Don’t Tell Teacher. Suzy K Quinn

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Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Ruth

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Ruth

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Ruth

       Lizzie

       Olly

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Lizzie

       Kate

       Lizzie

       Olly

       Kate

       Olly

       Acknowledgements

       Extract of Not My Daughter

       About the Publisher

      We’re running. Along wide, tree-lined pavements, over the zebra crossing and into the park.

       ‘Quick, Tom.’

      Tom struggles to keep up, tired little legs bobbing up and down on trimmed grass. He gasps for breath.

      My ribs throb, lighting up in pain.

      A Victorian bandstand and a rainbow of flowerbeds flash past. Dimly, I notice wicker picnic hampers, Prosecco, Pimm’s in plastic glasses.

      No one notices us. The frightened mother with straight, brown hair, wearing her husband’s choice of clothes. The little boy in tears.

      That’s the thing about the city. Nobody notices.

      There’s a giant privet hedge by the railings, big enough to hide in.

       Tom cries harder. I cuddle him in my arms. ‘Don’t make a sound,’ I whisper, heart racing. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

      Tom nods rapidly.

      We both clutch each other, terrified. I shiver, even though it’s a warm summer’s day.

       Tom gives a choked sob. ‘Will he find us, Mum?’

       ‘Shush,’ I say, crouching in my flat leather sandals, summer dress flowing over my knees. ‘Please, Tom. We have to be quiet.’

      ‘I’m scared.’ Tom clasps my bare arm.

       ‘I know, sweetheart,’ I whisper, holding his head against my shoulder. ‘We’re going away. Far away from him.’

       ‘What if he gets me at school?’

       ‘We’ll find a new school. One he doesn’t know about. Okay?’

      Tom’s chest is against mine, his breathing fast.

      He understands that we can’t be found.

      Olly is capable of anything.

      Monday. School starts. It won’t be like the last place, Tom knows that. It will be hard, being the new kid.

      ‘Come on, Tommo,’ I call up the stairs. ‘Let’s go go go. We don’t want to be late on our first day.’

      I pack Tom’s school bag, then give my hair a few quick brushes, checking my reflection in the hallway mirror.

      A pale, worried face stares back at me. Pointy little features, a heart-shaped chin, brown hair, long and ruler-straight.

      The invisible woman.

      Olly’s broken ex-wife.

      I

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