Adrian Miles’ cheeks burned red under the heat of the sun. The sheets stuck to him as he turned over in his bed away from the open blinds. He remembered why he hadn’t shut them as he saw the girl stirring next to him. She opened her eyes.

‘Good morning.’ She smiled. He was glad the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see him searching his memory for her name. ‘I had a great time last night.’

‘Me too,’ he lied. It was not that he didn’t have a great time, he well might have, but the facts were a little blurry.

The phone rang and Adrian was grateful for the interruption.

‘I’ll just get dressed,’ the woman said.

‘Hello?’ he said into the receiver, his eyes fixed on Hannah? Anna? As she got out of bed she walked across the room naked, sweeping her clothes up off the floor as she went. He couldn’t entirely remember at what point over the course of last night he had managed to seal that particular deal. The situation was all too familiar to him. The absence of memory, the nameless semi-clad woman and the realisation that next time maybe he should just go to their place so that he wouldn’t have to make nice in the morning. He could just disappear. Not the first time these thoughts had occurred to him, but at the time he was always too drunk to apply any kind of rationale.

‘Adrian, I need you to take Tom today,’ Andrea said on the other end of the line, her voice as cold and to the point as ever, she never called unless she absolutely had to.

‘Hasn’t he got school?’

‘The school’s shut, something’s happened over there, sorry this isn’t much notice but I need you to take him.’

‘Can’t he stay home on his own?’ Adrian paused before continuing, unwilling to divulge any specific information about his personal life to his ex. He hated having to jump to her commands but ultimately knew he had no choice; not if he wanted to spend time with his son. ‘I have to work later.’

‘No, he can’t, he’s thirteen, Adrian, he can’t be alone all day, just take him in with you and sit him in the corner, step up to the bloody plate, would you?’

‘Hey, you are the one who made the rules and I’m just the one who follows them. I thought you understood how important today is for me …’ He tried not to sound resentful – it didn’t take much to make Andrea angry enough to refuse him access of any kind.

‘Don’t do it for me, do it for him.’

‘Can I use your toothbrush?’ the girl called from the bathroom doorway. Adrian cringed before nodding and waving her away, he could hear Andrea’s scorn through the receiver. Even though she didn’t want Adrian any more, and hadn’t done for quite some time, she still managed to make him feel like he was betraying her in some way.

‘Is someone there with you?’

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ Adrian hung up and sighed. He walked to the bathroom, the girl stood in her underwear brushing her teeth with his toothbrush. She shot him a foamy smile in the reflection of the mirror. He ignored the pangs of lust as his eyes travelled up and down her body. She spat into the sink and he sighed before saying, ‘I have to go, let yourself out!’

Adrian scanned the floor for the cleanest pair of trousers he could find. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror. He had scratch marks across his chest and as he ran his fingers over his tired chin he noticed that his stubble was dangerously approaching beard territory. He should probably smarten up before returning to work, but it wasn’t going to happen. These small acts of defiance made him feel like a little bit less of a bitch. He pulled yesterday’s shirt over his head and grabbed his keys off the bedside table.

Adrian kept the car running and beeped the horn, he saw the neighbours’ curtains twitching and decided to beep again, making sure Andrea’s neighbours knew that she hadn’t always been the princess she was now, she had slummed it once at least. A ten-minute drive and yet it was like being in another world, just three digits on the postcode felt like entering another country, a cleaner, happier country. Not that the lower end of the city was a ghetto or anything. This regency-period neighbourhood stood high above Exeter city centre, past the prison and the red light district, near the University. All the front gardens were vibrant and blooming. The front doors all freshly painted and the lawns mown. Each house had a clear vista of the little people down below. It even seemed sunnier here. The light bounced off the grand white house. The sun was not diffused by the endless grey terraces that surrounded the tiny plot his modest home occupied on the wrong side of town. Tom walked towards the car with his shoulders hunched over, still uncomfortable in his ever-growing frame. He was just a kid, and yet he was only three years younger than Adrian was when he got Andrea pregnant, and now that Tom was an adolescent, Adrian couldn’t help but compare himself to him. He reminded Adrian of himself, except Tom didn’t have the same hang-ups. At least Adrian hoped he didn’t. They say the first-born child always looks most like the father in order to help the bonding process but it hadn’t helped much in Adrian’s case, if anything it just made him a little sad.

