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Back The Sleepover Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PROLOGUE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. EPILOGUE
  69. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  70. MORE FROM KERI BEEVIS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. About Boldwood Books

The problem was, she always eventually had to resurface. Sometimes her binges lasted a day or two, at her worst it was over a week. This time, the numbing part hadn’t happened. She had tried the drinking, the pill popping and flirted her arse off, but the sweet release from her problems hadn’t come and she had ended up a sobbing mess on a sticky nightclub floor as she frantically searched through her phone for someone to take pity on her.

Eventually, she had been given a bed, but as she had tossed and turned, sleep had refused to come, leaving her exhausted as she thought about what was waiting back home for her.

The crazy bitch had broken into her flat.

Because the break-in and the phone call had to be connected, surely? And who else would know about the music box?

She knew she should call Hannah back. Her friend was worried about her and had left countless messages and voicemails. She had told Rosie to stay in the bathroom, but of course, Rosie hadn’t listened. Being trapped in that tiny room had made her claustrophobic. She had needed out of her flat, out of Norwich for a bit. Unable to deal with the real world until she had found some relief, though, in truth, that relief had not arrived.

Giving up on sleep, she had felt in an even worse state.

Everything was falling apart and she wasn’t sure if she could piece herself back together again this time. If Mrs W could see her now, she would laugh at how pathetic Rosie had become.

To make things worse, London was supposed to be her escape, her respite, but even that wasn’t going to plan, and after a terrible morning she tried to pick herself up with some retail therapy. It was while wandering along Regent Street with armfuls of bags that she ran into her footballer ex, Gavin.

Their relationship had lasted a couple of years, though had been tempestuous and peppered with arguments and break-ups. Both of them were hot-headed and could be a little insecure, so they were probably not the best match, but there was no denying that between the sheets their chemistry was off the chart.

An afternoon of filthy sex finally helped to clear her head and for a short, sweet while, her worries disappeared.

Later, when she was on the train, dread at the idea of returning home to her flat returned. She couldn’t stop thinking about the graffiti or that creepy bloody music box tune. It was playing on a loop in her head.

Hannah would say she was crazy, and okay, perhaps Rosie was a little messed up. Could anyone blame her? Hannah hadn’t been there. She hadn’t heard the music box. If she had, she would know Rosie was telling the truth and that she was right to be afraid.

16

I have her attention now. She sees me.