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Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
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  66. 61
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  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
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  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
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  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
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  88. 83
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  90. 85
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  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
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  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
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  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

He liked to test his craftsmanship in this way, to make sure the hair he had glued to their heads was unlikely to detach. They watched him, long strands water-falling beneath them. Lovell did not use synthetic hair. Mohair was expensive, and his second choice. Human hair, his favorite.

Lovell spread out a square of plastic sheeting across the concrete floor and placed an old tin bath on top of it. Next, he carried through several cans of paint, a sheathed blade inside his boot.

He fiddled with a piece of wire and laid out several batteries on his worktop. The chemicals he had bought from the Internet had done their job, and the pellets had dried nicely. The shotgun was waiting, propped against the wall.

From the street outside he heard the lift of teenage voices and the sound of his own name.

Lovell drew the knife from his boot and drove its tip beneath the lid of the first can to loosen it. Paint sprayed across his shirt like warm blood.

Then he picked up the gun and went outside.

54

54

Tuesday 31st July 2018, 1:17 P.M.

27 The Avenue

As soon as Aster heard the voices under her window, she slicked on some lip gloss and flew down the stairs.

“Back in ten minutes,” she called out to Evan, who was sitting on his bedroom floor with the tape and Walkman.

“But you’ve only just got back,” he protested. “You promised you’d help me with this.”

She tuned out his whine and ignored a stab of guilt. “I will,” she said. “As soon as I get home.”

“What about Dad?” he said as the front door slammed. “And lunch?”

The sun was so bright it turned everything into a washed-out white and she blinked as she stepped outside, struggling to adjust to the contrast between the gloom and this unforgiving glare.

Three boys around her age were standing near a house at the bottom of The Avenue. They all had bikes with them, and one was holding a shopping bag. She’d seen them outside the newsagent’s earlier. One had nodded to her, said, “All right?” She had smiled brightly. “Great, thanks.” She had spent the walk home groaning inwardly at how gawky she had sounded.

She hovered on her front step, not quite brazen enough to walk over to the boys. But the one from earlier—tall and blond—beckoned to her and she flushed, managing to refrain from pointing at herself in a cartoonish Who, me? fashion.

“You new, then?”

“Yes, we moved in a couple of days ago.” She didn’t know where to put her hands so she ran one through her hair.

“Sweet.” He dragged out his vowels. “What’s your name?”

“Aster.”

“Has-ter-be what?” said another of the boys and they all laughed.

She rolled her eyes and pretended to inspect her nails, even though her heart was pounding, embarrassment burning through her veins. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”