabits—habitstheyweretypically soreluctanttobreak—whichmeantthat,whoeverthisprisonerwas,hewas

clearlyimportant.Nottomention,somehow,hehadmanagedtostumble uponIlliaallthoseweeksbefore,andsomethingtoldherthatthatwasno accident.

Anuneasinessbegantobubbleinherstomach. WhatifI’mtheoneshe wants?

Sheliftedherselfuptopeeroverthetopofthecart.Thestrangerlaystill. Hiseyeswereclosed,but,howeverfaintly,he was breathing. So,youarealive. Ijustwishyoucouldtellmewhatonearthisgoingon.

Illiadroppedbackawayfromthecartasfootstepsapproached.Azer stormedtowardher.‘Getup,’hegrowledashegrewnearer.‘We’releaving.’ Beforeshehadachancetomove,Azerhadgrabbedherroughlybythe armandhauledhertoherfeet.Shescowledandgruntedathim disapprovingly. Iwasabouttogetup.

Asmallerorcapproached,attemptingtoguideAzer’sn’guru.Hewas coveredinbruisesandcutsfromtheresistantbeastandappearedalltoo relievedwhenhehandedthereinsovertoAzer.‘Chiefsaysit’stimetogo, now,’ hesaid,takingaswiftstepback.

‘Tellhimwe’reready.’Azerswunghimselfintothesaddleastheotherorc quicklytookhisleave,ensuringawideberth.

Illiawastuggedsharplyforwardasthecartbegantomoveoff.She stumbledasitnearlypulledheroffherfeet,butshemanagedtoregainherself. Herewegoagain.

Thelargeorcthatnowpulledthecartwasmovingfasterthantheprevious had.Thoughhewasalsobiggerthanthefirst,afewtankardsofOrthhad likelycontributedtohisspeed.Shehadneverfeltsogratefulforherhealing abilitiesthanshedidinthatmoment.Whilstshewasstillexhaustedand thirsty,herfeetnolongerburnedandthethrobbinginherheadhadjust aboutsubsided.

ShedidnotevenparticularlycarewhetherZavrokmightrecogniseher anymore.HehaddecidedthatIllianeededtoreachthemysterious her alive andhadevendecidedthatshewarrantedfeeding.Infact,itwasnot unreasonabletopresumethatthewholereasontheorcshadstoppedtorest wasforherbenefit.Orcscouldmarchfordayswithoutrest,food,ordrink, andtheyhadnotevenbeenmarchingforonedaybeforetheywerecalledto halt.Theproblemwas,ifIlliawasthetargetandhadbeenluredintoatrap,

thenshemightnotbesowelltakencareofoncetheyreachedtheir destination.Shehadtoescape,andsomehow,shehadtorescuethisstranger atthesametime.

Hewastheonlyonewhomightholdthekey.

About WhatifIGoFirst?

Kayla,knownasGodlyGirlonInstagram,hasthousandsoffollowers.Girls fromalloverwanttoknowhowshegotherperfectlife,herperfecthusband, herperfecthouse.Shetellsthemthesamethingshewasalwaystold:Keep praying,staymodest,andwaitforGodtosendyoutheperfectman.It workedforher,shesays.She’slying,ofcourse.She’sdesperatetoget pregnant,andconvincedGodispunishingherforherfirstlove:awoman. Themoreshetriestohideherguilt,themoreextremeherwritinggets,and thefurtherawayshedriftsfromhermarriageandfamily.It'snotonly Christiangirlswhohavebeenreadingherblog.Francesca,thedaughterof herdisgracedaunt,hasbeenwatchingtoo.She’sgotapenchantfortryingto fixbrokenpeople,andthinksKaylaishernextproject.FrancescasneaksKayla awayintoaworldofartistsandshortskirtsandOnny.Onny’sgotaskinhead andtattoosbutKaylacan’tstopthinkingabouther.Kaylafindsherself embroiledinadoublelife:makingmoneyfromherInstagramwhichtells womenhowtoliveaGodlylife,whilstfallinginlovewithawomanso differenttoeverythingshe’severknown.

WhatifIGoFirst

RachelKelly

ChapterOne

AseaofnoiseandwarmthhitmythroatasIenteredthepoorlyventilated conferencecentreonadustySaturdayafternoon.Summerwasjustcresting overhead.Iswamwithinashoalofotherblondewomen.Thesameblonde, curledhair,long,flowingskirts,identicalfloppystrawhats.ButIwasthebest ofthem.Itwasthewaytheyalllookedatme.Ordidn'tlookatme.The youngeronesallavertedtheireyes.LikeIwasthesun.Isaunteredthroughto theentrancestallandsawthempart,pullingdownthehemsoftheirskirtsand pullingupthecollarsoftheirt-shirts.Coveringthemselvesupforme.Ismiled atthosewhocaughtmyeye.

'KaylaRice?'

Isnappedmyheadupandwaitedformyeyestoadjust.Anolderwoman, perhapsMum'sage,marchedtowardsme.Herheels click-clacked onthelino. Headsswivelledtoexamineherelectricbluepantsuitandclose-croppedgrey hair.Shedidn'tnotice.Orshedidn'tcare.

'FrankieMartin.'Shestuckherhandout,andIshookit.'We'veemailed.' 'Myhusband,probably.Hedealswithalltheadminsideofthings.'

Sheraisedaneyebrow,likesheknewitwasalie.'We'vebeenwaitingfor youintheVIPlounge.Followme.'Sheturnedandlookedbackoverher shoulder,beckoningmetowalkbesideher.'Andyourhusbandis…?'

'Working,I'mafraid.'

Shepressedherlipstogether.

‘He’sworkingonabigproject,soweekendsareout.’Icouldn'tstop lookingatherlips.She’dpaintedthemletterboxred.Theyremindedmeof somethingIcouldn’tquitebringmyselftothinkabout.‘It’safamilybusiness. Rice&SonsConstruction.’

Shedidn’tlisten.Ishouldhaveknownitwouldn’timpressher.TheRice’s areonlyabigdealto us, Iremindedmyself.I'dneverbeengoodatsmalltalk, anyway.Ididn'tknowhowtograbsomeone'sattentionwithbothhandsand makethemcareabouteverymundanity.Mysistersweregoodatit.When theytalked,everyonelistened.