Andrea was standing in the doorway scowling at Adrian, dressed in her power suit, anyone would think she was a lawyer or something, but no, she worked as a personal shopper in a high-end department store, hardly the end of the world if she took the day off. Adrian had fought long and hard for access to Tom and he could not say no to having him, because he knew she would use it against him, that’s just who she was. She looked good though, she always had looked good and she probably always would. He reluctantly settled his eyes on the curves of her finely toned body. It was as though she had been sewn into her outfit. There wasn’t a wrinkle or a pull in the perfectly tailored ensemble. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a silky bun and the brightness of the diamond studs in her ears flashed against her milk-chocolate skin. People often thought Andrea was Indian or Latin American due to her exotic skin tone but she was in fact half English and half Irish. Adrian looked at her full red lips and looked away before she caught him.

‘I’ll pick him up later on,’ she said before switching tones. ‘Love you, baby.’

‘Bye, Mum.’

Tom got in and Adrian pulled away. The familiar awkward silence filled the car. Adrian would have liked to attribute this phenomenon to Tom being a teenager, but the truth was it had always been this way between them, every other weekend for the last seven years. Andrea had tried to shut him out completely, underestimating how motivated Adrian would be about this particular subject. He had fallen in love with Tom from the moment he had first seen him, he had tried his hardest to provide for Andrea but nothing he ever did was enough. Before Tom even turned two Andrea had remarried and she and her new partner had tried to block any kind of access for Adrian. He had finally managed to get regular visitation when Tom was six but by then the damage was already done. Tom and Adrian’s relationship had been strained ever since.

‘So how come your school’s shut? Do you know?’

‘Yeah, my mate Alex texted me,’ Tom said excitedly. ‘His dad’s a teacher there. They found Mr Stone hanging in the atrium, killed himself, like right in the middle of it.’

‘Is that a surprise?’ Adrian didn’t know much about the school Tom attended, Andrea had always maintained it was the best school in the area and so Tom would go there and that was that. She’d made a point of telling Adrian that his input on this matter wouldn’t be needed and so he left all the school stuff to Andrea.

‘Shyeah!’ Tom looked at his dad like he was crazy. ‘Apparently there’s going to be some kind of inquiry.’

‘No, I mean, did he seem depressed or suicidal or anything?’

‘He was pretty miserable but then most of the teachers at that place are, they’re all uptight, you know?’

‘Still don’t like it?’

‘It’s OK, bit poncey.’

‘Well a lot of kids out there wouldn’t mind going to that poncey school, Tom.’ Even though Adrian himself felt exactly the same way about the school, and there was no way Tom would be going there if it weren’t for his stepfather’s money.

‘I know,’ Tom mumbled before slumping back in his seat.

Silence resumed and Adrian kicked himself for pulling out one of those parental lines, he didn’t know how to deal with Tom really. His only reference was his own childhood and he knew that was not the norm, so he resorted to using variations on lines he had heard on cheesy sitcoms. To diffuse the silence he turned the radio on, he could feel Tom’s disapproval at the folk jingle so he turned to another station. After a few minutes of fiddling with the buttons he gave up and turned it off as they pulled up outside his house.

The one thing Adrian did have right was his lounge. Tom would play it cool but he looked forward to spending time with his father’s gaming set-up, if nothing else. Adrian spent most of his money on what most adults referred to as toys. Andrea had never asked for child support because after they broke up she fell into a relationship almost immediately with a much older, much wealthier entrepreneur. Every month since Tom had been born Adrian had used some of his wage to buy a toy for him, but not just any toy, collectable toys. Star Wars, Star Trek, DC or Marvel, anything that was highly sought after, it would all belong to Tom one day, when he was old enough to appreciate its worth. Every year Adrian would have to insure it all with detailed photographs and lists of everything he owned in case of a house fire, most of it was completely irreplaceable, but it was also incredibly valuable. His whole lounge was shelved from wall to ceiling with pristine boxes on every possible surface. Try explaining to a six-year-old that they aren’t allowed to play with any of the cool stuff.

Tom sat in front of the large LED screen and turned it on, the surround-sound kicked in and the whole room came alive. Adrian knew the TV was too big for the room, but he also knew it would win him brownie points so he bought it anyway.

