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.The plan.He has everything.I only have copies!She saw how hard it must have been for him to relinquish the scraps of paper.'Fire and Ice,' he went on.'I hope the detective picked up its full significance.I tried to explain.!She didn't know what to say.How could she speak for Perez? Anyway she wasn't sure she understood entirely what Catherine had wanted to achieve with the film.It probably had no significance at all.Ross was constructing an elaborate theory from a poem and a piece of homework.He continued, almost to himself.'There was ice the night Catherine was killed of course.Ice.Cold hatred.Destructive.And tomorrow night is the fire festival.Fire for passion.! She waited for him to go on, but he seemed to realize he was rambling.'Probably nothing: he said.'Nothing sinister at all.An excuse for men to dress up in silly costumes and show off.And then drink too much!When she said she would show herself out, she wasn’t sure whether or not he had heard her.Chapter FortyIt was Monday morning and Sally woke up in the dark, switched on the bedside light, felt for her alarm clock and looked at the time.From the kitchen she heard her mother, the shutting of a cupboard door, the rattle of a spoon in a mug.Her mother seemed to get up earlier every morning, though there was nothing more for her to do.Preparation for school was completed every night before bedtime - the pile of orange exercise books marked and neatly arranged.Why couldn't she chill occasionally? Sometimes Sally even felt sorry for her.She had no friends after all.Only the parents who were frightened of her.In the bathroom Sally looked at herself in the mirror over the sink.Smiled.The zit on the side of her nose had gone.Monday morning and she felt OK.The stomach cramps, the migraine, the panic of the old days had gone.Now she almost looked forward to going to school and meeting everyone.She stood in the shower and tilted back her head so she could wash her hair.Over breakfast her mother seemed distracted.She'd allowed the porridge to stick to the pan and there was no bread left in the freezer for toast.Sally poured muesli into a bowl, added milk, dreamed of Up Helly Aa.It would be a great night for Robert, supporting his father as the Guizer Jarl, following him in the procession through the streets of Lerwick and around the community halls.She should be with him.Of course she'd be in town for the procession and the burning of the galley.That wasn't a problem.Her parents had taken her into Lerwick to see the spectacle since she was a baby.But as soon as the fire died down they would want her to leave town and go home with them.'Tomorrow night there was no way she'd be back in Ravenswick, tucked up in bed in the school house by ten o'clock.No way.'I'm babysitting for Mrs Hunter again tonight!'Oh?' Margaret was at the sink, scrubbing the burnt pan.Her bare elbows looked red and bony like uncooked chicken thighs.Sally wasn't even sure her mother had taken in the words.Radio Shetland was on in the background.An excited voice, male but high-pitched, was giving the weather forecast for the following night.'She asked if I could stop in straight from school, give Cassie her tea while she gets ready to go out.She'll leave me something to eat.Is that OK with you?' 'I don't see why not!It was unexpectedly easy.There were no questions, no sarcastic comments about Fran's parenting skills.It crossed Sally's mind that there might be something wrong with her mother.The menopause maybe.When did that happen? Was her mother the right age? She didn't dwell on the possibility for long.She had other things to think about.Although it was early for the bus she left the house before her mother could change her mind.First lesson was English with Mr Scott.They were still doing Macbeth, reading it out loud in class, everyone taking a different character.Since Catherine's death, Sally had found lessons easier too.Teachers had been more patient, more ready to explain.They'd noticed her.She talked less, thought more carefully about what she had to say.That was because she wasn't so nervous.They'd had to write an essay for Mr Scott about Lady Macbeth and her relationship with her husband.Last term she'd have been a wreck waiting for it to be handed back, gabbing away about nothing to whoever would listen to her, just so she wouldn't think about what he would say.Now there was just a sort of curiosity about what the teacher had made of it.It wasn't as if he'd lay into her about it even if it was crap.Scott wasn't so bad, she thought.Not sexy like Robert, but gentle, sensitive.Catherine had been hard on him.Now he sat on her table, just as he'd used to sit on Catherine's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]