Sheledmethroughthelobbypastthereception.Thetwowomen workingtheregawkedatmewhilsttheirobscenelylongnailstappedontheir keyboards.Iusedtohatebeingstaredatbyoutsiders.Butitwasdifferent now.Iwaschosen.ThatkeptmegoinguntilFrankiebroughtmeintoa mirroredlift.Itriednottolookatmyselffortoolong.IfIstared,thefilter wouldfade.I'dseemyself.I'dgrowlumpsandspotsandhairwouldsprout and—

Thedoorsslidopen.

'Justthroughhere,MrsRice.'

Istillwasn'tusedtothatname.

Shewalkedthroughtooneofthehotelrooms.ItwassmallerthanI'd thought.Thereweredentsinthebrowningcarpetwherethebedwouldhave oncebeen.IsteppedpastFrankie,intothelight.Irecognisedpastorsand speakers,andmenwhocommunedwithGod.Iwasnothing.Justagirlwith ablog.Outthere,withthewomenandthegirls,Iwasinteresting,andspecial, andimportant.Inhere,intheVIP-lounge-that-should-be-a-bedroom,Iwas nothingmorethanamothflittingtowardsthelight.

Frankieslippedoutwithoutsayinggoodbye.

'Awomaninatightsuit?'Isaid,notmeetinganyoftheireyes.'You'd

thinkshe'dhavemorerespectforus.Foryou.'

Themennoddedandhummedinagreement.Oneleapttohisfeettolet mesitinthechairfurthestfromtherest.Shynessgummedupmythroat.I triedtopretendtobesomethinglikeawomanwhoknewwhatshewas doing.Islidmyscriptoutfrommytotebagtopractise,buttheairwastoo thickwithsweatandcolognetofocusandthewordsthrummed.Themen's stomachsbulgedovertheirtoo-tightbelts.Isqueezedmykneestogetherand triedtofocus.Theylaughed,almostinunison.Andagain.Ilookeddownat myclothes.HadImissedabuttononmyshirt?Itookmyhatoffandpulled itinfrontofme,hopingitwouldcoverwhatevertheywerelaughingat.My neckflushed.

Iwhippedoutmyphone.IfoundapictureI'dtakenoftheconference centre,outside,andpincheditontomystory.Theskylookedgrey.Iswiped throughtoasunnyfilter.Thatlookedmorepleasant.Iaddedaparty-hat emojiabovetheroof. ThrilledtobehereattheBiblicalWomanhood Conference! inmysignaturecurlyfont.Itlookednice.Professional.Breath startedtoreturntomychest.Tothenextslide,Iaddedaselfie.I’dtakenita fewdaysago,buttheywouldn'tbeabletotell.Mysmilewaswideandbright andwelcoming.Myhairfellinmermaidwavesbelowmyshoulders,just blow-driedatthehairdressers. That'sbetter.I’mreallyherenow. Ilookedupat themenagain.Theywerelaughingatsomethingintheconferenceflyer.I flippedtotherightpage.Atypo. Illegallyparkedcarswillbefine.

Adullacheunderneathmynavelspreadtomyupperthighs.Thefamiliar wetunspooling.Iclenched.Igatheredmyskirtbehindmybottom,checking myhandtoseeifithadleakedthrough,andstoodup.Nothingonmyhands. Nothingonthechair.Ishuffledbackthroughthecorridortothebathroom, squeezingmykneestogetherasIwalked.Likethatwouldkeepitin.

Therewasacrowdofgirlsposingatamirror,oneholdingaphonealoft. I’dtakenafewofthosephotosmyself.Islippedthroughintoacubicle.

'Isthat Kayla?'onewhispered.Iwasusedtobeingthegirlhidinginthe toilets,especiallyatConference.Itwasahotbedofteenageinsecurity.I'd beentoenoughasakidtoknowthat.Ilookedattheslugofbloodinmy underwear.Itrippedmyheartoutandthrewitagainstthewall.Iwantedto cryandweepandsobandcurseJesusforallowingmetobethisway.ButI didn't.Islidatamponfrommypurseintome,andlifecarriedonlikeI'dnever

beensadatall.Iwalkedpastthegirlsandthewomenandthemenasifmy hopeshadn'tcomeoutofmewithmywomblining.LikeIwasn'tcursingthe Godthatmademeandforgottomakemewhole.

Myspeechwasscheduledfor11am.WhenIwalkedbackthroughthe lobby,itwasalmostempty.Allthosegirlshadfiledintoseeme.They'd offeredformetowaitbackstage,butIwantedtoenterthroughtheaudience. Letthembenearme.LetthemfeellikeI'moneofthem.LikeI'montheir side.

Ienteredtoasilentbuzz.Theystaredatme.Theroomwasalmostfull.In America,it’dbeabiggerroomandthere’dbethousandsmoregirls.Butthis wasgoodforhere.Impressive,even.Behindthestage,awallwasemblazoned withmyfaceinanumberofdifferentshots.Allfilteredgoldenbrown.I walkedthrough,smilingatasmanyfacesasIcouldsee.Ihopedtheydidn’t lookcloseenoughtoseethedifferenceinmyskin,inmynose,inthefatthat poolsbelowmychin.Thosepicturesweretherealme.ThemeIstrivedtobe. Isn’tthatwhatmatters?

'Hi,everyone,'Isaid,onceIreachedthemicrophone.Itsqueaked.A chorusechoedback.'Youprobablyknowmeas GodlyGirl, butyoumight alsoknowmeasKaylaRice.Iwasn'talwaysMrsRice,though.Obviously.I usedtobeKaylaFoster:sad,singlegirl,losingherway.AndnowI'ma marriedwomanfullyinthelightofJesus.I'mnotsayingI'mperfect!Noneof usare,right?'

Somelaughs. That'sgood.

'Yeah,that'swhatIthought.ButwhatI'velearntinmyjourney,andwhat I'mheretosharewithyoutoday,isthatyoushouldneverletthedarkness withinyouwin.NomatterhowimperfectyoufeelorhowfarfromGodyou feel.NeverletTheDevilwin.I'vebeenthere.'