‘Have you got “Zombie Flesh Hunters 2”?’

‘That’s an eighteen.’

‘All my friends play it, they’ll probably all be online today, I won’t tell Mum, I promise.’

‘Well, you’ve only got two hours before I have to go to work,’ Adrian said.

‘For fuck’s sake!’

‘Tom!’ Adrian shouted, the loudness of his voice rang through him and he took a deep breath, his son stared at him wide eyed. He felt the ghost of his father standing behind him. He shook it off. ‘Just watch your language, please, mate.’

‘I’m not your mate,’ Tom hissed.

Adrian opened the cupboard and tossed the game to Tom, seeing the hint of victory in Tom’s hidden smile. Adrian left the room, he hated raising his voice, but even more than that he hated being played.

All traces of Adrian’s house guest had gone from the bedroom, the only evidence she had been there was that the bed was made and Adrian’s clothes were in the basket instead of on the floor. Even this small deed made him feel trapped. Fear of commitment was an understatement. In Adrian’s case, it was a phobia. When Andrea had left him and taken his son he promised himself he would never put himself in that situation again, it was as though his heart had been ripped out. Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost clearly had no fucking idea what they were talking about. In the bathroom Adrian looked in the mirror again. He checked his eyes weren’t still bloodshot. As it had been six months since he had been allowed on the premises he probably shouldn’t go back to work looking like a drunk, not after the way he had left – or been asked to leave. Last night he had needed the Dutch courage though and so he drank, he met a woman. It was the same old story, just a different night. He got in the shower; he could hear the blood-curdling screams and shotgun blasts through the floor as he washed away his hangover and whatever remained of his interlude.

Adrian stood outside the police station wishing he had never given up smoking. Taking a deep breath he walked through the glass doors with Tom in tow.

‘Hey, Tommy.’ Denise Ferguson beamed from behind the desk, obviously trying to avoid eye contact with Adrian. He suspected this would not be the last awkward encounter he would have today.

As Adrian pushed the second set of doors open he noticed the volume of the discussion change, along with the pace, everyone slowed down. He felt eyes on him so he kept his eyes on the floor and walked over to his desk.

‘Detective Miles?’ Adrian looked up. DCI Morris was standing in the doorway to his office. ‘Come here, would you?’

Adrian motioned to Tom to wait there before walking into the DCI’s office. Tom pulled out his phone and started messing around, headphones in to avoid being patronised by any of his dad’s colleagues. Morris closed the door behind Adrian, who was glad to be out of that room for a moment. Morris had a warm smile on his face which made Adrian feel ill at ease.

‘DCI Morris,’ Adrian said.

‘Take a seat, please, Adrian.’

Adrian sat in what felt like the naughty chair, you didn’t get invited in here for just anything, a serious chat was at hand. DCI Morris didn’t look a day older than the first time Adrian had met him almost twenty years ago. Of course, when Adrian met him he looked about sixty. It was the bald head; it’s hard to age a man without any hair at all. Adrian realised this after taking a few witness statements in the early days – if there was a bald man involved you could pretty much forget a reliable description, witness accounts would span teenagers, pensioners and everything in between, depending on the visual capabilities of the witnesses themselves.

‘Sir.’

‘It’s good to have you back, you’ve been missed.’

‘Look, sir, about what happened—’

‘As far as I am concerned, Adrian, it’s over and done with now, things happen, they shouldn’t but they do. The inquiry is over and I think six months is quite enough time to get yourself sorted. A “No further action” order is better than nothing. At least next time you will know to take a little more care when logging evidence.’

‘There won’t be a next time, sir.’ Adrian cringed. ‘And thank you for speaking to the commission on my behalf.’

‘You did your time, we all make mistakes, I have had a few mishaps myself over the years.’ Morris looked up as there was a gentle tap on the glass door. ‘Ah, speaking of mistakes.’ He took a deep breath and signalled to the woman standing outside the office. ‘Come in!’

‘DCI Morris? I’m Imogen Grey.’

‘Yes, I know who you are. Perfect timing, come in and sit down, please, DS Grey.’

The scruffy brunette sat down next to Adrian and immediately started picking her thumbnails anxiously and biting her lip. She was wearing a shapeless sweatshirt and baggy combat trousers. She crossed her legs away from Adrian without looking at him once.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘DS Grey, I would like you to meet DS Miles, you will be working together for the foreseeable.’

