A MILLION ANGELS

I love you, Dad…

Chapter 13

I think my family have forgotten about me…

Chapter 14

I’m not going, I snap…

Chapter 15

Georgie’s smile is as big as the sun…

Chapter 16

Her eyes glow…

Chapter 17

OH! MY! GOD!

Chapter 18

She avoids my gaze…

Chapter 19

My eyes search hers for the truth…

Chapter 20

I know what I did…

Chapter 21

Lonely is the emptiest place in the world…

Chapter 22

My words bite her…

Chapter 23

Truth is better than dare…

Chapter 24

It’s a nutty one. My favourite…

Chapter 25

For the first time in ages things feel normal…

Keep Reading

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

Tomorrow’s going to be different and I don’t like different. I like things the same. The same like Dad and me. The same like peas in pods and chips off old blocks. The same like our dark curly hair, like our gunmetal grey eyes, like the little dimple on our chins. It’s to do with pancakes too. My dad is the pancake king and I’m the princess. That’s what Mum and Milo say, and every Sunday while we’re waiting for them to get up and come downstairs we make a pile as high as Everest. Taller than the sky. The best pancakes in the world. Then we sit on the back doorstep to talk while we polish our boots. We brush and buff till they shine like silver, till we can see our eyes twinkling in the black. And we talk about everything, Dad and me. About all the mysteries inside of us. About all our wonderings of the world.

But tomorrow we won’t have pancakes because my dad will be gone.

The stars are bright tonight. Glittering bursts of silver shining through midnight blue. But grey clouds are grumbling across the horizon. Rolling across the moon. Rubbing out the stars, and the wind is whisking up a storm that’s sweating under my skin and heating me up with fear.

I’ve tried sleeping, but every time I drift off a huge eagle with sharp claws swoops down and drags me back. Then worrying images of bombs exploding everything to pieces start bouncing around again like popcorn in my brain. They pop, pop, pop and explode out of nowhere. Dark shadowy lumps that are hard to swallow. I’m trying hard to rub them out so my brain is blank and clean.

But it’s impossible to stop them.

If only there was something I could do.

My phone explodes in the dark.

Pip. Pip. U still awake?

It’s Jess. I don’t really like Jess and Jess definitely doesn’t like me. We’re not the same kind of girl. She’s all noisy and nosy, like her mum, Georgie, and I’m more quiet and like to be on my own. Well, I don’t really like being on my own, of course. I would like a friend. Just not a friend like Jess – someone much more like me. But that’s never going to happen because of everything about my life and how things are. So Jess and me just have to make do.

I text her back. Yeah, can’t sleep.

Pip. Pip. Me 2! Just can’t stop thinking they might die. U know, they might never come home. It’s really bad out there.

I try swallowing the hard lump that feels like popcorn sticking in my throat, but it won’t go down. I cross my fingers. I touch the little wooden table by my bed for luck.

Me 2, I text.

Pip. Pip. We have 2 face facts, Mima… It might happen. We have 2 prepare 4 the worst. There’s nothing we can do. That’s what my mum keeps saying. What U doin for UR end of term presentation?

More things smash and explode in front of my eyes, shooting worry fireworks through my veins. I am facing facts. I don’t have any choice. I know very well that our dads might die or come back really hurt. I don’t need Jess to keep rubbing it in.

Not thinking bout presentation. I hate speaking in front of every1.

Pip. Pip. I’m really excited bout it. I want to do something really cool. Night. Hope U sleep. C U at the car boot.

Wish I could get excited bout it, but I just get too scared. Night. I text back.

I creep into Milo’s room. He’s fast asleep with his mouth wide open like a fish. He’s cuddling a toy tank, and hasn’t even noticed the thunder that’s raging outside. I creep downstairs to spy on my mum and dad through the crack of the open door to the sitting room. My heart is a tennis ball in my chest, pounding on concrete. My neck is sticky with sweat from the storm.