Morethananyofyouwilleverknow.

‘I'vebeensadandungratefulandamess.Andatmydarkestandlowest moment,Ibroke.AndwhenIbroke,IletGodin.IallowedHimtoshowme theway.AndwhenIdid?Themostmagicalthinghappened.Imettheman I'dbeenprayingformywholelife.Myhusband,Mark.’

Itappedtheclicker.TheprojectionchangedtoapictureofMarkandme onourweddingday.Cradledinhisarms.MyglowPhotoshoppedon,my dresswhiteagainstthegreengrass.Theperfectcouple.Eventhewaythesun

waspositionedwasGodly.

'That'swhenmyrealjourneystarted.'

Lies.Lies.Lies.Allofit,lies.Whodoyouthinkyouare?

Ifantasisedaboutthrowingmyselfagainstthewall,infrontofallthese people,andshatteringintoathousandpieces.IimaginedJesus,inallHis gentleglory,comingdownfromHeavenandputtingmebacktogether.He wouldbekind.Hewouldgluemypiecestogetherinawaytheyneverwere before.Iwouldbefixed,andIwouldbedifferent.Or,Hewouldbeangry thatIhadruinedHisdivinecreation.Andhewouldleaveme,shardsofKayla, ontheconferenceroomcarpet.

Betternottoriskit.

'LetmetellyouhowmywalkwithChristbegan.'

Aeneanrisus.Vestibulumscelerisqueplaceratsem.

Inegetsapienvitaemassarhoncuslacinia.Nullamatleonecmetus aliquamsemper.Phasellustincidunt,anteneclaciniaultrices,quammidictum libero,vitaebibendumturpiselitutlectus.Seddiamante,lobortissed, dignissimsitamet,condimentumin,sapien.Pellentesqueneclectusnonrisus auctorlobortis.Vestibulumsitametdoloraantesuscipitpulvinar.Sedlacinia. Aliquameratvolutpat.Inhachabitasseplateadictumst.Vivamussitametsem vitaetellusultriciesconsequat.Integertincidunttellusegetjusto.Classaptent tacitisociosquadlitoratorquentperconubianostra,perinceptoshymenaeos. Morbipellentesque,maurisinterdumportatincidunt,nequeorcimolestie mauris,vitaeiaculisdolorfelisatnunc.Maecenaseudiamaleoporta interdum.Innonmassaquisodiofeugiatsagittis.Quisqueaclorem. Maecenasutsemsedipsumsuscipitmalesuada.Nullaquisduiquisante fermentuminterdum.Proinegetestaauguevehiculamattis.Pellentesquesed nisiatnisiscelerisqueiaculis.Phasellusorci.Nullaadipiscing.Suspendisseet leovelelitullamcorpergravida.Prointempor,ligulauttincidunttempor, maurisnibhfeugiatodio,nectincidunteratorcidictumpurus.Etiamluctus odio.Aliquamadipiscingurnaafelis.Quisquesedelitinerosaliquetultrices. Donecatsem.Vestibulumcursus.Integerdolor.Vestibulumsitametsemnec auguefermentumconsectetuer.Integerjusto.

Chapter2

Itwasn’tevenmyideatofirstpostonInstagram.IcalledKatherinetoworry aboutMum.Assisters,itwasonceourprimaryhobby,butovertime,the tectonicplateofpanichadshudderedtooentirelyunderme.Everybirthday wasasignalofanotheryearlost.AnotheryearIcouldhavedonemore. AnotheryearIcouldhavegottenmarriedandrunawayandforgottenabout everythingthathadevermademesad.

Vivamusvelsapien.Praesentnisltortor,laoreeteu,dapibusquis,egestas non,mauris.Cumsociisnatoquepenatibusetmagnisdisparturientmontes, nasceturridiculusmus.Nullameleifendpharetrafelis.Maurisnibhvelit, tristiqueac,laciniain,scelerisqueet,ante.Donecviverratortorsednulla. Phasellusnecmagna.Aeneanvehicula,turpisincongueeleifend,mauris loremaliquamsem,eueleifendestodioetpede.Maurisvitaemaurissitamet estrhoncuslaoreet.Curabiturfacilisis,urnavelegestasvulputate,telluspurus accumsanante,quisfacilisisduinislanunc.

‘Singlenessissuchasweettime,’Katherinesaid.Ineverbroughtitup,but wecontinuallyloopedbackaroundtoit.Therewasthesoundofscreamsand splashesinthebackground.Shewasatthepoolwithherchildren.We’dnever learnttoswim.Theydidn’tmakeswimsuitsthatcoveredenough.Iimagined hertwirlingherthickblondehairaroundherfinger,sittingontheside. Wouldhergirlsbeinwetsuits?Ordidsheletthemwearwhattheothergirls wore?‘Yousee,Kayla.Thisisyourtimetohelpothers.Therearesomany girlsinthiscountrywhodon’thavethesameupbringingasus.Whodon’t knowwhattheyneedtodotowalkwithTheLord.'Herupbringingwiththe Lordmainlyfeaturedshoutingmatchesandtears—but,nonetheless.‘Don’t youhearGod’scalltohelpthem?’

Nullavestibulumeleifendnulla.Suspendissepotenti.Aliquamturpisnisi, venenatisnon,accumsannec,imperdietlaoreet,lacus.Inpurusest,mattis eget,imperdietnec,fermentumcongue,tortor.Aeneanutnibh.Nullam hendreritviverradolor.Vestibulumfringilla,lectusidviverramalesuada, enimmiadipiscingligula,etbibendumlacuslectusidsem.Crasrisusturpis, variusac,feugiatid,faucibusvitae,massa.Nuncgravidanonummyfelis. Etiamsuscipit,estsitametsuscipitsodales,estnequesuscipiterat,necsuscipit

IhadtriedtohearGod’scall.Ireally,reallyhad.ButallI’deverheardwas thesmall,sadthrumofmyheart.IknewwhatitmeantifGodhadgonesilent. Youhadstrayedtoofar.WewouldcatchMuminherrockingchairbythe

window,lateatnight,whenthethickcloudofsadnesspresseduponher shoulders,weepingforherlostsister.

