She’s Not There
'A wonderful, artfully addictive novel' IAN MCEWANWhen Jonah and Raff wake up on Monday, their mother Lucy isn’t there.Although he’s only nine, Jonah knows enough about the world to keep her absence a secret. If anyone found out she’d left them alone, who knows what could happen to him and his little brother?As the days go on, he puzzles over the clues left behind: who sent Lucy flowers? Why is her phone in a plant pot? Why are all her shoes still there? And who in their neighbourhood might know more about Lucy than he does?
Читать She’s Not There онлайн беплатно
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, whilst at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.
The Borough Press
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Tamsin Grey 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
Copyright © Tamsin Grey 2018
Excerpt from James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
reprinted by permission of Penguin Books. © Roald Dahl 1961
Excerpts from The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò by Edward Lear
Cover design by Micaela Alcaino © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photographs © Elisabeth Ansley / Trevillion Images (boys), Shutterstock.com (city)
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, down-loaded, 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-books.
Source ISBN: 9780008245634
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008245627
Version: 2018-11-02
‘Tamsin Grey is wise about the street, and wise about the heart, especially the hearts of children. Her multi-racial London pulses with Dickensian energy and delight. She has that rare gift of combining in her prose the lyrical with the precise. She’s Not There is a wonderful, artfully addictive novel’
IAN MCEWAN
‘Brilliant and heartbreaking (and funny)’
KIT de WAAL
‘[An] amazing debut, packed with South London atmosphere . . . it has To Kill a Mockingbird written all over it . . . brilliant’
DAILY MAIL
‘Mesmerisingly good’
LISA JEWELL
‘Tamsin Grey’s young narrator inhabits a south London that is diverse, inclusive and very real. She’s Not There is a beautiful, sad, strong story, enticingly told – and an extremely assured debut’
STELLA DUFFY
‘There’s an almost unbearable tenderness to Tamsin Grey’s sad, sweet debut’
PSYCHOLOGIES
‘A gripping read, the voices of the children are pitch perfect and will stay with you long after the last page’
ROSIE BOYCOTT
Contents
The invitation from Dora Martin caused that shift in Jonah’s belly, like a creature waking up in its dark pit. ‘Do we have to go?’ he murmured, knowing that they did. The trek into London to see the Martins had become a July tradition. He pushed away his cereal bowl, last year’s event flooding his head: the welcoming hugs and exclamations; the long, tense argument about politics; and then the vigil in the back garden, with the scarecrow and the wind chimes and the rabbits.
When the day arrived – a baking hot Friday – it turned out everyone was going to Frank’s for a swim after school. Jonah waited until after band practice to tell his friend he couldn’t make it.
‘That’s mad.’ Frowning, Frank nosed his guitar into its sleeve. It was cool and mellow in the practice room, the blinds drawn down against the sun. Because of his bad hand, Jonah used a harness to help him hold his trumpet. Frank watched him take it off. ‘Lola’s coming!’
His friend’s sly smile made Jonah blush. He turned away and watched Mr Melvin cross the room, open the door and step into the rectangle of blazing light.
‘Who even are the Martins?’ asked Frank.
‘We knew them when we lived in London. Dora and my mum were, like, best friends.’ The blinds flapped in a sudden gust, and Jonah got a flash of the sheets on the Martins’ washing line billowing, the crescendo of wind chimes, and Dora, sprawled in her deckchair, her feet in a bucket of water.
‘Come on, guys.’ The other band members had disappeared and Mr Melvin was waiting to lock the door. Jonah settled his trumpet into its case.
