My Word Against His

MY WORD AGAINST HIS A TOTALLY UNPUTDOWNABLE PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER PACKED WITH JAW-DROPPING TWISTS LAUREN NORTH BOOKS BY LAUREN NORTH She Says She’s My Daughter My Word Against His CONTENTS Messages Chapter 1 Part I Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Part II Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Flashback Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Flashback Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Flashback Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Flashback Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Flashback Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Flashback Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Flashback Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Flashback Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Flashback Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Flashback Chapter 38 Flashback Part III Messages Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 She Says She’s My Daughter Hear More from Lauren Books by Lauren North A Letter from Lauren Acknowledgements For Tommy Today 18:40 Where are you? Today 18:41 I need you. Today 20:04 Getting really worried now!!! Today 20:27 Don’t go to the police! ONE CELIA The kitchen surfaces gleam with the shine of a damp cloth and spray. Clean. Not new. But I don’t mind the tired white cupboards or the chips in the corners of the worktops, the old crack in the tile by the window where Martin threw the vase the day he told me he was leaving. As long as it’s clean, everything in its place, then I’m happy. I peel off the rubber gloves and peg them to the inside of the door under the sink before glancing at the time. It’s 8.25 a.m. Everything is in order. Henry is up and packing his bag for college. He’s already eaten his breakfast, wolfing down a bowl of Cheerios in the time it took me to boil the kettle for my cup of tea, barely sitting at the round pine table in the corner of the kitchen before springing up again. I step into the hall and smooth out my blouse. Green today. A pale avocado paired with a darker green cardigan and black trousers, the shapeless kind that come in packs of two from M&S. ‘Time to go, Henry,’ I call up the stairs. ‘Coming,’ he shouts back in a voice that’s deep and still a little unfamiliar despite it breaking four years ago. He appears a moment later at the top of the stairs, looking so very smart in his burgundy blazer and tie. The Head Boy badge is pinned to his lapel, glinting in the light. Henry is still so much the nervous little boy I remember from before. The one who loved potatoes in the shape of smiling faces, and building Lego, and yet he is different too. Tall, for starters. Far taller than me. He’s thin but not skinny. At seventeen, he’s yet to broaden into the shape of the man he will one day be, but it’s there – a shadow, a promise. His hair is neat – wet-combed and gelled, the way he knows I like it. It’s the same chestnut colour as my own, before the peppering of grey and the six-week ritual of the hair dye box that always leaves a tinge of orange no matter which brand I choose. Henry’s bag is slung over one shoulder. ‘I’m ready,’ he says, before I have the chance to ask. ‘Good.’ I check the time. It’s 8.29 a.m. ‘One minute.’ ‘I know,’ he says with a smile I take to read as exasperated rather than annoyed. He knows the routines just as well as I do, after all. He doesn’t need to be told. I follow him into the kitchen and watch him place the glass in the dishwasher. ‘Have you got your chemistry homework?’ I ask. He pauses for a second, thinks, then nods. ‘You know I’m going to have to do this stuff on my own next year, right?’ He flashes me another wide grin, showing me the teeth that cost a small fortune in braces when he was thirteen. ‘And until then I’ll ask.’ I watch a playful retort form on his lips but go no further. A sound of clattering from the garage jolts us both. We turn towards the white door in the corner of the kitchen that leads into the garage. The door I always keep locked, the key never far from my side. My pulse quickens, darts of fear shooting through my veins. I swallow down the rising panic and will it to be silent. ‘What was that?’ Henry asks, raising his eyebrows as he turns to look at me. I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. ‘The starlings must have got back into the roof section. Looking for somewhere warm to hide out for the winter. I’ll take a look on my day off on Friday.’ I wonder if it’s true. If birds can be blamed. Somehow I doubt it. ‘Maybe we should look now.’ He tilts his head and for a moment I feel like he’s challenging me, testing me. I push the thought aside. The fear is making me paranoid. Henry knows the garage is out of bounds. I told him years ago that there’s asbestos in the roof and it isn’t safe. I make a show of looking to the clock on the wall above the table. ‘It’s time to leave now. You don’t want to be late for school. Besides, it’s only old junk in there,’ I lie. ‘The birds can’t do any harm.’ ‘Sure.’ He looks at the screen of his phone, his eyes widening a fraction at something there. I want to ask what it is, who is messaging him, but he’s already halfway across the kitchen, pecking me on the cheek before striding to the front door and shrugging on his winter coat. ‘Bye, Mum. Love you.’ The