Now it’s just six weeks until Skin Like Silver is published in the UK. That’s still plenty of time to introduce you to some of the characters. Not Tom Harper or Annabelle, not Billy Reed or Superintendent Kendall. Not even Ash. But some of the others who populate this book – there are over 60; I counted.
They’re relatively minor characters, but they all have their stories to tell. About once a fortnight until publication you’ll get to meet some of them. One of them could well be a killer. Or perhaps not. But when you read the book and come across them, you can smile and say ‘I know you.’
Read the first Tale within a Tale, about Patrick Martin, here, the second with Robert Carr here, the third with Miss Worthy here, the fourth with Barbabas Tooms here, and the fifth with John Laycock here.
And, of course, you can read all about Skin Like Silver here.
Like what you see? Order your copy here (this is currently the cheapest price by far!).
They keep telling me I need to be out here, like it’s for me own good.
They give me things and my life goes numb and empty. I get locked in me head. There are words there but they won’t come out. I want to open my mouth but I know if I do I’ll wish I hadn’t.
I was violent. That’s the word they used. I don’t remember.
I used to get angry. I could feel it build up inside me. Like water on the hob, growing hotter until it’s rolling and boiling. I was like water. I scalded people.
They’ve told me about the things I did. Fights. Hurting people. I committed crimes, they said. Happen I did. I don’t remember. It was the anger, I told them.
If I stay quiet then I can think. I can shut myself off from the world and I don’t get angry. I read. I lose myself in the words, it’s like floating in a sea. I don’t have to worry about what’s going on anywhere else.
In this place people scream and shout. Some talk to themselves all the time. I can ignore them, they don’t matter to me, they don’t bother me.
I was in prison once. I didn’t like it there. The warders were cruel, vicious men. They’d tell me what to do. Push me, yell at me. I didn’t like that so I hit them.
But here it’s better. There’s one nurse who talks to me. She uses a soft voice, though. She doesn’t surprise me, she makes sure I can see her first.
And they give me things in my drinks. It’s for my own good, they tell me that and maybe they’re right, I don’t know. But I like it here. When I look out of the window things seem calm. I like to stare at the trees and the grass. We didn’t have that where I grew up. It was all brick and stone and dirt. Even the sky was always dirty, not blue like it is here