‘Guv?’ Adrian interrupted. Was she here to make sure he didn’t mess up again?

‘I know it’s not ideal but Grey’s just transferred up from Plymouth and I need someone I can trust to show her the ropes.’

‘Babysit, you mean?’ Grey scowled. Adrian realised he wasn’t the one who was being monitored here; she was defensive and hostile about something. She was in the doghouse, too.

‘Oh good, a couple of sulky teenagers, you two should get on like a house on fire.’ Morris walked towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you alone to make your introductions.’

She didn’t turn to look at Adrian. Instead she feigned interest in the standard-issue police posters. He knew what she was waiting for, she was waiting for him to speak first. It was a game, a manipulation. It was childish. He respected that.

‘Well, you must have done something really fucked up to get stuck with me,’ Adrian laughed and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and get your access codes sorted out.’

‘Why? What did you do?’ For the first time since she had entered the room she looked at him and he saw her face properly. Her freckled skin was peeling across her nose and cheeks, she spent a lot of time outside. Her hazel eyes were framed by the longest blackest eyelashes he had ever seen. Not a trace of make-up and he had no idea how old she was, her clothes suggested she was a fifteen-year-old boy.

‘Lost some evidence, let a major local dealer walk. You know, a real career-defining moment.’

‘Are you always this forthcoming?’ Grey’s face softened to reveal a cheeky smile. Adrian suspected that she was relieved that he was out of favour too.

‘Definitely not. But if we’re stuck together I would rather you heard it from me, Grey.’

‘I guess that makes sense.’ She smiled begrudgingly.

‘So what did you do?’ Adrian held the door open, instantly realising his mistake as she grabbed the door and signalled him out first.

‘None of your business.’ She winked, he almost thought she was going to slap his backside and, unless he was mistaken, the thought had crossed her mind too.

Chapter 3

The Taxidermist

She stared into the beady eyes of the dead cat, its lustrous fur still soft to the touch. As her finger brushed against the side of its hardened stomach she saw the dust erupting in tiny clouds. She put a yellow sticker on the animal, yellow means ‘restore’, this animal needed to be returned to its former glory, or as close an approximation as anything dead can have to something that was once alive. Abbey Lucas had worked in the Eden House Memorial Museum for five years now, she never ventured out on to any of the four main exhibition rooms, hardly spoke to any of the other staff and never dealt with the public, she just stayed here in the archive rooms. For the last five years she had been working her way through the thousands of stuffed animals, from kangaroo to platypus, from a common goat to this stunning example of evolution, the cheetah. She wondered why no one ever bothered to stuff cows or sheep, maybe they were too boring to part with your money over. Although, Abbey had always thought cows were rather beautiful, with their big sad brown eyes.

Abbey walked down to the lobby, the porters were bustling. They were just reassembling the lobby after a week’s closure in order to redecorate it. The whole building was undergoing refurbishment after a large sum of money was bequeathed to the museum when the former director died just a few months ago. They had been trying for the last fifteen years to get the funding to put the place back together. Only fourteen of the possible thirty-two exhibition rooms had been open to the public for quite some time, with most of the smaller ones on the second floor closed. The museum had been ravaged by an electrical fire around twenty years ago, bad wiring and a faulty circuit breaker had caused damage to at least a quarter of the building. As the owners had been unable to fix the place straight away, some of the rooms had been cordoned off or used as storage until they had enough money to go ahead with the refurb. The Neo-Gothic museum, built in the eighteenth century, housed various Celtic and Roman artefacts that had been discovered in the local area. It was also home to a huge menagerie of various animals, costumes and fossils. Fortunately the damage was predominantly cosmetic. The new colour on the walls was vermillion red, almost a bright orange. Abbey didn’t think it belonged in a place like this, it was garish and distasteful. The red was a far cry from the drab Georgian grey that had been the colour in every single exhibit room since she had started here. Now each room had an accent colour, as per the interior designer’s remit. Of course the most striking had to be the entrance. It was less of an accent colour and more of a full assault on the senses.

