Rosie Lewis - Broken - Part 2 of 3 - A traumatised girl. Her troubled brother. Their shocking secret.

Contents Cover Title Page Copyright By the same author Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Moving Memoirs eNewsletter About the Publisher

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2017

FIRST EDITION

© Rosie Lewis 2017

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers

Cover photograph (posed by model) © Images by Tracy/Alamy Stock Photo

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Rosie Lewis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, 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 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-books.

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Source ISBN: 9780008242800

Ebook Edition © December 2017 ISBN: 9780008242848

Version: 2017-11-14

Cover

Title Page Contents Cover Title Page Copyright By the same author Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Moving Memoirs eNewsletter About the Publisher

Copyright Copyright Contents Cover Title Page Copyright By the same author Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Moving Memoirs eNewsletter About the Publisher Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy. HarperElement An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published by HarperElement 2017 FIRST EDITION © Rosie Lewis 2017 Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Cover photograph (posed by model) © Images by Tracy/Alamy Stock Photo A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library Rosie Lewis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, 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 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-books. Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green Source ISBN: 9780008242800 Ebook Edition © December 2017 ISBN: 9780008242848 Version: 2017-11-14

By the same author By the same author Helpless (e-short) Trapped A Small Boy’s Cry (e-short) Two More Sleeps (e-short) Betrayed Unexpected (e-short) Torn Taken

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

Helpless (e-short)

Trapped

A Small Boy’s Cry (e-short)

Two More Sleeps (e-short)

Betrayed

Unexpected (e-short)

Torn

Taken

‘It has to be up there with the worst ones yet,’ I told Des as he followed me into the living area that evening, Mungo sniffing at his feet. It was just after seven thirty and with the girls tucked up in bed, the house was quiet but for the low buzz of the washing machine on a spin cycle in the kitchen. Emily was out for a meal with her grandmother and I wasn’t expecting her back until late. Archie was in the shower and Jamie at band practice with his friends. Throughout the day my mind had returned to our row, my throat tightening with regret. Jamie was usually such a cheerful character. I hated falling out with him. We’d had a brief chat when he got back from school that afternoon, but things were still a bit cool between us.

Des was the perfect distraction. Loud and gregarious, he sat next to me on the sofa and chuckled as I relayed the entire mortifying fiasco. ‘Par for the course in the Lewis household, I would have thought,’ he joked, his loud voice booming despite his efforts not to disturb the children. Mungo sat at my feet, his feathery whiskers tickling my legs.

I groaned. ‘It was awful. Then she came in and saw the fall-out from the weekend. Toys everywhere, smalls that had spent the entire weekend draped over the radiators stiff with rigor mortis. Honestly, it was bad.’

Des boomed a laugh and threw a hand to my shoulder. ‘Ach, it cannae have been that bad,’ he said in his soft Scottish lilt. It was a lyrical tone, one that never failed to cheer me. ‘I expect she’s seen worse. I once turned up to do an unannounced on a couple having the mother of all smash-ups. There were household objects flying across windows and everything. They didnae last long as foster carers after that.’

‘Oh, heavens! I don’t feel so bad now.’

‘I’m sure t’was fine. She didnae express any concerns, did she?’

‘She was very kind actually. She said she got the sense that ours is,’ I paused, hooking the air, ‘a “proper family home with plenty of evidence of children’s play”. Now there’s a creative way of describing it.’

‘Spot on, I’d say,’ he said, leaning forward and opening the bottle of wine on the coffee table. Left over from Christmas, I had retrieved it from the cupboard when Des had texted to let me know he was popping in. He poured me a glass and lifted his own. ‘Here’s to your proper family home, warts an’ all,’ he said, holding his glass up in front of me.

‘Cheers,’ I said with a smile. We clinked. I took a sip, shuddered and passed it back to him. I liked the idea of sharing a bottle of wine but had never found one I liked the taste of and rarely managed more than half a glass. Des, a true Scot, took a much larger swill of his own, gulped down the rest of mine and banged the glasses back on the table.

‘So how is everything? Any better?’ Des had been training in Edinburgh since the children had arrived almost two weeks earlier. We had spoken on the phone during that time, but only briefly. Absorbed with the needs of my own family, his manically busy lifestyle suited me.