The Monster's Wife by Kate Horsley

Author:Kate Horsley [Horsley, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: kickass.to, ScreamQueen
Amazon: B00LH287R8
Publisher: Barbican Press
Published: 2014-08-21T05:00:00+00:00

40

It was one of those golden days where the sea was blue as blue and you could see the whole world from the shore. Yesterday’s clouds had cleared. The mist round the mountain was gone. Loons sang from sand banks stranded in the ebbing tide, sounding half-human, half like ghosts.

It might have been beautiful to some, but to Oona it felt like what she imagined Hell must be. When she rose, she’d splashed her face with ice water, but she could still taste Victor. Worse, she could still see the anger in his eyes. Whatever hope she’d had of asking his help had shrivelled.

The sun brought flies - fat, thirsty ones. She swatted them away and tapped her foot on the dirt, counting out the moments it took for Granny to make water before they went to kirk. Usually she felt sleepy at the thought of the Minister’s sermons. Sleepiness sometimes became dreaminess when her eyes turned to the bright day outside and her mind turned to the thought of dangling her legs in the burn. Once in a while the angry words read from the Good Book stirred her and she resolved to be more Christlike. Today an eel bit at her guts. It was the twelfth day without May and for all Oona’s turning of stones, she’d found nothing.

Granny walked up, already out of breath. They left the croft and Oona shut the gate behind them to keep Toby from following them to the kirk.

“Och, Toby, we don’t fancy jawing wi’ her now do we?” The little dog sat watching Granny from the other side of the fence as if he knew just what she was saying.

Oona glanced up at the grass track leading from their front door to the kirkyard and saw what Granny meant. Mad Bridget stood in the middle of the path holding counsel with a russet cow. Bridget was the same age as Granny, a fair-haired scarecrow who’d blow away if the wind hit her hard enough. She was never seen without a bundle of grey rags she cooed to like a baby. Those that were mean-minded enjoyed asking her how her bairn was getting on, to which she replied, “My Wully loves a nip of whisky and a suck of the tit just as much as his Da does.” Her tormentors would reel off laughing while Bridget smiled. If there’d been a Da in her life once upon a time, he wasn’t there to lead her home any more.

“Good day Mrs Scollay. Good day young lassie. Mrs Umbesetter has been telling me your news.”

“Good day to you Bridget,” Granny pulled her shawl tighter round her shoulders, as if it might keep the madness at bay. “What news from Mrs Umbesetter?”

Bridget turned back to the cow and patted its dewy nose. “I heard tell all about the lassie’s bride-cog. She said everyone will sup their fill at the wedding, even the likes of me, didn’t you Joan?”

Oona looked from Bridget to the cow. “I fancy the likelihood of my being wed is far smaller now than ever it was.

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