Thereweresplitstories.One,mymother’s:hersisterdividedinloyalty betweenherhedonisticheartandtheChurch.Shefell,liketheDevilwanted herto.Buttherewasanotherstory,whisperedbetweenussistersinlate-night sleepovers.AGodlywomanwhofellinlovewithablackmanandwas shunned.Whenthesuncameup,weallagreedithadtobethefirststory.We condemnedracism. Real racism.

Icouldn’tstandtheideaofmysisterscryingoverme,hiddenfromtheir children,soInoddedinagreementandsaidI’dconsidermyroleasasingle womanintheChurch.Overdinner(apoachedsalmonrecipeI’dfoundin Esme’shouse),IaskedpermissiontostartanInstagramaccountwhereIcould talkaboutthevirtuesofsinglenessinyoungwomen.

‘IwanttowriteaboutdedicatingmyselftoTheLord,toTheWord,and makingmyselfthebestfuturewife.IwanttobereadyforwhatGodhasfor me.’Itwasrehearsed.I’dsaideverylineoverandoveragain.

Mumgrimaced.Iwas24.Shedidn’tthinktherewasanythinginstorefor me,nofacelessmanattheendofanaisle.

‘Idon’tseewhatharmitcoulddo,Shelley,’Dadsaid,stabbingthesalmon withhisfork.Itwasn’tmybestdish.I’dbeendistracted.‘Itwouldgiveher somethingtodo.’Icrossedmyfingersunderthetable.Hewastheheadship. Mumcouldn’trefusehimifhepressedforit.

‘Ifyouneedmoretodo,Kayla,youcouldhelpoutmorearoundthe house.’

I’dspentthatmorningscrubbingbehindthetoilet.

‘ShewouldbetterusethatextraenergyonherBiblestudy.’

Ikeptmyeyesstudiedonthefeatheredbonesleftbareonmyplateandthe pileofbittergreensIhadn’teaten. Don’tsayanything.Don’tmakethisworse.

‘Maybeyou’vebeenpickinguptoomanyhoursbabysittingforyour sisters,’Mumsaid.‘It’smixingyourbrainup.’

Dadstoodup.Halfhisfoodwasontheplate.Nowhewasfinished,we couldn’tfinisheither.‘Whatever,’hesaid.‘YoucandotheInstagram.’

‘Aslongasyou’restilldoingyourBiblestudy!’Mumsqueaked.Dadwas alreadyshufflingaway.Shegesturedattheplates.‘Cleanthisup.’Hermouth burrowedintoaline.‘Ihopeyou’rehappy.’

Oncethesunset,Ihidundermyduvet(pinkandfloral,chosenbyEsme whenwewerekids)andchoseapicture.Myfavouriteofme,takenatSophia’s wedding.Myhaircoiledandcurled.Itlookslikeacandid,likethe photographercaughtmemid-laugh.Imadehimtakeitthreetimes.I FaceTunedmynosetohavethatnubontheend.Likemysisters’.Ididn’tget thatgene.Butstill,thepicturelookedsunnyandnaturalandkind,like someoneI’dlistento.

Hello,world.

IthoughtIwouldtryoutthiswholeInstagramthing…!I’m definitelynotusedtoit,sobekind!MynameisKayla,andI’m asinglewomanentirelydevotedtoJesus.Astheyearshave goneby,I’vedefinitelybeenworriedaboutbeingsingle(!)soI thoughtmaybeIcouldsharesomeofmytoptipsforbeinga singleChristiangal.

1) TrustinGod’splan. OneofmyfavouriteversesisIsaiah 41:10:‘Fearnot,forIamwithyou;benotdismayed,forIam yourGod;Iwillstrengthenyou,Iwillhelpyou,Iwilluphold youwithmyrighteousrighthand.’WheneverIfeelmyself worryingaboutmypath,IrememberthatGodhasgotmein hand.It’sGod’sworld,afterall!

2) Devoteyourselftogoodworksandyour community. Marriedwomenarebusy!We’veallseenthemin thesupermarketoratChurch.They’vegotkidstolookafter, husbandstotakecareof,andhouseholdstomanage.Butus singlegirlshavesomuchmoretime.Personally,Iliketospend mytimehelpingoutthebusymamasinmycommunity.I’ve gotthenicknameofthebestbabysitterintheSouthEastfora reason!

3) Don’tcompareyourselftoothers. Galatians1:10reminds usthat,‘IfIwerestilltryingtopleaseman,Iwouldnotbea

servantofChrist’.There’sonlyonepersonwehavetoworry aboutimpressing:God.

Hopethathelpssomeofmyfellowsinglegals!

StayBlessed, Kayla

Lovethis,Lala!Godbless!

Katherine&SimonBrooks

Brooksfamily2020

Inspiringwords!

ChurchoftheOzarks

Ididn’tmoveuntilI’dreachedtenlikes.Bythemorning,itwas126.Ithought thatwasalotbackthen.Withinmonths,ithadbecometen,ahundredtimes more.Butithadneverbeenmyidea.

Poetry

AboutCharuvi’sPoetry

Relivingherpersonalexperiences,Charuvitakesusthroughherlifeasa womaninIndiawithherpoetry.Takingfromstarkscenesandmemories,she exploresthemesoffamily,self,societalinjusticesandculturalissuesfromthe east.Oftentransportingyoutoanothersceneintime,herpoemsarehoused invariousformats,rangingfromelegy,ode,tofreeverse.Someof herworkinthisanthologyarefromherchapbookcollection, AWalkBack Home.

DeathasaMotionPicture

CharuviKhandelwal

We,alltenofus, sitaroundgrandpa’sblueingcorpse.

Noonecriesatthediningtable. Theonlysoundsbeing gulping,breathing, andcutleryclinkingtoplates, whileGrandpaliesonhisbed.

Thedoctorwhousuallyrefuseshomevisits showsupinfiveminutes andwritesthetimeofdeathonacertificate. TheroomsoundslikeabrokendamoverriverYamuna.

Mygrandpaliesstill,hisroomnowanoilpainting. MomwrapsthepressurecuffoftheBPmachine aroundhisfragileglassarm. Ireadit:‘Error.’

