Under an Amber Sky: A Gripping Emotional Page Turner You Won’t Be Able to Put Down. Rose Alexander

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       Alongside the Serbian calendar, the central coastal region of Montenegro has its own names for the months of the year. They are both beautiful and poetic which seems to encapsulate the spirit of the country – one that is small in size but big in heart.

       January / sječani – cutting wood

       February / veljača – big winter

       March / ozujak – wind blows

       April / travanj – mowing

       May / svibanj – dawning

       June / lipanj – flowers

       July / srpanj – harvest

       August / kolovoz – back from holiday

       September / rujan – everything is red like wine

       October / listopad – leaves fall

       November / studeni – cold

       December / prosinac – gathering

       The Montenegrin love of liberty and fair play and the Montenegrin sense of honour have made me feel more at home in this far corner of Europe than in any other foreign land.

      Edith Durham, British traveller and writer, Through the Lands of the Serb, 1904

      NOTE ON THE LANGUAGE

      What to call the common tongue spoken in Montenegro, Serbia, Croatia, and Bosnia-Hercegovina is a matter of some controversy. Many readers will remember past times when it was referred to as Serbo-Croat, but this is outdated now. In Montenegro there seem to be two main schools of thought. One is that the language is Serbian and should be named as such. Advocates of this approach maintain that citizens of the USA have no problem saying they speak English and have not attempted to rename it ‘American’. On the other hand, proponents of calling the language Montenegrin claim that there are enough differences, subtle though they may be, for it to be a separate language and that as a source of national pride, it should bear the name of the country.

      Equally confusing – to an English speaker – is the interchangeable use of two alphabets: the Latin and the Cyrillic (again with a few small differences from the Russian/Serbian versions). A professor of the Montenegrin language turned estate agent whom I asked about this said that in schools, the time spent using each alphabet is equally divided. Most people seem to fiercely protect this system. Recently, it was proposed that school certificates would be issued in the Latin alphabet only, and parents would have to pay if they wanted them in Cyrillic, which sparked nationwide outrage.

      I have settled on using the term Montenegrin for this book, though you will note that Sophie’s language learning book is called Total Serbian. You will not find language primers in any shop that I know of that promote the learning of a tongue called Montenegrin, which is probably unsurprising when the population, at less than 650,000, is so tiny.

Prologue

      Pushing her bicycle over the crooked slabs of the path and into the front garden where it lived chained to a metal rack under the hedge, Sophie breathed a deep sigh of relief. Friday at last and nearly the holidays, too. Six weeks off work over the summer was definitely the best thing about being a teacher, almost making up for the long hours, stress, and exhaustion of the rest of the year.

      As she fumbled for her house keys, she ran through her and Matt’s plans for the weekend. Relaxing at home tonight, dinner out with a gang of people on Saturday, and a walk on Hampstead Heath with their good friends, Sam and Suzie, on Sunday. She also hoped to fit in a trip to John Lewis to choose a new stair carpet.

      Alongside all of this ran the frisson of excitement that thrilled through her every time she thought about the fact that she and Matt had, only a couple of weeks before, started trying for a baby. Of course it was far too soon to expect to be pregnant, but the prospect of motherhood in the not too distant future floated tantalizingly before her, eclipsing all other hopes and dreams.

      Her phone rang and, fishing it out of the detritus that always seemed to accumulate at the bottom of her bike basket, she noticed that it was an unknown number. She pressed accept and then immediately found herself inwardly cursing; it was bound to be someone she didn’t want or need to talk to, someone selling something or one of those irritating automated PPI calls.

      ‘Hello,’ she said warily, hovering half on and half off the doorstep, wanting the phone call over before she entered the sanctuary of the flat. There was a pause during which she almost hung up, and then someone said her name, hesitantly, as if testing that it were really her.

      ‘Sophie?’

      She didn’t recognize the voice, though there was something familiar about it.

      ‘Speaking. Who is it, please?’

      ‘Sophie!’ The voice had a forced jollity about it that quickly faded. ‘Sophie, it’s Alex here, Matt’s work colleague.’ Alex faltered, then resumed. ‘We’ve met a couple of times, remember?’

      Sophie nodded, vague recollections of Alex filtering through her mind. He was a typical city lawyer type, bold and brash, full of himself. He didn’t sound like that now, though. His words were tentative whilst at the same time carrying an undercurrent of urgency. It made her feel uneasy.

      ‘Nice to talk to –’ Sophie began, but Alex cut in.

      ‘Sophie, it’s Matt. He’s – well, he’s been taken ill. He’s on his way to hospital.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Sophie’s head spun and she reached out her hand to hold on to the door surround, needing to steady herself.

      ‘The ambulance only took a few minutes to arrive; lucky we’re so near.’

      ‘Ambulance?’ The juddering realization that Matt must be really sick if it was bad enough to have called an ambulance seared through Sophie and she broke out into a cold sweat.

      ‘You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can.’ Matt named which one it was but Sophie hardly registered.

      ‘What’s happened, Alex? Is he OK? Is Matt OK?’ She was shrieking, frightening herself with the noise she was making. It echoed between the houses, rending apart the tranquillity.

      ‘He’s fine.’ There was a brief, telling pause. She could hear Alex whispering something to someone, but could not make out what he said.

      ‘I mean, I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ Alex was talking to her again, sounding suddenly much too loud. ‘Look, a cab will be with you in three minutes – it’s already been ordered.’

      Sophie was crying, tears pouring down her cheeks and dripping onto the flimsy gauze scarf that kept the wind off her neck when she was cycling. ‘What’s going on?’ she sobbed. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

      Her СКАЧАТЬ