Mo Hayder - Pig Island

She lifted the freezer lid and a stale cloud of cold air floated up. We all gathered round. A pig lay on its side, half covered with drifts of flaky white ice. 'A pig,' she said, smiling at me with a glint in her eye. 'My very own pig. Do you like it?'

'Show Mr Oakes the other side,' said Benjamin. 'Come on — turn it over.'

She sighed and dug her hands into the ice, trying to get a grip on the huge creature. 'Well, help me, then.'

We all gathered round, plunging our hands in and rolling it on to its back. Its trotters stood up in the air, a frozen mixture of mud and grass caught in the clefts of its hoofs.

'On its side,' said Benjamin, and we hefted it up again, dropping it down with a crash, sending a fine spray of ice out of the freezer.

I peered at it, fumbling out my camera. In the centre of its flank, branded neatly into its flesh with something hot, was the symbol beloved of witches and soi-disant Satanists the world over: a pentagram. I rolled off a few shots of it.

'Blake,' I said, snapping on the lens cover when I was finished, 'the next thing is for me to get over there. I want to speak to Malachi.'

'It can't be done. The boat can't run in this weather. You'd be asking me to commit suicide.'

'You're not going over there at all.' Susan's big face was twitching with anger. 'By boat or otherwise. You know everything you need to know for your story. You must not, absolutely not, go over there and disturb him. It's the most dangerous thing you could do.'

In the end it was Sovereign who helped me. During lunch I left the table to get another notepad from Blake's cottage, and on the way back through the mist I heard someone hiss my name. When I backtracked a few paces I saw her standing between two cottages, one finger to her lips, beckoning me with the other hand. She had a denim jacket pulled round her shoulders and dark circles of makeup round her eyes, like she was going on a date. I glanced over my shoulders to make sure I wasn't being watched, then stepped into the alley.

'I'll take you over there,' she said, leaning forward eagerly. 'I know how to get to Malachi's side without the cameras seeing us. There's a blind spot.'

'You mean the boat?'

'No. Through the gorge. I've been looking at those cameras and I'm sure we can do it.'

'When?'

'Now.' She grinned, her eyes shining with excitement. She pointed to a rucksack that lay up against the cottage wall. 'Bottled water and walking-boots. It'll drive Mum 'n' Dad crazy, but I've got to live a little.'

I looked back over my shoulder down the narrow alley to the square of milky fog at the end. How long would it be before I was missed? Another ten minutes maybe? 'OK,' I said, bending to pick up her rucksack. 'But let's go quickly.'

'No — wait. I need some money.'

'Money?'

'Yes. Twenty quid and I'll do it.'

'What'll you do with twenty quid?'

'I'm saving up for when I leave. Twenty quid or forget it.'

'Jesus.' I thrust the rucksack at her and began patting my pockets for my wallet. 'You're a businesswoman, Sovereign, I'll give you that.'

'I know,' she said, her eyes on my wallet, as I found a couple of battered tenners and held them out to her. She grabbed them, like they might disappear, and shoved them into her jacket pocket. Then, instead of turning to go, she bit her lip and raised her eyes to mine. 'And something else.'

'What?'

'I want a quick feel too.'

I paused, the wallet half-way into my pocket. 'A what?'

'A feel. You know what I mean.' She glanced up to the end of the alley and leaned closer to me. I could smell her breath — a bit caramelly, like toffee. 'A quick grope.'

'Let me get this straight,' I said, kind of awed by her. 'You want a grope. And for that you'll take me through the gorge?'

'Yes.'

I pushed the wallet into my pocket. 'And what does that mean? I grope you, or you grope me?'

'Both.'

I gave a short, disbelieving laugh. 'You're joking, aren't you?'

'No,' she said. This time she was a bit uncertain. A bit hurt-sounding. 'I'm serious.'

'Come on,' I said. 'You can't be-' I stopped. Her face had dropped. All the bravado was dissolving. She looked suddenly smaller, like a kid, like she might cry. 'Sovereign?' I said. 'Sovereign, listen. It wouldn't be right.'

'What wouldn't be right?' she said, her lip trembling now. 'Why wouldn't it be right?'

'Because…' I held out my hands: do I have to spell it out? 'Because I'm thirty-eight, Sovereign. That's, what? More than twice your age.'

'I'm nearly eighteen.'

'You're nearly eighteen, and you're very pretty, Sovereign, but you — you can't go around saying things like that to men my age.'

'Why not?'

I looked up at the sky, lost for the answer. Me and Lexie had been together for five years. We'd kept our vows, but in my imagination I'd been unfaithful about a million times. I'm not going to lie: in my head I'd done it with boatloads of them — the businesswoman with the ibook next to me on a long-haul to California, the girl who wrapped up organic chicken in the butcher's in Kilburn, the nurse who once took my blood pressure when I had chest pains after a trip to Mexico. Even, strike me dead, some of Lexie's friends. The list was endless. And, card-carrying pervert me, some of those girls were Sovereign's age. Younger, maybe.

'Why?' she repeated, like she knew what I was thinking. 'What's wrong with it?'

'It just is,' I said lamely. 'And, anyway, I'm married.' I held up my hand, showing her my ring. 'It wouldn't be fair to my wife.'

Sovereign sniffed and pushed her hair behind her ears, biting her lip and staring at the ring. I could see tears in her eyes waiting to fall. 'It's so, 50 shit out here, Joe,' she said, in a shaky voice. 'There's no one — no one. I mean, who am I supposed to have it off with? Blake, for Christ's sake?'

I looked at her pityingly, resisting the impulse to put a comforting hand on her arm or shoulder. Things'll be better when you leave.'

'But it's four months? A tear broke and she pushed it away with her fingertips. 'And all I want is-' She paused, an idea striking her. 'Can't I at least smell you? That wouldn't hurt.'

'Sovereign-'

'I won't touch you, Joe, I promise. It's just — I don't even know what men smell like. I know what Dad smells like, but I want to know…' She hesitated. 'I want to know what you smell like.'

I glanced up along the alley. I'd been gone more than five minutes now. Soon Blake would start to wonder what had happened and here I was, trapped by a teenager who wanted to smell me. She was gazing up at me, her eyes big and wet. The whole baby-seal, no-fur campaign flashed through my head. I sighed, shook my head, thinking, I can't believe this is happening, and pulled off my sweatshirt. 'Be quick.'

She paused, looking at my chest in the T-shirt, running her eyes down to my bare arms. 'Yeah, I'm a manky old sod,' I said, looking down at her. 'Bath shy. Don't go thinking we're all this gamey.' She didn't answer. She pushed away the last of the tears and stepped forward, stopping just a pace away. I was ready to take a step back, thinking she was going to throw her arms round my neck, when instead she closed her eyes and pushed her face forward, inhaling deeply. I looked down at the skin showing through the thin hair, thinking how weird this must look, me with my chest forward, arms back, and Sovereign in front of me, moving her head in slow circles, a smile spreading across her face, breathing in like she was smelling fine wine and not my stale old body. Blissed-out ecstasy. How totally, totally sad — this girl, with all her swank and ballsy nature, sniffing a guy's dirty T-shirt in an alley. How was she going to cope when she left Cuagach? She thought she was totally sorted, streetwise, but she had no idea, no idea the fucking bunfight it really was out there.