Theroombreaksdown athirdintopanic,athirdscream,andathirdtear. ‘Again!’.‘Error.’

Mybrotherletoutascreamfromdownstairs, Itechoedthroughourhouselikeatimergoingoff. Myeyesflutterbetweenmymotherandsister’s. Itwastime.

Iwalktowardsmygrandfather’sroom, thistimewithaDVDof ChupkeChupke –theonlymovieheremembers. Thesedays,hepointstotheirhairandcallsthemhats.

Istopinthelobbyandampulledbackinside bymymotherandsisterarguingaboutthedinnermenu.

TheclockhitssixandIpackupmyhomeoffice.

TheclockhitssixandIpackupmyhomeoffice.

Iwalktowardsmygrandfather’sroom, thistimewithaDVDof ChupkeChupke –theonlymovieheremembers. Thesedays,hepointstotheirhairandcallsthemhats. Istopinthelobbyandampulledbackinside bymymotherandsisterarguingaboutthedinnermenu.

Mybrotherletoutascreamfromdownstairs, Itechoedthroughourhouselikeatimergoingoff. Myeyesflutterbetweenmymotherandsister’s. Itwastime.

Mygrandpaliesstill,hisroomnowanoilpainting. MomwrapsthepressurecuffoftheBPmachine aroundhisfragileglassarm. Ireadit:“Error.”

Theroombreaksdown athirdintopanic,athirdscream,andathirdtear. ‘Again!’.‘Error.’

Thedoctorwhousuallyrefuseshomevisits showsupinfiveminutes andwritesthetimeofdeathonacertificate.

TheroomsoundslikeabrokendamoverriverYamuna.

Noonecriesatthediningtable. Theonlysoundsbeing gulping,breathing,

andcutleryclinkingtoplates, whileGrandpaliesonhisbed.

We,alltenofus, sitaroundgrandpa’sblueingcorpse.

TaijiandherHalva

CharuviKhandelwal

Likeair,shespreadshermanyarms aroundthekitchenandpresentsherself throughmasalasandcorianderleaves.

Withhairlikefeathers thatIcouldstuffmypillowsandjacketsandduvetswith, shesoftensmetalpansandfurrowedbrowswithghee. Stirsinlovingmemoriesbetweensiblingsofthehouse.

Withhermulberryhandsinmotion, shefillssugarsyrupacrossthegapineverytongue andpalate,everyaortathatbridgesstomachtoheart.

Sheperformsalchemyinaroomofnostrilchimneys withherarmsproliferatingto8 andwheatflournuttingtoafragrantrelease, tintingintoabrownlikehers.

Wearingherprintedkurtas andthesmellofTulsi-theladyofthehouse, garnishesmythroatlikechildhoodrhymes, withchoppedalmondsswingingonawarmhalvaevening.

IMetherinaWalletataThriftStore

CharuviKhandelwal

Ifoundayounggirl

19-20,passportsize withtheJulietvibes, inahoodie.Apairof dilatedbrowneyesbehind blindsofpixiehair.

Icouldhear

Remembertoletherunderyourskin playingontheradio whensheposed betweenblurtedlaughs, swingingbelly,andcigarettepuffs exchangedwithhercameraman.

Shewearscharityjacketsdroppingattheshoulders carryingenergiesofallpeoplewhoworeitbeforeher inthefrontpocket, tothefrontrowofnon-violentprotests forgayrights,feminism,freedomofspeech, progressiveart.

RobertFrostsitssippingteaonherbedsidetable withazineinhishand.

She’sclosetoherbrother exceptfortheonefighttheyhad whenhedidn’tquiteunderstand whyshefoughttheviewsof herparents,forthewomenonTV. Shespentherchildhoodinafarm withcattle,sheepandadog; that’swhereshegetsherroughcheeks

andaccentascrispaswinterairfrom.

Herdirtygreenbackpack carriedherbrokenheart forthreeyearsuntil itsquishedandbledintothe Polaroidphotographsshepiledonit, ofeverythingmoving shelikedonthestreets.

Sheistheonewho

Tookasadsongandmadeitbetter.

AnOdetotheBrownofMySkin

CharuviKhandelwal

Myauntcametostayforsummervacations, everyyearuntilIturned22. Everyotherday, shecalledmetothekitchenafterbreakfast, toremedythebrownofmyskin withanexpansivemakeoversetup readyonthecounter–a250gmpackofgramflour, sourcurd,turmeric,rosewater, lemonscutintohalf,lemonsqueezer, amixingspoonandbowl. Sheexaminedmyface, fromcheekstoforeheadtomouth tofinallymeetmyeyes. Whileherarmsworkedmechanically topreparetheage-oldtanremovalmask, withaforcedsmile,shepassedmeabeautytip, like,‘Chaimakesthecomplexiondarker.’

Then,tiltedherheadandlookedatmesideways tonoticetheshiftinmyeyes.

Shemademesitonastoolinthebathroom thenappliedthecoldgramflourpasteonmyface, tomakeitfairer.

Theputridsmellingcurdwouldmakemeretch andbreathefrommymouth, Thelemonjuiceslitthroughmyadolescentbumps, untilallthebloodinmyclenchedfists rushedtothebackofmyeyes, blazingherfaceintoredspots.

Isatthereuntilthepackdried, withaburningface asifunderattackbyacolonyofbees. Thenauntreappearedtorubitoff withallherroughnessandstrength, asifmyskinwouldgetlighterwitheveryshedlayer. Shepulledoutmydeadskinandfacialhair, leavingitwarmandred, thensaid,‘Itwouldworkifyoudoiteveryweek,diligently.’

TheMostSuitableEnvironmentfor Touch-me-notstoGrow

CharuviKhandelwal

UntouchabilitywasabolishedinIndiain1955andisstillpracticedovertlyand covertly.

NoplaceforDalitandtribalgirlsinIndia.

Myschoolbushaltedeverydayfor30seconds atatrafficlightwhereayounggirl hula-hooped,inanon-traditionalloop. Shemadeeverylimbmelt,bonesdislocatethenrelocate tofitintothestructure.