‘Abbey!’ Mr Lowestoft, the director, exclaimed with a winning smile. He was a gentle old man. Like a grandfather, with his round glasses, ruddy cheeks and novelty dickie bow, he always brought a warm feeling to her. It had been that way from the start. He had not only welcomed her but made her feel like this was her home. Every time he said hello it was as though he were greeting a beloved family member. Mr Lowestoft was one of the few people in the world who put her at ease.

‘Mr Lowestoft, hello.’ She smiled, a real smile full of genuine warmth, truly glad to see the old man. His presence in the museum had decreased since he had received the cancer diagnosis. A finished, fully functioning museum was to be his parting legacy.

‘Ah, Abbey, I was hoping you would be here. What do you think? Do you like it?’ He beamed, glowing with pride.

‘It looks amazing.’ She didn’t have the heart to tell him anything different.

‘I’ve been asked by the University if we would accommodate one of their PhD students for the foreseeable future while he writes his thesis on historic preservation, or something to that effect. I thought you would be the best person to deal with him.’

‘Me?’ She didn’t know what else to say to that. She was used to working alone, she liked it that way.

‘Oh, and I’ve got another surprise for you! Come and see!’ He walked over to something large covered in a sheet, reluctantly she followed. She hated surprises. He pulled at the sheet and she was confronted with the grimacing mask of a samurai looking down on her from his lofty frame. His rigid leather body armour was polished to the point where she could see her reflection. ‘I never understood why we keep this hidden upstairs. It’s one of my favourite pieces.’

An evil grin was spread across the surface of the mask and a gaping black hole where the eyes should be. The demonic red horns that protruded from the helmet and towered above the face were razor sharp, menacing. She had forgotten just how vile the warrior’s face was. It had been years since she had seen him, always walking the long way around to avoid ever walking in his path. The face had always seemed so inhuman and she could feel the black nothing staring into her. Involuntarily she found herself stepping backwards. She didn’t want to have a panic attack; she had to get away from him.

‘It looks perfect here.’ She stepped back further, flustered, off balance.

‘Are you all right, Abbey?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. I just need to use the bathroom.’

Abbey rushed into the toilets reserved for the public and dabbed her face with cold water, trying to normalise the temperature of her skin. She could feel it burning. She really didn’t like surprises.

Abbey emerged from the bathroom into the empty hallway. The silence of the museum magnified her solitude, the faint whisper of the atmospheric music in a distant corner of the museum at the edge of her hearing. She turned the corner and bumped straight into the security guard.

‘Busy day?’ Shane Corden was standing in her way. His bleached-blonde hair stuck to his glistening forehead.

‘Yes.’ She tried to manoeuvre around him but he side-stepped into her path again. He would play these games purely because he knew it disturbed her. ‘Excuse me, I have to help get ready for the reopening. We’ve only got a couple of months. Don’t you have somewhere to be?’

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Touching dead stuff all day?’ He sucked on his bottom lip slowly and stared at her mouth.

‘Not really.’ She tried again to move around him but this time he just moved closer. She could smell cigarettes and alcohol on his breath as he stood almost toe to toe with her. It’s just a game, he doesn’t know anything, she repeated to herself over and over. She had to decide between looking him in the eyes or shifting her gaze and staring down at her feet. She wanted to do the latter but that’s what he wanted too. So she would stare him down, hoping to God he couldn’t see the darkness behind her eyes. She knew all he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable. To exercise the tiny bit of power he had in this world over someone he knew he could get a reaction from. He liked to play this game with someone who was easily flustered.

His eyes dropped to her chest, hidden beneath the olive green blouse. She tried not to breathe hard as she didn’t want to give him any more food for thought. She could feel her lungs tightening and her mouth desperate to suck in more air. She would rather pass out than give him the satisfaction. Instead he backed away, eyes still fixed on her body.

‘Have a good one then.’ He smiled, his hand firmly on his baton, finger circling the tip. She slowly exhaled as invisibly as possible. He was such a creep, but at least he was honest about it. Before she had fully filled her lungs again he was gone. She scuttled back to her darkened corner of the museum. That was enough social interaction for one morning.

Abbey went to the museum canteen at noon, as always, to pick up her lunch, which she ate at the same table every day. Routine was everything, right down to the brown corduroy skirt she wore at the end of every week. It didn’t take much to bring on her anxieties. Luckily this was not a popular or busy museum, if people were curious about anything these days they would just look it up on the internet, this suited Abbey just fine. Today she had a tuna sandwich; Friday was fish day at the museum, Mr Lowestoft insisted on this throwback to a more religious time, when people had values.

