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Home Truths - Susan  Lewis


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       Title page image: Home Truths by Susan Lewis

HarperCollinsPublishers Logo

       Copyright

      HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

      Copyright © Susan Lewis 2019

      Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

      Cover photograph © Alison Archinuk / Trevillion Images

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

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      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.

      Source ISBN: 9780008286781

      Ebook Edition © August 2019 ISBN: 9780008286804

      Version: 2019-07-09

       Dedication

      To Rachel Parfitt

       and to everyone who gives

       so selflessly of their time and expertise

       to help those in need

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Dedication

       ‘Don’t go! Please …

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Chapter Thirty-One

       Chapter Thirty-Two

       Chapter Thirty-Three

       Chapter Thirty-Four

       Chapter Thirty-Five

       Chapter Thirty-Six

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

       Chapter Thirty-Eight

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

       Chapter Forty

       Chapter Forty-One

       Acknowledgements

       Keep Reading …

       About the Author

       Also by Susan Lewis

       About the Publisher

      ‘Don’t go! Please … Oh God, no, please don’t …’

      ‘I can’t take any more, Angie. I swear … If you’d seen what I just have …’

      ‘Whatever it is …’

      ‘Our five-year-old son had a syringe in his hand,’ he raged, almost choking on the words.

      ‘Oh my God. Oh Steve …’

      ‘I need to find Liam, and when I do I’m turning him in to the police along with every other one of those lowlife bastards …’

      ‘No! No!

      He could still hear his wife screaming down the phone, begging him to stop as he tossed his mobile on to the passenger seat and steered the van, almost on two wheels, out of the street.

      He’d had enough. He didn’t care about the danger he was putting himself in, or what might happen after, he was too enraged for that. You bastard! How dare you … He’s a child, for God’s sake … The words circled endlessly through his head.

      It took a while to get across town. He barely even saw the traffic, or the red lights that tried to delay him, as though giving him some time to think. He didn’t want it. He was past thinking, past caring about anything other than the need to make this stop.

      When he reached the hellish streets, the sore at the heart of the sprawling estate, he screeched to a halt on the infamous Colemead Lane and leapt out. He was so pumped with fury that his fists were already clenched, his muscles tensed for attack. His rationale had fled, along with his temper and sense of self-preservation.

      He looked around, his eyes fierce. The mostly destitute houses with boarded-up windows and padlocked doors were as silent as graves. The tower blocks at the end with graffitied walls and urine-soaked stairwells rose drearily towards a patched grey sky. Even the


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