PAUL GITSHAMstarted his career as a biologist, working in such exotic locales as Manchester and Toronto. After stints as the world’s most over-qualified receptionist and a spell making sure that international terrorists and other ne’er do wells hadn’t opened a Junior Savings Account at a major UK bank (a job even less exciting than being a receptionist) he retrained as a Science teacher. He now spends his time passing on his bad habits and sloppy lab-skills to the next generation of enquiring minds.
Paul has always wanted to be a writer and his final report on leaving primary school predicted he’d be the next Roald Dahl! For the sake of balance it should be pointed out that it also said ‘he’ll never get anywhere in life if his handwriting doesn’t improve’. Over twenty-five years later and his handwriting is worse than ever but millions of children around the world love him. *
You can learn more about Paul’s writing at www.paulgitsham.comor www.facebook.com/dcijones
*This is a lie, just ask any of the pupils he has taught.
Forgive Me Father
PAUL GITSHAM
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Paul Gitsham
Paul Gitsham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008314385
Version: 2019-11-11
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Saturday 21 stFebruary
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Sunday 22 ndFebruary
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Monday 23 rdFebruary
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Tuesday 24 thFebruary
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Wednesday 25 thFebruary
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Thursday 26 thFebruary
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Friday 27 thFebruary
Chapter 25
Saturday 28 thFebruary
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Sunday 1 stMarch
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Monday 2 ndMarch
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Tuesday 3 rdMarch
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Wednesday 4 thMarch
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Thursday 5 thMarch
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Friday 6 thMarch
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Saturday 7 thMarch
Chapter 45
Sunday 8 thMarch
Chapter 46
Monday 9 thMarch
Chapter 47
Tuesday 10 thMarch
Chapter 48
Wednesday 11 thMarch
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Thursday 12 thMarch
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Friday 13 thMarch
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Saturday 14 thMarch
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Sunday 15 thMarch
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Monday 16 thMarch
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Tuesday 17 thMarch
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Wednesday 18 thMarch
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Thursday 19 thMarch
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Friday 20th March
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Saturday 21 stMarch
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Wednesday 25 thMarch
Chapter 91
Epilogue
Extract
Also by the Author
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader …
Keep Reading …
About the Publisher
For those who weren’t believed.
Scaling the ancient stone wall wasn’t difficult. The metal spikes that lined the crumbling edifice were over three hundred years old and those that hadn’t been lost were rusting to nothingness. The whole wall needed major repair work, but the cost of restoring the medieval brickwork to its former glory would run into hundreds of thousands and the fundraising had barely started. Besides, who would want to break into the ruins of a deserted abbey?
Nathan Adams gallantly laid his coat over the top of the wall in the gap created by two missing spikes, then cupped his hands. The wall was about five feet tall and his companion, Rebecca Hill, easily pushed herself up. Nathan enjoyed the view as her short black skirt briefly rode up, exposing more of the snow-white flesh already tantalisingly revealed by the strategically placed rips in her black tights.
Nathan passed up the plastic carrier bag of cheap cider, before attempting to pull himself over as well. It was harder than it looked, and he wondered if he was going to have to drop back down and take a run-up, when his scrabbling feet found purchase. Rebecca grabbed the handle on the top of his backpack and with her help he finally flopped onto the wall, the rough stone scraping his stomach where his jacket had opened. The drop to the grass on the other side was slightly less, and he rolled clumsily over the wall, landing in an untidy heap.
‘Are you OK?’ hissed Rebecca.
‘Fine.’ he said, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. The weed in his pocket and the booze would take the edge off it, and if all went to plan, he might even get a shoulder rub later. He put that thought quickly to one side, lest he embarrass himself.
Raising his arms and suppressing a wince, he helped her down to the ground – for a brief instant, their faces were bare millimetres apart. He froze. Should he kiss her or should he wait until they were a bit more mellow? His indecision lasted just seconds and then the moment was gone. Was that a flash of disappointment in her eyes?
Rebecca had been here before and she took charge, taking his hand and leading him further into the abbey grounds.
An evening in the graveyard of a ruined abbey, in winter, wouldn’t be Nathan’s first choice for a romantic date, but he was happy to let Rebecca call the shots; he’d spent most of the previous week persuading her to give him a chance tonight and he wasn’t going to ruin it with a bit of squeamishness. An afternoon spent trawling through her Facebook and Instagram posts had revealed her favourite music – death metal bands, all of which sounded the same to him when he’d streamed their albums on Spotify. The T-shirt he’d ordered online had arrived that morning – all shiny and smelling of plastic packaging. He hoped it wasn’t obvious that a week ago he’d never even heard of Flesh Kitchen.
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