Sophie McKenzie - Hide and Secrets: The blockbuster thriller from million-copy bestselling Sophie McKenzie

Sophie McKenzie

A Lonely Girl.

A Missing Father.

A Trail of Lies.

Hide and Secrets

Million copy selling author of Girl, Missing

Brilliant you cant stop reading Robert Muchamore

Will have you gripped for hours Sunday Express

Sophie McKenzie is the queen of nail-biting, page-turning and addictive reads Amy Alward

Please read this book: it is brilliant! Guardian

Whenever I hear the phrase YA thriller I only ever think of one name Sophie McKenzie. Why? Because nobody does it better Phil Earle

Brilliantly described, scary and touching The Daily Mirror

Page-turning Independent

THE MISSING SERIES

Girl, Missing

Sister, Missing

Missing Me

THE MEDUSA PROJECT

The Set-Up

The Hostage

The Rescue

Hunted

Double-Cross

Hit Squad

LUKE AND EVE SERIES

Six Steps to a Girl

Threes a Crowd

The One and Only

FLYNN SERIES

Falling Fast

Burning Bright

Casting Shadows

Defy the Stars

Blood Ties

Blood Ransom

Split Second

Every Second Counts

First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

Text copyright 2021 Sophie McKenzie

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

No reproduction without permission. All rights reserved.

The right of Sophie McKenzie to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patent Act, 1988.

Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

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WC1X 8HB

www.simonandschuster.co.uk

www.simonandschuster.com.au

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Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

PB ISBN 978-1-4711-9910-3

eBook ISBN 978-1-4711-9911-0

eAudio ISBN 978-1-4711-9912-7

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

To Daniel, Thomas and Jack McCarthy

Until the message arrived, there was no doubt in my mind: my dad was dead.

This wasnt the only thing I was certain about.

Back then, on that sunny morning in late July, I was also sure that the summer would end without me having a single friend, and that nothing exciting was ever going to happen to me while I lived in boring Brockledore.

As it turned out, on all those counts I was wrong

Bess and I are sitting on a rug in the back garden, under the shade of the oak tree. Im about to stroll over to the Barn. My head is already there, imagining the dress Ive just pinned out, ready to cut. But Bess is finishing a drawing, and I know shell want to show it to me when shes done. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips as she concentrates on the last few strokes of her colouring pen. We dont look anything alike, Bess and I. Shes got Dads brown eyes and a heart-shaped face, framed by long, fine blonde hair thats always escaping the bands Mum plaits it into.

Im fairer-skinned with blue eyes. And my hair is short and spiky like me.

Cat! Cat! Mum is calling from the house. I can just see her pink rope sandals out of the corner of my eye. I dont look up. Everything about her is Just. So. Irritating.

What does she want now? I mutter.

Cat! The pink sandals stomp across the grass.

Bess stiffens. She hates it when Mum and I get mad with each other.

Why didnt you answer? Mum demands, arriving at the edge of the rug. She waves her arms in the air so violently that her bangles collide in a clash of tinkles. I was calling for ages.

Sorry, I say, trying to keep the fact that Im not at all sorry out of my voice. I was miles away. Im deliberately using one of Mums favourite phrases. She tends to flutter her hands when she uses it, presumably to indicate how easily distracted she gets by alternate spiritual planes.

Mum glares at me, clearly picking up on my sarcastic undertones. She has clients today, so shes wearing one of her waftier outfits: a crimson sundress with rainbow chiffon frills under a fringed pink shawl thats pinned to the straps of her dress with several of her astrological sign brooches.

Mums a celebrity astrologer who used to be famous. Not movie-star-level famous, but well-known enough that people would stare when she took me to primary school. I loved that when I was little. Back then she had a weekly slot on a morning TV show to run through what the stars have in store this weekend. She denies it if anyone asks, but I reckon shed give anything to be back there on the nations screens every week. She certainly laps it up when anyone recognizes her now.

Theres something I need you to do this morning, Cat, she says, brushing a stray red curl off her face. I know for a fact Mums hair is really as straight and dark as my own, but she seems to think her clients prefer wild red curls washed through with hot-pink streaks.

What? I gaze up at her warily.

Darling, dont look at me like that. She sighs. You need to clear all your your scraps out of the barn this morning.

My jaw drops. What?

And once youve done that, a quick dust and vacuum. Right now, Cat, please?

But thats so unfair! I blurt out, my voice rising to a shout.

I cant believe it. The Barn is a cottage on the other side of our back garden. Mum has plans to use it next year as a guest house for her wealthy clients, but right now its empty. The attic room there, with its wall of glass windows, is the perfect place for me to spread out my designs and store all the fabrics Ive accumulated since I started dress-making earlier this year.

Why do I have to clear my stuff out? I protest. Beside me, Bess tenses with anxiety. I try to swallow down my temper. Ive pinned a dress with a skirt Im going to cut on the bias. Its all laid out like I want it.

Mum frowns. Mrs Trimbles already picked your bits and pieces off the floor. Theyre in boxes by the Barn front door.

What? I leap to my feet, my fury surging uncontrollably. But Im in the middle of making my dress. Why did she do that?

Because I asked her to, Mum snaps. But it left her short on time, which is why you need to run the vacuum cleaner round to make the place

No! Please, Mum, I need the Barn. Im using it.

Mum glares at me. Well, you cant use it any more, she snaps. Now hurry up the Tuesdays will be here in a couple of hours.

What is she talking about?

Who are the Tuesdays? I demand.

Mum rolls her eyes. The mosaic specialist whos going to renovate the courtyard, and his son. Theyll be staying in the Barn for a few weeks. Im sure I told you about them the other day, Cat.

My jaw drops. This is typical Mum, ruining my life in order to spend money on stuff we dont need. Its ironic: shes always making out how spiritual she is, but the truth is shes been super-materialistic ever since Dad died.

Bess tugs at the hem of my shorts. I glance down at her. She stamps her foot; its her signal that I should stop arguing.