Andclungtothewindowsaswestartedmovingaway, tobegformoney.

Shedancedintohernextmeal,nextassault,nextsleep, nextday,whileIbecameagraduate.

CrimesagainstDalitsroseby746%inthelast10years.

Mymotherhasaseparatecupboardwithseparateutensils forourhelpers,drivers,gardeners,andguards. She’dsaveourleftoversfortheirmeals. Andmyoldclothesfortheirkids. Thedefinitionofexcessivechanged everytimeIgavethemhugs,music,freshcake, stories,aseatonthetable.

Indianmankilledforeatinginfrontofupper-castemen.

OneSunday,Iwokeupearlyenoughtomeet mygarbageman’sson,helpinghimthroughhisruns. Iaskedhimwhathewantedtobe whenhegrewolder. Helookedatmelikemywordsweretooforeign.

Hisfathersaid,‘Didi,whatcanascavenger’ssonbe? Ascavenger only.That’sourrole.’

Dalitgirlgang-rapedbyupper-castemeninUP,Delhi, Punjab,Haryana,Rajasthan,Jharkhand,MadhyaPradesh, Uttarakhand…all28statesofIndia. Myhousehelperwasfound hidinginthestoreroomofmyhome, afterdaysofbeingmissing.

Daysaftershewassenttohervillage. Shesaid,‘I’drathermakemyexistenceforgottenthan erased.’

AboutNicole’sPoetry

Thesepoemstracethecircuitousevolutionoffilialgrieffromyouthinto adulthood.Blurringthelinebetweenadreamlikeinnerconsciousnessandthe physicalworld,thesepoemscontendwiththerippleeffectsof intergenerationaltrauma,familydysfunction,andthelossofthosewho’ve formedus,includingourselves.

HowDidThisHappen?

NicoleKnoppová

wasitaGreatWesternRailwayoraTGVhighspeedrailboardedboldly ticketinhanditinerarytuckedinatatteredKeatsorblindly draggedthroughsomeforeignstationbyagreat-grandmotherI’dnevermet anarrowlyavoidedstumbleoverthetraintrackgapIcannotaskpastthispage

Iknowonlyyourdeathasithappenedtome

asithappensnowtimelooptied weretheredelaysbystrikeorrecordheatwave

thebucklingofsteeltrackstostirseat-sinkingquestions whetheryou’dbegoingafteralljusttobedivertedhourslateramuffledconductor’sannouncement

theclatterofacoffeecartdowntheaislehowdidthishappen

wasitmoreOrientExpressstoriedenoughtomakeitmythical torenderwindowgazingitsownexcursion

didyouglimpsemedowntheplatform

sprintingwavingasyoupulledaway

ordidImixuptimetablesscreamintothedustofstrangers

dideachensuingstopbringitsterminalitynearerorfurtherthe‘callingat’scrollingitsrelentlessneonred didthecar’ssteadyrockinglullyoutosleepbargainbrotherofdeathdidyoudreamtellme

DeathasaFormofChild-Rearing

NicoleKnoppová

Andwhatdiddeathdowithhishands?

Somekindofsworncamaraderie betweeneachcallusedfinger, thewhiffofmotoroil hissoaplikeliquidsandpaper couldneverquitescrubaway.

Ohdeath,timelessform ofchild-rearing,hemustdisciplinethisdaughter whopoundsferalfeetagainsteachstair todislodgedeathsshecan’tyetname fromrougheggshellcarpet.

Andwhatdiddeathdowithhisteeth?

Sharpenedthem overtwelveyears,againstherbones, calleditgrowingpains,gaveher wornhighsocks,cutoffattheankle topulluparoundherkneesinthenight.

Andwhatdiddeathdowithhistongue?

Taughtherthatbloodtastesthesame assugarcubes dissolving atplaytimeteaparties.

Andwhatdiddeathdowithhiseyes?

Theirmercurialturnwanes toablackhangingmoon, playscheaptricks inherownreflection whensheisgrown.

Andwhatofthespacesarounddeath?

Mighttheyleaveonlythehollow betweencheekboneandjaw, asifhe’dbittentheinsideofhischeek incontrition,asif, asif—

ISeeYouLaston

WhippoorwillLane

NicoleKnoppová

MyfirstloveandIusedtodigupgraveyards totakeontheroadwithus.

Notthedead—those,wehallowed— buttheexpansesbelowbarelytouchedgrass,

pine-linedperimetersforanyonetoburyash orthefamilycat,skirtaheadstonecharge.

We’dheapitintothebackseat untilhisJeepfeltfull,

thegroundstolenfrombeneathus pressingagainstourshoulderblades,

soilperfumedbybreakdown toSouthFloridapetrichor,

andbiddingus—pullaway. QueueupSinatra,drownout

thistoo-youngboneknowledge. Twomotherlesschildrenbelting IDidItMyWay

totheasphaltbelow,acidblackandsimmering, refrainrisinginheatwavemirage.

We’dstopforgasonthecorner ofPineRidgeandWhippoorwill.

We’dkiss,pressedbetween87octane andourlittle,portablecatacomb, fuelvapourthrowingshadowsoffumes onfunerealpaint, thehazeofhalf-imaginedmovement, theearthsurroundingsomethinggone, andhere,we’dalwayswavetoyou, wavetohismother.Beg,seeus,oh,

seeus.Behindhishead, thoseivory-rimmedblocklettersdashingout

—whip-poor-will— acrossthemalachitestreetsign, nightjarsaidtosenseasouldeparting, cometocatchitasitgoes.

MyFatherin Twenty-YearIncrements

NicoleKnoppová

NotuntilmythirddayontheoutskirtsofColoradoSprings doIrealise, I’monholidayinthecityyoudiedin.

I.

Youandmymotherhoneymoon askitownaway,bothnewlytwenty,both mid-life.Ringfingerplaceholders forayouthwithgentlerechoes, twotinygoldflashescarving intofreshpowder.

II.

WenicknametheHonda,‘TheSilverGhost’, andyoupackituptoleaveus, deliverthenewsintheBlockbusterparkinglot, ourtown’slastone,astheairconbattles theAugustafternoon,dampenspreteencries.