Abbey genuinely loved her job, she could not imagine doing anything else. She liked the familiarity of working with the same people every day, good people, and aside from Shane they were mostly sensible people. Abbey also liked that she got to spend most of her days alone, with only the dead for company.

‘Is this seat taken?’

Abbey looked up at the stranger, her mouth full of food, she chewed quickly to reply. The canteen was empty and she couldn’t say it was taken. Did he just want the chair? Was he going to sit with her?

‘No,’ she finally managed.

He put his tray down opposite her and sat down, smiling. He took his coat off and hung it on the back of the chair, making himself comfortable. He was a young, slender man with black floppy hair. Although definitely older than her, she couldn’t quite place his age. He looked eccentric, different. The most remarkable thing about him though were his eyes, they were cold and grey like cut glass, Abbey had to force herself not to stare.

‘I’m Parker, Parker West.’ He held his hand out to her over the table. She rubbed her palm on her skirt to remove any traces of tuna mayonnaise and then shook his hand.

‘Hello.’

‘You’re Abigail Lucas?’ He smiled again, she could not hide her surprise – how did he know her name?

‘Who—’

‘Oh, they didn’t tell you? I’m going to be helping you with the archives. I have a masters in zoological archaeology and I’m working towards my PhD,’ he said, almost embarrassed.

‘Oh, yes, Mr Lowestoft did mention it. I didn’t realise it would be today.’

She had already worked her way through Australasia and Southern America on her own, cataloguing every single animal, noting down its region and its place on the food chain. Up till now she alone had the power to decide the fate of these creatures. She could mark the animal for restoration or for destruction. Where possible she was to save the animals, although it felt so futile – so far she had condemned over two hundred animals to the incinerator, their final resting place. The worst cases were in the northeast corner of the building where there had been a leak in the roof that had gone unnoticed for far too long. She hadn’t been able to save any of those, the mould and rot had set in so much that their deterioration had sealed the deal. She wasn’t sure if she trusted a stranger with this responsibility.

‘He just said you could probably do with a hand. This museum has a particularly quantitative supply of species and sub-species; it’s a lot for one person to get through … in two months, is it?’

‘I can manage it,’ she said apologetically, internally scolding herself for apologising at the same time.

‘Oh, no one said you can’t. To be honest with you, I volunteered, no one is paying me. I’m writing a paper for my PhD, you see, well I won’t bore you with the details of it but you would be doing me a huge favour if you would allow me to tag along, I might even be able to offer you my expertise with the identifications at least; you would obviously have to handle the actual restorations.’

‘If you think …’

‘The final decision is yours, my fate is in your hands.’ He had a soft, pleading but mischievous look in his eyes, she wanted to smile at him, she wouldn’t because that’s not who she was. People, she knew, are rarely who they show themselves to be. There is always a lie, always a mask.

‘Hello, Parker, you can call me Abbey,’ she said after a pause. She would just have to deal with it.

‘Nice to meet you, Abbey.’ He half smiled. His anticipation was evident as he ploughed his way through his lunch, raring to go, eager to meet her dead little friends.

She thought of all the animals she had already worked through alone and decided maybe this wasn’t the end of the world, it didn’t mean that Mr Lowestoft didn’t trust her, it just meant she could take her time and not worry so much about the self-imposed deadlines she had assigned. The hardest decision she had made on her own so far was on a small creature whose identification numbers had been ruined by water and damp, she did not recognise the animal and could not find it in any of the encyclopaedias. Maybe it was stored in the wrong part of the world, but there was no saving her – she knew the creature was a female, her teats were still enlarged from recent motherhood. Abbey wondered what had happened to this little beast. Her cheeks had been ravaged by termites but her black eyes were so calm. As Abbey had fingered the tiny bullet hole in the animal’s chest, a spider had crawled out and she dropped the animal in shock, smashing what was left of her face. Abbey could not stop the tears as she placed the red sticker on the small animal, wondering if her children had befallen the same fate or if they had made it, at least for a little while. She wondered if they had got the chance to have children of their own; she liked to think they had.

Bepul matn qismi tugadi. Ko'proq o'qishini xohlaysizmi?