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I received this book as part of a tour to give my honest review.
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I have to say that this one made me feel a lot of things, so I can say it’s a good book because it stirred so many things inside me.
A very good thing on this is that the characters were very human, so human sometimes that I thought it was about someone I could find in the street and they had very good development.
The main theme is very difficult for so many people, especially women, but it needs to be talked about and it was done in a very relatable way.
At the beginning I thought I was not going to be able to finish it, but going forward and knowing more of the story between the different points of views and the character development keep you on edge, and the twists along the way keep you coming back.
About the Book
When Kyle’s wife Hannah goes missing, the whole town is out in force to try to find her. One person knows where she is. One person is keeping a secret.
Detective Inspector Simon Peters and Detective Kerry Lawlor have been brought in to investigate the case but Hannah has left no traces and Kyle has no clues.
Local Belfast resident Julia Matthews joins the #FindHannah campaign and becomes friendly with Kyle, sympathizing with his tragedy. As Julia becomes more involved in the case than she bargained for, she begins to uncover more secrets than the Police ever could. Julia was only trying to help but has she become drawn into a web of mystery that she can’t escape?
I’m in a basement. If I crane my neck enough and reach up on the worktop, I can peer out the small window at the top. I can see people coming and going, their shoes walking past. Smart business shoes in the morning; high-heeled shoes in the evening. An assortment of trainers and workmen boots throughout the day.
I wonder if Kyle has phoned the police. I wonder if a ‘missing person’ campaign has been launched. I could almost picture it. Would they run a Facebook campaign? Would they organise a “Hashtag Hannah” on Twitter? I wonder if they’d organise a group of people to walk up Cavehill, searching behind every hedgerow for me. That didn’t seem right. All those poor people scaling the heights of Belfast in wet and windy weather, while I’m tucked all the way down here in this basement. There’s absolutely no way anyone would find me. Even if I tried to batter on the tiny window at people’s feet, no-one would hear. The window is too thick, so I couldn’t break it. No-one would hear anything over the noiseof the traffic.
The one saving grace is that he’s given me drugs. That’s the only thing I said to him. “Please, above everything, can you please just get me my tablets?”
I don’t think he cared; don’t think he minded. As long as it calmed me down, kept me quiet, shut me up. As long as I didn’t make any fuss. He’d unlock the door, a hand would poke through, and a box would be set on the floor. Then he’d lock the door again and he was away.
I’d scramble over to the box like a child desperate to open her Christmas presents. I’d tear open the box and the foil packaging would tumble out. Lots of lovely tablets all encased in silver foil.
“Hello,” I’d say, in a soft purr, as though I was greeting a lover. “Come to me.”
I’d pop the pills out of the packaging. Plop, plop, plop. One after the other. Like Smarties out of a cylinder tube.
I’d set them on my tongue and gulp back some lukewarm water, letting the tablets travel down to my stomach, on their way to digestion. Soon I’d be feeling their effects. The warmth. The wooziness. The feeling like I’ve been wrapped in cotton wool. And then I wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t care about anything. Wouldn’t care about the basement. Or being tucked away. Wouldn’t care about Kyle. Wouldn’t care about a likely police search. I’d just be drifting. On my own soft cotton wool cloud, encased in a metaphorical duvet, sleeping the night away.
See The Tour Here