Work in progress
Zoë, novel (excerpt)
PART TWO
Chapter One
France, Pyrénées-Orientales, April 1992
I rolled up my window. This high up, the wind was freezing, and the air still smelt like winter. Patches of snow lingered on the roadside under the trees. The Professor took the next turn too fast.
I had to grab the armrest handle. ‘I could’ve driven you know.’
‘I fully appreciate that, but this is something I must do myself, from start to finish. You have your rituals. Think of today as mine.’ He flicked the cigarette butt out of his window and took a silver case from his breast pocket. He was wearing one of his Armani suits, dark brown with a fine pinstripe, and turquoise cufflinks. ‘Would you kindly help me with this?’ He passed me the case.
I took out a cigarette for him. He put the car lighter to it. His glasses couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. The lines on his face and neck looked deeper than ever.
‘How much time will we have?’ He took a long drag. ‘I need to read something. It’s a letter I’ve prepared.’
‘Read it to her?’
‘Correct.’
‘She’s not there, you remember that, right? It’s just the body now.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I need to do it.’
‘Do what you must then. We should have enough time. It’ll be after the daytime rounds, so no one will bother us.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
Ready for publication
Precious Blue, novel (excerpt)
Chapter one. The Lane
I was standing in the middle of a lane bordered by walls of colossal pines. Their paws hid the sun, and their roots bulged at the edges of the track. The sky blue boot of my poor, old Viva was sticking out of the underbrush. My left hand was clutching my right, slippery beneath the fingertips. I knew why it felt like this. Blood. Pulsating and hot, and I was too terrified to look.
I checked if I still remembered my name—Osten, and today’s date—eighth of October, Wednesday. Then, I shuffled up the lane into the light, back to the T junction. Diverted Trafic. The sign had been written in crooked letters and nailed to a wooden barrier. A rusted-out digger slumbered in the ditch. Tree stumps dotted the side of the B road as it snaked into the first slopes of the Highlands.
I started to shiver. Not a single car in sight. Nothing but dust, the ringing of insects, and my hand. It was swelling up. I dashed up and down the road, away from thoughts of dying of blood loss or infection. Gangrene, the wet kind, with a rainbow of colours. And sepsis.