Written in Bone by Simon Beckett Read Free Book Online Page A

she was alone here with her daughter. Not that it was any of my business.
    She opened a door at the far end of the hall. ‘Here we are. Not very grand, I’m afraid.’
    ‘It’s fine,’ I told her. And it was. The room was spartan, but clean and comfortable. A single brass bedstead was flanked by an old pine dresser on one side and a wardrobe on the other, its tartan counter-pane neatly turned down to reveal crisp white sheets.
    ‘The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Shared, but only between yourself and Sergeant Fraser. We don’t get many guests at this time of year.’ There was resignation in the way she said it. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to sort yourself out. Just come down to the bar when you’re ready for supper.’
    There was a telephone on the dresser, so at least I’d be able to call Jenny. ‘Is there anywhere I can log on to the Internet? I’d like to check my emails.’
    ‘If you’ve got a laptop you can use the phone line in here. We’re not wireless yet, but there’s a broadband connection.’
    ‘You’ve got broadband?’ I asked, surprised.
    ‘Did you think we’d still be using smoke signals?’
    ‘No, I just…’
    She smiled at my discomfort. ‘It’s all right, I don’t blame you. We can still lose power and phones if the weather’s bad, so we’re not that sophisticated yet. But it works fine most of the time.’
    When she’d gone I sat down heavily on the bed. Its springs made a metallic rustling as they took my weight.
God.
I was more tired than I’d thought. The incident on the stairs had struck through the defences I’d painstakingly built up after Kara and Alice had died. It had taken a long time to reach a state of truce with the cold fact that I was still alive, while my wife and daughter weren’t. Jenny had played a large part in that, and I was deeply thankful to have been given a second chance.
    But every now and then the loss would still hit home with a force that took my breath away.
    I rubbed my eyes, fatigue catching up with me. It had been a long day.
And you’ve not finished yet.
    I took my laptop from my bag and put it on the dresser. I picked up the phone to call Jenny as I waited for it to boot up. She should be back from work by now, at her flat in Clapham where we were unofficially living together. Unofficially because I still had my own flat in east London, although I hardly ever stayed there. When we’d left Norfolk eighteen months ago, while Jenny was still recovering from an abduction that had nearly killed her, we’d both felt it would be good for us to keep some degree of independence. For the most part it had worked out.
    It was only recently that the first fault lines had begun to appear in our relationship.
    I knew I was largely to blame. When Jenny and I had met I’d been a GP. Technically, I still was, but the work I did now was very different. Not only did it often take me away from home, it was a painful reminder of a time—and an experience—she would rather forget.
    It was a conflict I had no idea how to resolve. My work was as much a part of me as breathing, but I couldn’t imagine losing Jenny. Yet I was beginning to think that before much longer I’d have to choose between them.
    The phone rang for a while before she answered. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ I said.
    ‘Hi.’ There was a strained pause. ‘So. How are the Outer Hebrides?’
    ‘Cold and wet. How was your day?’
    ‘Fine.’
    Jenny was a teacher. Positions were hard to come by in London, but she’d found a part-time post at a nursery school which she enjoyed. She was good at her job, and good with children. I knew she wanted her own some day. That was something else I wasn’t sure about.
    I couldn’t bear the stilted awkwardness between us. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about earlier.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    ‘No, it does. I just wanted to explain—’
    ‘Don’t. Please,’ she added, less forcefully. ‘There’s no point. You’re there now. I was just disappointed