Storm Child by Michael Robotham EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Michael Robotham
- Language: English
- Genre: Thriller / Suspense
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Evie
I am a story to most people; a picture in a newspaper or on a TV screen of a
little girl with filthy, hacked-off hair and dirty cheeks and eyes that looked
enormous because I was so malnourished. Dressed in faded jeans with a
hole in one knee, and a woollen jumper with a cartoon polar bear woven
into the chest, I belonged to nobody but soon belonged to everyone,
adopted by a nation of strangers.
In the most famous of these photographs, I’m being carried into a
hospital by a female police officer, hugging her like a kitten clinging to a
sweater. Special Constable Sacha Hopewell had spent all night waiting for
me to crawl from my hiding place within the walls of a house where a man
had been tortured to death. That image flashed around the world, and won a
major press award, but only added to the mystery.
Who was this silent child? How did I come to be hiding in the walls?
Why didn’t I escape when I had the chance? More importantly, what was
my name, and where had I come from?
They have some of the answers now. Not the whole story. When is a
story ever whole? Many of the details are hidden, even from me. Instead of
complete memories, I have only bits and pieces, random thoughts that
dangle in front of me like baited hooks. I know what a baited hook can do.
It can drag a fish from the deep and leave it flip-flopping on a beach or the
deck of a boat, poisoned by the fresh air and the sunlight.
This is what I know to be true. I entered the world upside down with my
right hand tucked against my chin, one finger pressed to my cheek, as
though contemplating whether to wait for another few weeks before
troubling the midwife. That’s why I have a single dimple on my right cheek,
although later Mama told me that God had left his thumbprint because I was
one of his special creations. That makes her sound religious, but Mama
stopped believing in any greater power long before I was born. ‘Religion
cannot fill your stomach, or keep you warm in winter,’ she said.
I was snug in my mother’s womb when her waters broke. She was
bending to tie my sister’s shoes at the gates of her primary school. Maybe I
kicked too hard, or my elbows were too pointy, or Mama put too much
strain on her back, because she felt the gush of fluid running down her legs,
splashing onto her shoes.
Fearing that I might be born outside the school, she quickly waddled
home, hunched over, trying to hold me inside her. Papa was at work and my
Aunt Polina was in Italy. Mama went next door to our neighbours, Mr and
Mrs Hasani.
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