She’s buried beneath a silver birch tree, downtowards the old train tracks, her grave marked witha cairn. Not more than a little pile of stones, really. Ididn’t want to draw attention to her resting place,but I couldn’t leave her without remembrance. She’llsleep peacefully there, no one to disturb her, nosounds but birdsong and the rumble¹ of passingtrains.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl?.?.?.
Three for a girl. I’m stuck on three, I just can’t getany further. My head is thick with sounds, mymouth thick with blood. Three for a girl. I can hearthe magpies—they’re laughing, mocking² me, a raucouscackling. A tiding. Bad tidings. I can see them now,black against the sun. Not the birds, something else.
Someone’s coming. Someone is speaking to me. Nowlook. Now look what you made me do.

下一页  尾页