Chapters (88)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dear Reader …
- Also by Robert Muchamore
- PART ONE
- Walter J Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- PART TWO
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- Walter J. Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
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- Have you read KILLER T?
- 1 SLASHED RUBBER
- 2 NOT HARRY POTTER
‘The fish are biting,’ Wendy explained cheerfully, as she made it through a light and swung left. ‘Sky wants you, the BBC wants a package about you for the main six o’clock bulletin. If we get time, we’ll fit in some drive-time radio.’
‘And Hudson at Five?’ Georgia asked.
‘Dumped him,’ Wendy scoffed. ‘His show gets a hundred thousand viewers, versus four million on the six o’clock news.’
‘Can I drop home and get clothes?’
‘I’d rather not,’ Wendy explained. ‘School uniform isn’t the height of fashion, but ordinary schoolgirl is part of your appeal.’
Georgia knew she could say no, but while she’d hardly slept and was worried about her dad’s mental state, she also found all this exciting.
Her phone pinged three times in rapid succession as Wendy blasted down a bus lane. Georgia ignored the first two from people she didn’t know, but opened the one from Maya and almost choked when she read it: Don’t forget, you have detention.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Georgia clasped her hands together to stop them trembling. She’d seen the newsroom a thousand times, but now she was at the news desk with a microphone pinned to the lapel of her school blazer, wondering how many film stars and prime ministers had sat in this chair before her.
There were lights and screens around the circular set. Automated cameras swept silently on black rails. The presenter, Kirkwood Rowley, was talking to his director, getting timings and information through his earpiece, while viewers at home watched a highlight package of the previous night’s violence.
Kirkwood looked to Georgia with a warm smile and said, ‘Twenty seconds. Just be yourself!’
Georgia admired Kirkwood’s impossibly white teeth. Her nan wanted him to win when he was on Strictly Come Dancing, and she found herself trying to remember the name of the famous soap actor he was married to.
Then the screens at the rear of the set turned into a huge copy of that picture and Kirkwood spoke in his most serious voice.
‘Following last night’s disturbances, Britain awoke to newspapers and websites dominated by a striking image of a young demonstrator making a dramatic leap to escape riot police. What many of you probably didn’t realise is that the protester in the photograph is just fourteen years old. Her name is Georgia Pack and I’m delighted to say she’s rushed here from school to speak with us on the six o’clock news.
‘Georgia, thank you for being with us. It must have been strange, waking up to see you’ve become the face of these protests against budget cuts.’
‘A really odd day,’ Georgia agreed, feeling like her head was in flames. ‘I think I had eleven followers on Instagram yesterday. Now it’s eight thousand and something.’