Blood Junction Page 30

  “Don’t you look beautiful!” she said. “Personally, I think it’s the haggard expression that makes it, along with the pouches under your eyes.”

  “Nobody’ll be looking at me. They’ll be fixated by your purple hair.”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “It won’t matter if you’re moving to Sydney.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s back to normal by the time you come and visit, okay?”

  He smiled. “Okay.”

  Come eleven-thirty, India was in the kitchen, burning onions. Mikey was rolling his eyes at her and asking why God had sent him someone who couldn’t cook. She was rolling her eyes back and asking God to give her the strength to deal with the world’s worst patient. He responded by telling her she’d won that particular prize; all she’d had was a head cold and she’d thought she was going to die of the flu. Whitelaw walked out of the kitchen for somewhere more peaceful. Twenty minutes later, a loud knock on the front door sent India into a panic.

  “How do I look?” she asked Mikey for the third time.

  “Like an Abo.”

  She sent him a look of desperation.

  “Gorgeous,” he amended.

  Half a minute later, Bertie Mullett walked into the kitchen. He wore jeans and a work shirt and stood tall and straight, his right hand holding Polly’s. His hair was gray and woolly, his skin dark, so dark it seemed to glow with a bluish tint. For an age he stood there staring at India, and then he smiled. It was as though the sun had exploded from behind the blackest, darkest thundercloud.

  “Hello, granddaughter.”

  India was gripping the side of the kitchen table with both hands. When she spoke, her voice was faint. “Hello, Milangga.”

  Her grandfather came over, pinched her cheek. “You’re still too skinny. How about I bring you some witchetties to help fatten you up?” He cocked his head to one side. “Or do you still prefer croissant?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank my agent, Elizabeth Wright, who for five years encouraged me to keep writing. My thanks too to Kerith Biggs for representing me so well overseas, and Darley Anderson for sharing his wisdom with me. All your advice and support has proved invaluable.

  I am grateful to Jane Wood, my editor, who has been a joy to work with, and to Orion.

  In particular I would like to thank for their support the Romantic Novelists’ Association, the Crime Writers’ Association, the First Paragraph writers’ group in Bristol and my mentor, Terence Strong.

  I have imposed on a number of friends to help me as critical readers and technical advisors, my thanks to them: Dr. Michael Seed, Tania Harper, Iain Cassie, George Kimball and Peter Lamb. Any errors of fact are purely mine.

  Lastly, my thanks to Sarah Cunich, for her belief in me.