99 Red Balloons: A chillingly clever psychological thriller with a stomach-flipping twist. Elisabeth Carpenter

Chapter Twenty-Nine

      

       Chapter Thirty: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-One: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Two: Maggie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Three

      

       Chapter Thirty-Four: Maggie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Five: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Six: Maggie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

      

       Chapter Thirty-Eight: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

      

       Chapter Forty: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Forty-One: Maggie

      

       Chapter Forty-Two

      

       Chapter Forty-Three: Maggie

      

       Chapter Forty-Four: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Forty-Five

      

       Chapter Forty-Six: Maggie

      

       Chapter Forty-Seven

      

       Chapter Forty-Eight: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Forty-Nine

      

       Chapter Fifty: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-One: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Two

      

       Chapter Fifty-Three: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Four: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Five

      

       Chapter Fifty-Six: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Seven: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Eight: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Nine: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Sixty: Maggie

      

       Chapter Sixty-One: Stephanie

      

       Acknowledgements

       Keep Reading…

      

       About the Author

      

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      I squint at him. The sun’s in my eyes and he looks like a shadow monster.

      ‘I can’t,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve got to get home. I’m only meant to be getting sweets from the paper shop, then straight back.’

      He crouches in front of me. He’s wearing a woolly hat, which is funny as it’s really warm today.

      ‘But your mum asked me to fetch you.’ His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.

      I fold my arms. When I tilt my head, his face blocks out the sun.

      ‘You might be lying,’ I say. ‘Mummy warned me about men with sweets and puppies.’

      The man laughs, like Gramps does when he’s Father Christmas.

      ‘I know,’ he says. ‘What’s she like? She’s such a worrywart.’

      He’s right: she is. I drop my arms to my sides.

      ‘Anyway,’ he says, holding out both of his hands, ‘I’ve no sweets and I’ve no puppies. My name’s George – she’s always talking about me, isn’t she? She’s waiting at the bus station, says she’s got a surprise for you, for being a good girl at school.’ He taps his nose. ‘And we all know what you’ve been asking for.’

      ‘Really?’ I try not to jump up and down. ‘They’ve got me a horse?’

      He winks and puts his finger on his lips. I try to wink too, but it turns into a messy blink. He holds out his hand, and I take it.

      I’m allowed to sit on the front seat, but I’m not allowed to tell Mummy. On the radio, a song plays that I know: ‘Ninety-Nine Red Balloons’. I’m warm inside because Mummy sings it