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
Georgia’s phone was a hot potato. Nine hundred friend requests. Two hundred thousand new followers. Retweeted by politicians and celebrities. Twenty news organisations wanted interviews and a sphere filled with fancy chocolates had arrived from London’s trendiest modelling agency. The handwritten message: Let’s work together!
Sleep wasn’t happening. Georgia woke at quarter to five on Wednesday morning, peeking out at journalists and a TV crew whose cars were parked to prevent easy escape. It felt oppressive, but at least the lonely widow next door had enjoyed herself, handing out tea and rock cakes and getting herself on Channel Four news, saying that Georgia was a nice girl who’d helped plant her spring bulbs when her knees got bad.
Georgia was surprised to see the kitchen light shining into the hallway as she came downstairs. John was at the dining table, dressed in T-shirt and trackie bottoms as he worked a spreadsheet on his laptop.
‘Nobody sleeps in this house,’ Georgia noted drily.
‘Trying to do the decent thing,’ John explained, rubbing a tired eye. ‘If I juggle money around and sell off some equipment, I can hopefully give Tracy and the guys six weeks’ wages …’
Georgia stood behind her dad.
‘You need a shave, prickly boy,’ she said as she opened the fridge. ‘Too early for a bacon sandwich?’
‘Never,’ John smiled.
Georgia flicked the grill on to heat up, speared a packet with a sharp knife and started laying out rashers.
John hadn’t yelled at Georgia for getting arrested. He hadn’t grounded her or stopped pocket money. He’d let her do heaps of interviews and proudly told Georgia how great she’d been on BBC News. But while it made Georgia’s life easier, part of her craved the properly strict dad of old.
‘I googled that modelling agency,’ John said. ‘They’re the real deal …’
Georgia laughed. ‘From anti-government rebel to skincare ads in one week. I’d be the fastest sell-out in the west …’
John shrugged weakly. ‘You’d make money, and there won’t be much going spare if I’m out of work …’
‘There must be a job in the drone business,’ Georgia encouraged. ‘You know everyone.’
Georgia felt shock as her dad dabbed a tear from his eye. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him cry, but this felt more desperate, because it was about his own failure, not Sophie, or Mum, or Uncle Phil’s cancer scare …
‘It’ll work out,’ Georgia said, standing behind her dad and giving him a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re smart. It’s all just a bit shit at the moment.’