blinded her as she mentally hugged her, squeezing her tightly, tighter than she ever had, as if she could push her back inside her own body and protect her forever.
This wasnât happening. It couldnât happen. Moll was never to come to any harm. She was too loved.
The streets were a blur of faces and cars and trees. She bumped into one woman and another called after her to watch where she was going.
It was less than a ten-minute walk from the house to the primary school, but Kathleen had been running too hard. By the time she reached the school gates she could hardly breathe. She bent over and had put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from vomiting. Her hair, which she had carefully pinned earlier, was now wild and loose. She ran a hand over her face and hair as she prepared to enter the school.
They had made a mistake, she decided. Moll was inside, in her classroom, stretching up her hand to answer the teacherâs question.
In the school parking lot, she saw two police cars.
CHAPTER 9
Big George
Wednesday, October 2, 1985
G EORGE PUT HIS FOOT DOWN AND CROSSED THE R IVER Thurso, and was about to accelerate out of town on the A9 southbound when an old lady stepped out onto a zebra crossing. George drummed his fingers on the wheel impatiently, glancing to the park on his left and noticing that it was named after him: Sir Georgeâs Park.
Moll was turned away from him, still crying, and he was about to speak to her again in an attempt to calm her when she released the lock, threw open the door, and fell out right onto the road, such was her rush. She was on her feet before he could reach for her and sprinting back along the road toward the bridge and the town.
âChrist,â said George.
He drove through the zebra crossing, startling the old lady, and parked the car by the side of the road, half on the pavement, before he leaped out and gave chase. Running full pelt, he made up the distance between them in seconds. He caught her by the collar of her jacket and spun her around. She started screaming and twisting away from him and George panicked again. His hand closed around her wrist and he began to dragher back to the car. Up ahead he saw a man and a woman, walking arm in arm, and wondered if he should just let Moll go and make a run for it. The couple both glanced in his direction, but instead of looking alarmed they smiled at him with understanding. Realizing that they assumed Moll was just a young child having a tantrum, George dared to smile at them and shake his head. The couple nodded and walked on.
At the car, George threw open the passenger door and tried to drag her inside, but she leaned over and bit the hand that held her wrist. It wasnât a playful bite; George felt her small teeth break the skin.
He shook her, just to get her off him, but then realized that he had been too rough. She was suddenly very pale, either from shock or terror.
When he pulled his hand away, he saw that she had drawn blood. He lifted her up, put her in the passenger seat and closed the door.
After pushing down the lock and pulling her seat belt over to secure her, he drove away with a skid, glancing into the mirror to see if the couple was turning back to look in their direction. The speedometer twitched well above the speed limit as they drove out of town on the A9, before George left the main road to take the smaller mountain roads, where he considered he would be less visible.
He needed a cigarette suddenly, but was driving too fast. The chase and the fight with her had shaken him. Two hands on the steering wheel, he glanced at her and noticed that she was crying soundlessly; the tears already breaking through the patch that covered her left eye.
Blood was trickling from the wound on his hand where she had bitten him, curling around his wrist. He brought his handto his lips and instinctively sucked at the wound, tasting the familiar salt of his own blood.
G eorge was seven years old. He was
This wasnât happening. It couldnât happen. Moll was never to come to any harm. She was too loved.
The streets were a blur of faces and cars and trees. She bumped into one woman and another called after her to watch where she was going.
It was less than a ten-minute walk from the house to the primary school, but Kathleen had been running too hard. By the time she reached the school gates she could hardly breathe. She bent over and had put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from vomiting. Her hair, which she had carefully pinned earlier, was now wild and loose. She ran a hand over her face and hair as she prepared to enter the school.
They had made a mistake, she decided. Moll was inside, in her classroom, stretching up her hand to answer the teacherâs question.
In the school parking lot, she saw two police cars.
CHAPTER 9
Big George
Wednesday, October 2, 1985
G EORGE PUT HIS FOOT DOWN AND CROSSED THE R IVER Thurso, and was about to accelerate out of town on the A9 southbound when an old lady stepped out onto a zebra crossing. George drummed his fingers on the wheel impatiently, glancing to the park on his left and noticing that it was named after him: Sir Georgeâs Park.
Moll was turned away from him, still crying, and he was about to speak to her again in an attempt to calm her when she released the lock, threw open the door, and fell out right onto the road, such was her rush. She was on her feet before he could reach for her and sprinting back along the road toward the bridge and the town.
âChrist,â said George.
He drove through the zebra crossing, startling the old lady, and parked the car by the side of the road, half on the pavement, before he leaped out and gave chase. Running full pelt, he made up the distance between them in seconds. He caught her by the collar of her jacket and spun her around. She started screaming and twisting away from him and George panicked again. His hand closed around her wrist and he began to dragher back to the car. Up ahead he saw a man and a woman, walking arm in arm, and wondered if he should just let Moll go and make a run for it. The couple both glanced in his direction, but instead of looking alarmed they smiled at him with understanding. Realizing that they assumed Moll was just a young child having a tantrum, George dared to smile at them and shake his head. The couple nodded and walked on.
At the car, George threw open the passenger door and tried to drag her inside, but she leaned over and bit the hand that held her wrist. It wasnât a playful bite; George felt her small teeth break the skin.
He shook her, just to get her off him, but then realized that he had been too rough. She was suddenly very pale, either from shock or terror.
When he pulled his hand away, he saw that she had drawn blood. He lifted her up, put her in the passenger seat and closed the door.
After pushing down the lock and pulling her seat belt over to secure her, he drove away with a skid, glancing into the mirror to see if the couple was turning back to look in their direction. The speedometer twitched well above the speed limit as they drove out of town on the A9, before George left the main road to take the smaller mountain roads, where he considered he would be less visible.
He needed a cigarette suddenly, but was driving too fast. The chase and the fight with her had shaken him. Two hands on the steering wheel, he glanced at her and noticed that she was crying soundlessly; the tears already breaking through the patch that covered her left eye.
Blood was trickling from the wound on his hand where she had bitten him, curling around his wrist. He brought his handto his lips and instinctively sucked at the wound, tasting the familiar salt of his own blood.
G eorge was seven years old. He was
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