BooksBarbecue
Back Reluctantly Home Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

It was her mother, and Pip jumped like a teenager with a guilty conscience.

‘Yes,’ she said as casually as she could manage. ‘He’s gutted about the Teresa thing. But I think he’ll be okay.’

‘Well, there are plenty more fish in the sea,’ said her mother, and Pip stifled an eye roll.

‘Oh, and a letter came for you,’ her mother added. ‘I put it on the mantelpiece in the lounge.’

‘Who’s it from?’ she asked.

‘No idea,’ said her mother, although Pip knew she would have examined it thoroughly for clues. ‘London postmark, though,’ she added.

Pip made her way to the lounge and retrieved the letter. The envelope was thin with a self-sticking flap, the sort you buy in bulk from the supermarket. Her name and address were handwritten in blue biro in clear capital letters. She didn’t recognise the script. She picked it up and headed towards her bedroom.

‘Who’s it from?’ her mother asked as she walked past.

‘Not opened it yet,’ replied Pip without stopping.

Whatever it was, she didn’t want to open it in front of her mother. She deserved some privacy.

In her room she closed the door firmly and took the letter to the bed, slitting open the envelope with her finger as she did.

The letter inside was written on a piece of lined paper torn from a ringed notebook, the top edge ragged and uneven. She opened it out and looked at the address. She didn’t recognise it per se, but she knew at once exactly who had written the letter and she felt her head grow woozy as her vision blurred in and out. She thought she might faint, and she was forced to breathe deeply through her mouth the way she had been taught until she felt stable enough to read on.

The first sentence confirmed her fears.

Dear Miss Appleby,

My name is Karen Smith and I’m Robbie’s mum . . .

47

47

Pip dropped the letter to her lap as if it were radioactive. Suddenly all the oxygen seemed to have been sucked from the room, and her head swam.

Robbie.

The boy.

The child whose life she had snatched away.

With trembling hands, she picked the letter back up and tried again.

Dear Miss Appleby