strange, past-tense way of asking me. As if you no longer are.’
‘I know how I feel now, Sally. But I’m not the me I was two days ago. I want to know how he felt.’
There is just the hint of sadness in her smile. ‘He told me he loved me, Neal. But, then, he told me lots of things, it seems, that aren’t true.’
Guilt washes over me. How could I have lied to her? About writing the book. About the bees, even if only by omission. ‘And what about you? Did you love me?’
I see her swallow back her emotion. ‘I did.’
‘And now?’
She smiles. ‘It seems that’s a process of discovery.’
CHAPTER SIX
For the third time in two days, something external wakens me. I am disorientated. It is dark, but not late. An old-fashioned clock with luminous hands on the bedside table tells me that it is ten past midnight. Then I remember lying down on the bed after Sally dropped me at the cottage sometime after lunch, and realise I must have slept all afternoon and through the evening.
We had eaten at The Anchorage restaurant on the pier at Leverburgh. Soup, then quiche and salad and a couple of glasses of white wine. Sally told me we had eaten there often, and we were greeted by hellos and friendly smiles from the staff. But I didn’t remember the place at all.
Now I am on full alert. Because Bran has jumped down off the bed, a dangerous, low growling in his throat. I am wide awake in seconds and wishing I had left lights on in the house. But it had been daylight when I drifted off to sleep. I reach for the bedside lamp and knock it over, cursing under my breath as I hear the bulb break.
Bran barks. He is still in the room, but standing in the open doorway now. Not that I can see him. The darkness is so dense it is almost physical. No moon or starlight, no streetlights, or any light from nearby houses seeping in through windows.
‘Sally?’ I call out, more in hope than expectation. Bran would not react like this if it were her. I am rewarded by silence, broken only by Bran’s continued growling, and I swing my legs out of the bed to stand and feel my way to the wall. To my dismay we remain in darkness, even after I have flicked the light switch down.
Now my alarm turns to fear. There is someone in the house that Bran does not recognise, and there is no power. I feel for the door frame and swing myself into the hall. I know that the door to the sitting room is open. I shoosh Bran and stand very still, straining to pick up any sound. But Bran can’t contain himself for long and barks again. I take advantage of the noise to slip into the sitting room. Outside, a break in the cloud lets unexpected moonlight wash silver across the beach, and in the reflected light I see a shadow detach itself suddenly from darkness, filling my vision, a flash momentarily illuminating the length of a blade that signals deadly intent. I instinctively turn side-on to make myself a smaller target, reaching for the knife arm to stop its downward arc, and I put my full weight behind my shoulder as I push it into the chest of my attacker.
He is smaller, lighter than me, and I feel his breath exploding in my face, sour from stale cigarette smoke, as he staggers backwards. I fumble desperately to hold on to his wrist as he struggles to free it, and then I push again, sending us both sprawling over the settee that backs on to the kitchen. I land on top, expelling all the air from his lungs, and we topple then on to the floor, his knife skidding away across the floorboards.
But as we roll over, my head strikes what must be the corner of the coffee table, and light and pain explode inside it. For several long moments I am quite disabled, all my strength dissipated, my limbs feeble and useless. I can hear Bran barking furiously in the dark, and am aware of my assailant scrambling across the floor to retrieve his knife. And there is not a thing I can do about it.
As I turn my head, I see his silhouette rising to its knees. The moon
‘I know how I feel now, Sally. But I’m not the me I was two days ago. I want to know how he felt.’
There is just the hint of sadness in her smile. ‘He told me he loved me, Neal. But, then, he told me lots of things, it seems, that aren’t true.’
Guilt washes over me. How could I have lied to her? About writing the book. About the bees, even if only by omission. ‘And what about you? Did you love me?’
I see her swallow back her emotion. ‘I did.’
‘And now?’
She smiles. ‘It seems that’s a process of discovery.’
CHAPTER SIX
For the third time in two days, something external wakens me. I am disorientated. It is dark, but not late. An old-fashioned clock with luminous hands on the bedside table tells me that it is ten past midnight. Then I remember lying down on the bed after Sally dropped me at the cottage sometime after lunch, and realise I must have slept all afternoon and through the evening.
We had eaten at The Anchorage restaurant on the pier at Leverburgh. Soup, then quiche and salad and a couple of glasses of white wine. Sally told me we had eaten there often, and we were greeted by hellos and friendly smiles from the staff. But I didn’t remember the place at all.
Now I am on full alert. Because Bran has jumped down off the bed, a dangerous, low growling in his throat. I am wide awake in seconds and wishing I had left lights on in the house. But it had been daylight when I drifted off to sleep. I reach for the bedside lamp and knock it over, cursing under my breath as I hear the bulb break.
Bran barks. He is still in the room, but standing in the open doorway now. Not that I can see him. The darkness is so dense it is almost physical. No moon or starlight, no streetlights, or any light from nearby houses seeping in through windows.
‘Sally?’ I call out, more in hope than expectation. Bran would not react like this if it were her. I am rewarded by silence, broken only by Bran’s continued growling, and I swing my legs out of the bed to stand and feel my way to the wall. To my dismay we remain in darkness, even after I have flicked the light switch down.
Now my alarm turns to fear. There is someone in the house that Bran does not recognise, and there is no power. I feel for the door frame and swing myself into the hall. I know that the door to the sitting room is open. I shoosh Bran and stand very still, straining to pick up any sound. But Bran can’t contain himself for long and barks again. I take advantage of the noise to slip into the sitting room. Outside, a break in the cloud lets unexpected moonlight wash silver across the beach, and in the reflected light I see a shadow detach itself suddenly from darkness, filling my vision, a flash momentarily illuminating the length of a blade that signals deadly intent. I instinctively turn side-on to make myself a smaller target, reaching for the knife arm to stop its downward arc, and I put my full weight behind my shoulder as I push it into the chest of my attacker.
He is smaller, lighter than me, and I feel his breath exploding in my face, sour from stale cigarette smoke, as he staggers backwards. I fumble desperately to hold on to his wrist as he struggles to free it, and then I push again, sending us both sprawling over the settee that backs on to the kitchen. I land on top, expelling all the air from his lungs, and we topple then on to the floor, his knife skidding away across the floorboards.
But as we roll over, my head strikes what must be the corner of the coffee table, and light and pain explode inside it. For several long moments I am quite disabled, all my strength dissipated, my limbs feeble and useless. I can hear Bran barking furiously in the dark, and am aware of my assailant scrambling across the floor to retrieve his knife. And there is not a thing I can do about it.
As I turn my head, I see his silhouette rising to its knees. The moon
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