The Grave Tattoo. Val McDermid

be getting back. I’ve got lessons to prepare. Nearest I’m likely to get to study leave.’ He stood up. ‘How long are you here for?’

      ‘A couple of weeks. When’s the best time to catch Diane on Saturday?’

      Matthew shrugged. ‘Pretty much any time, if it’s raining. Which it looks like it’s set on for the next few days.’

      ‘Tell her I’ll drop in. I’m dying to see Gabriel.’

      ‘Sure you can spare the time to play aunties and nephews? I mean, you are supposed to be studying, right?’

      ‘Grow up, Matthew,’ Allan said wearily.

      Matthew snorted. ‘I’m not the one playing hunt the metaphorical slipper, Dad. If anybody needs to catch the boat from Fantasy Island, it’s Jane. Wake up and smell the coffee, Sis. There’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Time to join the rest of us in the real world.’

      

      

      

      

       Modifications were made to the Bounty before she set sail for the South Seas so that she could accommodate our cargo of breadfruit on our return voyage. On account of this, conditions were exceeding cramped for all on board, for officers as much as for the common seamen. Such close quarters always breed squabbling among the men, and it was impossible for we officers to hold ourselves aloof from the petty disputes that can fester on board ship. But that was as nothing compared to the tyranny of Bligh. He was a martinet with the men and no less so with the officers. For the most part, I was fortunate enough to be excluded from this general treatment. Bligh still seemed desirous of my good opinion and had me to dine in his cabin whenever I was not on watch. I confess I felt discomfort from the first at being singled out thus. I did not wish the men to think I was allied with Bligh. Nor was I easy in my mind as to the nature of his affection for me.

11

      Damp mist held the heavy tang of the polluted city close to the ground. It clawed at throats, making smokers cough harder, and shrouded heads in streetlight haloes. The glow from windows was romanticised by the fog, but it was fooling no one. The pavements were quiet; it wasn’t the sort of evening to tempt people away from their own TVs.

      Tenille stretched and checked the clock on the PC. Just after ten. It was time to make a move. Part of her wanted to stay here, snug in the cocoon of Jane’s flat, isolated in a place where she could pretend her life was different from its ungentle reality. But another part of her wanted to test the mettle of Jane and her alleged father. She gathered her stuff together and trudged towards the door. She took a last look around, checking the door key was still in her pocket, then stepped out into the night. After the warmth of the flat, the clammy cold made her shiver as she hurried along the gallery to the stairs. She had just begun to climb the two flights to her floor when she heard a low boom. The fog muffled it, making it impossible to divine its direction or identify its source. But unexplained noises were hardly an unusual event on Marshpool Farm, and it barely registered on her consciousness.

      Heading towards the final turn of the stairs, Tenille realised there were footsteps coming down the steps towards her. The footsteps of someone big and confident, judging by the sound. Instinctively, she dodged to one side, making room for whoever it was to pass. Round here, making room could sometimes mean the difference between getting home in one piece or not.