Whenyoureturn, it’sasaMicrosoftWorddocument onsame-dayshipping—

thirteenpagesandafrayedpieceofmountainwheat. Whenthephonerings—

it’sonlyyouandanalpinemeadow thatmightbeproofofthedivine.

Whenthephonerings, amanwe’venevermethasfoundyou.

Inmydreams,eachnight, emptybulletcasingsdropfrommymouth andfire, impossible,unceasing, againstthecarpet.

III.

Youhaven’tturnedsixty.Iknowthis becausetheages,here,arelayered incoarse-grainedrock,infeldsparformations withcatchynicknames.

IwedgemyselfbetweenZeus’daughters— towersofbrightness, joyandbloom—andpause,peerin,see,

wherethecrevicetightens,sunbathedsandstoneshifting tothatancientlureofburntumber,see,

wheremychestwouldpressinwardagainstmylungs likeasyncopatedword,see,

wherelightwillnotfollow,whereyoutookonestepfurther.

ClotheslineElegy

NicoleKnoppová

Wedemolishedthehousewhenyoudied, dismantledthegardenandfilledinthepool, uprootedthepinwheeljasmineinproclamation, sheisgone.

Onlytheplot’sfarcornersurrendersitselegy— therotaryclotheslineinrepose acrossyourprizedraisedbeds.

Ireturn,adecadeon,takeinthevestiges ofbasil,parsley,feathereddillclaimed byvelvetrabbitnoses,thelatestswellofbullthistle,

eachsmallreturntooriginalwildernesses, eachstring,oncetaut,nowhangingasfellowvine tothesurgeofcoralhoneysuckle.

Aretheseourruins?Ourwealthofbloom? Andwherewillwedrapethedampnessofourhousedresses, drythetearsIpintotheopenair?

Contributors

LaurenGood

LaurenGoodisthedigitaleditorialassistantfor BBCHistoryMagazine,where sheoftenfindsnewinspirationforherhistoricalfiction.ShehasaBAin EnglishandClassicalStudiesfromtheUniversityofBristol,andanMAin CreativeWriting.Beforebecomingajournalist,shewrotefeaturesfor The Tab, Earth.org and Epigram,andwasalsothefictioneditorforaliterary magazine, IcebergTales.

BornintheWelshValleys,Lauren’sfirstexperiencesofstorieswereabout theeccentriccharactersthatcamebeforeher.Shedecidedtohaveagoat writingherown:scribbling‘orther’under‘mydreamjob’inapadlocked diaryattheageofseven.Herfirstnovel, TheHouseonFallhaleBay,was startedinPembrokeshire,uponwhichshebasesmuchofherdescriptionof thenaturalworld.

IngridJones

IngridJonesisaCommunityTheatreplaywrightanddirector.Shehas writtenovereightyplays,including FootstepsInTheSnow (2021)and LostNot Forgotten (2014).ShehasaBAinEnglish,DramaandEducationfromExeter UniversityandanMAinCreativeWritingfromtheUniversityofBristol. Whetherreading,writingorcreatingplays,apassionforstorieshasbeen themaindrivingforceofherlife. TheGrassIsn’tAlwaysGreener isIngrid’s firstnovel.

Sheliveswithherhusband,son,twohorsesandtwocatsinNorth Somerset.

RachelKelly

RachelRuthKellywritesaboutmentalhealth,sexuality,andtheinternetwith alighttouchandhumour.RachellivesinBristolwithherhusband,andtwo cats.Sheworksinartsadministrationandcanbeusuallyfoundinthepub.

NicoleKnoppová

NicoleKnoppováisanAmericanpoetcurrentlybasedinBristol.Nicolegrew upinFlorida,beforemovingfromNewYorkCitytotheUKtopursueher writingaspirationsattheUniversityofBristol.Shehasbeenpublishedin TrainRiverPoetry and AlloyLiteraryMagazine andwastheWinningLaureate ofthe WaterstonesOpenMicPoetryCompetition.Nicoleworksmainlywith themesofgrief,intergenerationaltrauma,andmentalhealth.

JessicaLandsdowne

JessicaLansdowneisawriterandauthorfromEngland,livinginGuernsey. SherecentlygraduatedfromtheUniversityofBristolhavingachieveda MasterofArtsinCreativeWriting.Sheloveswritingfantasy,andrevelsin thefreedomandcreativityofworld-buildingandcharactercreation.When itcomestoreading,sheenjoysmanyfictionalgenres,butherguiltypleasure isagoodmystery-thriller.Shecanoftenbefoundinabeach-sidecafé,sipping alatteandeatingchocolatecake,whilstenjoyingagoodbook.Outsideofthe wonderfulworldofbooks,herotherhobbiesincludeartandbaking.Sheisa hugeanimalloverandasuckerforabig,fluffydog.

TomMason

TomMasonisasciencefictionwriterfromtheWestMidlands.Hehasa bachelor'sinEnglishLanguageandLiteraturefromtheUniversityof ManchesterandadistinctioninaCreativeWritingMaster'sfromthe UniversityofBristol.HehassharedhisfictionwithaudiencesatLancaster LiteraryFestival,BristolLiteratureFestivalandcelebrationsforNationalFlash FictionDay.Hiswritinghasappearedineditionsof BadLanguage andhorror anthology Watch,andhehaswonawardsforhiscreativefiction:the‘Best NewBlog’awardattheManchesterBlogAwardsforhiswritingon 330 Words,andaspartoftheRE:Playnewwriter'scompetitionattheLowry Theatre.HecurrentlylivesinBristoland,awayfromwriting,worksin communicationsinhighereducation. TheGriefTree ishisfirstnovel.

ErinPeacock

Erinwritesdarklyfunny,spikyliteraryfiction,featuringawful(occasionally appalling)women.SheholdsaBAinEnglishLiteratureandCreativeWriting fromtheUniversityofReadingalongsideherMAinCreativeWritingatthe UniversityofBristol.HavinggrownupinPeterborough,sheaimstobring placesoftenunfeatured(andoutsidetheM25)tocontemporaryfiction; focusinglargelyonclassidentity,mentalhealthandsatiricnarratives.Herfirst noveliswritteninresponsetoprivilegecontinuingtotrumptalentintheart industry,andisintertwinedwithherownexperiencesofdebilitatinghealth anxietyandclassbarriers.

