Fiona Mozley - Elmet

The man drives off in his jittering hulk and I do not think on him again. I am waiting for someone.

I wait out by the station. Not the building itself but the web of tracks that bring passengers and freight to this city from every point of the compass. I watch people come and go and see that there are others like me sitting out by the tracks and sleeping in the undergrowth and in outhouses and sheds. I build small fires and cook what food I find and catch.

But I know that my time here is temporary. I am waiting for someone.

When I am not waiting I roam the city. The stone here is darker. The buildings are built from rock hued from a different quarry. I had not known that towns and cities had their own characters. For me there was only ever blanched limestone and red brick. From a distance I see tall women with dark hair and I follow them until I am close enough to see their faces and discern that they are not her. This is how I pass my time.

Some of the people out by the tracks speak to me and ask questions. The curiosity of strangers.

Midges dance among horseflies among thrips. They coalesce to a swirling throng and circle an invisible centre like electrons around a nucleus. A lone bee surfs beneath them and pauses from its journey to be shaded by docks. Pale moths hang loosely in the haze, their wings luminous, then dim, then luminous, as they beat against an inevitable descent.

Thank you to all those at Artellus Ltd., and particularly to Leslie Gardner and Darryl Samaraweera. Thank you to Becky Walsh for her patience, meticulousness and risk-taking, and for seeing the potential in my early manuscript. Thank you to the rest of the team at John Murray, including Tom Duxbury, and especially to Yassine Belkacemi, for his enthusiasm for the project.

Thank you to my early readers: Alastair Bealby, Sophie Howard, Carla Suthren and Lisa Girdwood.

Thanks and love to Caroline Mozley, Harold Mozley, Olivia Mozley and Neil Johnson.

Thank you most of all to Megan Girdwood, without whom I could never have finished this novel, let alone had the courage to seek its publication.