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 doorstep journalists had dropped from fifty to less than ten, but the photographers knew they had a story when Georgia dashed around the corner with straggled hair and her sodden dress clinging to her skin.
‘Georgia, what happened?’ a photographer asked, abandoning his umbrella on a neighbour’s front lawn, then taking shots as he ran backwards. ‘Can I have a smile?’
The photographer was joined by several journalists.
‘Georgia, who is J?’ one of them asked. ‘Is he a boyfriend?’
The others were more interested in Eddie. ‘Georgia, is it true you’re launching a Save Eddie Appeal? Is there somewhere your fans can send money?’
‘How old is Eddie?’ another asked. ‘Do you think he should be reunited with his brother and sisters in Abu Dhabi?’
Georgia stopped when she reached her nan’s front gate. She put down the dripping bin bags, pushed soggy hair off her face and tried not to sound annoyed.
‘Maybe you should all take the time to read my post,’ Georgia suggested. ‘It’s not about the polar bear, or whether or not I have a boyfriend. It’s about thousands of people who’ve been poisoned by a corrupt politician.’
‘So, you’re not interested in saving Eddie?’ one of the journalists asked.
‘Is the boy called James?’ another interrupted. ‘Or Joseph, or Jeremy?’
‘Justin?’ another added hopefully.
‘Judas? Joshua?’
Georgia knew stamping her foot and screaming would be exactly what the soggy journalists were after and checked her emotions.
‘Cheers,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m going inside to dry off now.’
Georgia fumbled her key in the front door, then smiled as she kicked it shut and saw her nan coming down the stairs holding a towel.
‘Look at you, drowned rat!’ her nan said. ‘I saw you on the doorstep, so I grabbed this.’
Georgia felt loved as her nan picked the dripping bags off her hallway carpet and took them into the kitchen.
‘Get yourself a hot shower and dry clothes,’ her nan said. ‘I’ll sort these wet bags out and make a nice hot chocolate for you.’
SIXTY-FIVE
Georgia’s phone went off at 5 a.m. the next morning. She almost let the call ring out, but grabbed it because only important people had her latest number.
‘I know it’s early, but I saw you were online,’ Wendy began.
‘I feel like I’ve got bluebottles fizzing around in my head,’ Georgia explained tiredly. ‘Everything’s weird …’
‘Can’t sleep either,’ Wendy admitted. ‘Have you seen the newspapers?’
‘What have I done now?’
‘Nothing much. I’m sending a picture message.’
Georgia’s phone made a whoosh sound. She put the phone on speaker and saw the picture she’d expected in the right-hand column of a tabloid front page: stressed and soggy with two bags of clothes and the clingy dress. Soggy Pack was the best the headline the writer had been able to come up with.