“Two bills, a couple of circulars for hearing aids and stair-lifts, and a handful of birthday cards, all addressed to Katie. Dr McDonald peered around my shoulder. ‘Are you OK?’ None of them looked like the ones that wound up in my PO box once a year, but I tore them open anyway. ‘HAPPY 13 TODAY!’, ‘IT’S HORMONE-CITY FROM HERE ON IN!’, ‘I HEAR YOU’RE GETTING OLDER!’ Every one of them was shop-bought: kittens, teddy bears, grinning cartoon characters, all scribbled inside with best wishes from fr...iends and family. A five-pound note in the one from Michelle’s mother. No homemade card with a photo of her tied to a chair, eyes wide with terror. He didn’t have her. It wasn’t the same as last time. Katie really had run away. Oh thank Christ… I rested my head against the front door, blood thumped in my forehead. Deep breath. He didn’t have her. She’d run off to stay with the prick she was sleeping with. My little girl. Twelve – years – old. ‘Ash? Ash, are you OK?’ Now all I had to do was find the boyfriend, get Katie back, and then batter the living shite out of him.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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