Whennotworkingonherwriting,Erinspendshertimemaking ceramics,playingnetballandcryingunderherduvetwhilstscrollingthrough WebMD.Hergreatest–andperhapsunbeatable–lifehighlighttodateis havingherworkcomparedtoOttessaMoshfegh.ShecurrentlylivesinBristol withherpartnerandaconstant,palpablethreatofeviction.Erinhopestoone daycontinueheracademicjourneybycompletingaPhDinCreative Writing.

YosrElSherbiny

YosrcompletedaMasterofArtsinCreativeWriting(MACW)fromthe UniversityofBristol(UK),aswellasaMastersofArchitecturalManagement fromIEUniversity(Madrid,Spain),whereshefoundedWrichitects:an educationalplatformtohelpdesignersimprovetheirstorytellingskills.Yosr hasdeliveredcreativewritingworkshopsforindependentorganizationsand helpedUAE-basedliteraryagentsreviewmanuscripts.

ShealsoholdsaBachelorofArchitecturefromtheAmericanUniversityof Sharjah(UAE).Herbackgroundinarchitectureinfluencedherpassionfor historicfictionandinspiredhertoworkonherdebutnovel TheLastSilk Thread.

Yosrwasrunner-upintheEmiratesLiteratureFestivalMontegrappa WritingPrizewithhershortstory Massages,ManicuresandMen.Shewasalso grantedtheAmericanUniversityofSharjahAwardforherflashfiction, AsI StoodAtoptheMinaret.

ShecurrentlyresidesintheUnitedArabEmirateswithherhusband,twoyear-oldson,newborndaughter,andBanana(heradoptedcat).Inherdayto-day,sheworksasanoperationsmanagerforSYPartners,anAmerican managementconsultancythatisspecialisedinthefieldsofculture,designand diplomacy.Inhersparetime,Yosrreadsanddissectsplotsofpopular

PublishingTeam

RebeccaRobson

ExecutiveEditor

RebeccaisaBristol-basedwriter,actoranddirectorwhoforthemostpart liveshercreativelifeinthe1800s.SherunsRedRopeTheatreCompany (foundedwithanotherBristolwriter,MattGrinter),writingandproducing adaptationsofGothichorrorssuchas JekyllandHyde and TheTurnofthe Screw,aswellasworkingwithotherlocalwriterstocreatestorytellingevents. Rebeccahasabachelor’sindramaandamaster’sincreativewriting–aswell asbeingatrainedactor.ShewastheSouthWestwinnerforBBCRaW,with herstory TomandtheBackwardsBike. Manacled isherfirstnovel.

DraganPurković ArtDirector

DraganisawriterandeditorbasedinBristol.RaisedinBelgrade,Serbia,he startedwritinganddrawingatanearlyage,inspiredbySerbianfolklorethe country'smedievalhistory.

HeholdsaMAinCreativeWritingfromtheUniversityofBristolanda BAinWritingfromLoyolaUniversityMarylandwherehereceived HonoraryMentionfortheVernRutsalaPoetryPrizefromtheAcademyof AmericanPoets.

Hehaspreviouslyemployedhiswritingexpertiseanddesignskillsfor organisationsliketheNHS,LoyolaUniversityMaryland,LoyolaWriting Centre,and TheBristolAnthology.Currently,heisaContentWriterforthe LondonStockExchangeGroup.

Draganisalsowritinghisfirstnovel,afantasyinspiredbySlavichistory andfolklorewhichfollowsayoungknight,amerchant'sdaughter,a widowednoblewoman,andadisquietedemperorastheyarefacedwiththe invasionoftheirhomelandsbyaneighbouringempire.Thenovelispartly informedbyDragan'sexperienceoftheYugoslavWarsofthe90s,the ongoingconflictsaroundtheglobe,theOttomaninvasionsoftheBalkans,

andwillexploreissuesofwar,trauma,andhumanity'srelationshiptothe naturalworld.

HannahClark

FictionEditor

Hannah’sneverbeenoneforhappilyeverafter.Whenhercharactersreach theirhappyending,andthedustclears,Hannahwantsherreaderstolook backandwonderifthefighthadbeenworthit.

She’sbeengreatlyinspiredbytheworksofV.E.SchwabandMaggie Stiefvater(whoseuniqueandintricateworldshavebeencaptivatinghersince shewasateenager),aswellasmythologyandfolklorefromaroundtheworld. Now,withafirstclassBAinCreativeandProfessionalWriting,anda distinctionatMAinCreativeWriting,Hannahisreadytoshareherworkand carveoutaspaceforherselfonbookshelveseverywhere.

Aswellasherdebutnovel, TheUnhappyMedium,Hannahisalsoworking onherfirstfeaturelengthhorrorfilm, TheHouseofLittleDeath,while plottingoutmultipleothernovelsintheYAfantasyandadultdystopian genres.

CharuviKhandelwal

PoetryEditor

CharuviKhandelwalwasbornandraisedinDelhi,India,whereshe completedherschoolingandbachelor’sinJournalismandMass Communication.Shestartedwritingpoetryattheageof12andlaterbecame aspokenwordartist,performinginslamsandopenmicsin2015.Shefocuses onsocial,politicalandgenderissues,alongwithpostcolonialism.Withan MAinCreativeWritingfromtheUniversityofBristol,sheworksasthe editorforthecourseanthologyandisthepeerreviewerforEnglishforthe studentresearchjournaloftheUniversity.Sherunsanonlineblog,aswellas aninternationalartcommunity: TheIndePost.Charuviwrote AWalkBack

Home (achapbookcollectionofpoetryonthestrugglesofIndianwomen throughafamiliallens)asherdissertationproject.Herworksarebeing publishedin TheMothMagazine, MuseIndia and ThePunchMagazine.Shehas performedpoetryfororganisationsincludingKommuneity,TheLyraPoetry Festival,Baatein,andmore.Currently,sheworksasacopywriterandhas previouslybeenassociatedwithOgilvy,GroupM,andSwiggy.