Page 37 of Savage Obsession

I stir, mutter something incomprehensible in protest.

“We’ve just half an hour to get back to the car.”

What car? I try to turn over.

“Julia, we need to get moving. Now.”

Consciousness returns. I crack open one eye. “What time is it?”

“Just turned two o’clock. We dock at three.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” I grumble.

“Unless you want me to carry you back to the car naked, I suggest you drag yourself out of that bunk.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Well, I could leave you here, I suppose…”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

“Not again.” He chuckles. “I can’t keep up with you.”

I sit up and dig my elbow in his ribs. “How long have you been up?”

He’s already fully dressed and ready to face the long drive the length of England and Scotland.

“About half an hour. I went to the cafeteria and bought us bacon sandwiches and coffee.”

The enticing aroma reaches me. I manage a smile despite the ungodly hour. “I remember now why I loved you.”

“I’d like to think I appealed to more than just your stomach.”

I meet his amused gaze. “You know you did. Are you done in the bathroom?”

We disembark a little after three o’clock in the morning to a chilly, grey English predawn. The authorities are far more interested in inspecting Henry’s paperwork than they are ours, but eventually we get out of the international port.

I shiver and tug my jacket closer to me. “Is the UK always so miserable?”

“Not sure. I’ve only been here a few times. Come to think of it, I can’t remember ever seeing the sun shining here.”

“Maybe it’ll be better when it’s light,” I offer optimistically.

There’s almost no other traffic about, so for the first two hundred miles or so we make excellent time, passing through towns with unfamiliar names such as Colchester and Braintree. I perch with the map open on my phone. “We need to reach a motorway, the M11, then head north.”

“Okay. You could grab a couple of hours more sleep if you like. I can manage.”

“Maybe later.” It’s getting light, and I’m rather enjoying the English scenery. “We’ll need to stop somewhere for Henry.”

“This is pretty.” We’ve stopped in a picturesque village to let Henry stretch his legs. It’s still early, but we find a roadside kiosk selling hot drinks as the sun rises over the hills to the east. We have no scheduled ferry to catch so we’re no longer under a time constraint, but we’re both eager to reach this Caraksay place and properly get started on tracking our daughter down.

There’s still no word from Lily. Later, at a more reasonable hour, I’ll phone Monika and Aleksandra Kowalczyk to find out if they’ve heard anything.

The next few hours are uneventful, if tedious. We reach the motorway network and start making our way north. It’s one single road, all the way to Edinburgh, and it seems endless. We share the driving, stopping at several service areas on the way, but they all seem the same to me.

My English isn’t great. I learned a bit at school, but I’ve forgotten more than I ever knew. Baz is fluent so he does all the talking each time we stop, keeping us supplied with coffee and fast food.

We’re approaching Edinburgh when Baz informs me we should grab a hotel room for a few hours’ rest.

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