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Wednesday, 4 March 2015


Stranger ChildStranger Child by Rachel Abbott
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Those that follow my reviews, by now, you know I am so mean fisted with my 5 stars lol
It has to be a book that I can get my nose into, something that takes me right into the pages [as I am easily distracted!] it is! Here is the book I read after reading SLEEP TIGHT by the same author Rachel Abbott.

They are stand alone books, but, it was suggested by the author that I read SLEEP TIGHT first as they were some loose ends that are tied up in this book. I think YOU MUST read book one or you won't know what is what as regards something that happened in the previous book SLEEP TIGHT.

WOWIE can this author tell a tale. Both books combined would make an awesome thriller, I kid you not.

How would you feel if you had lost your wife in a freak car accident, the child at the back of the car went missing..........nowhere found at the accident scene.....what the heck!

Emma Joseph met David when he was a broken man and she helped piece him together again.
They now are married and have a young little baby son of their own.


A girl turns up in their kitchen........
what the hell.....

Its six years later, is this David's child????

I kid you not...
I really kid you not......120% I was into this book so deep that my family had to shout to make themselves heard. I so was fed up and got so annoyed when someone wanted to interrupt my reading this book STRANGER CHILD. His child is back.....
What now? Where had she been? Will all go well?

Emma has to get in touch with her old friend DCI Tom Douglas she needed help, besides, if this is his daughter, shouldn't the Police know? not to mention help for her.

The pit gets deeper, the birth of sinister things are born, and it grows and grows so much that you need to finish this book. I didn't just like this book I LOVED it.

I have so definitely found another author that 'floats my boat' [as they say] I need to read the other 2 books that she has written ASAP after I've cleared some of my waiting reviews.

Time just flies, so this authors books should come with a warning...

Set aside a day to read this WHEN ON YOUR OWN with NO interruptions, ignore the doorbell, take the phone of the hook, switch your mobile/cell phone off. Get that mug off of Amazon which says GO AWAY, I'M READING.

What a journey I've been on.

Thank you SO SO much Rachel Abbott for contacting me and allowing me to review. I've not done you a favour, you have done me one. AWESOME.

From the author of number one bestseller, Sleep Tight. 

One Dark Secret. One act of revenge. 

When Emma Joseph met her husband David, he was a man shattered by grief. His first wife had been killed outright when her car veered off the road. Just as tragically, their six-year-old daughter mysteriously vanished from the scene of the accident. 

Now, six years later, Emma believes the painful years are behind them. She and David have built a new life together and have a beautiful baby son, Ollie. 
Then a stranger walks into their lives, and their world tilts on its axis. 
Emma’s life no longer feels secure. Does she know what really happened all those years ago? And why does she feel so frightened for herself and for her baby? 

When a desperate Emma reaches out to her old friend DCI Tom Douglas for help, she puts all their lives in jeopardy. Before long, a web of deceit is revealed that shocks both Emma and Tom to the core. 

They say you should never trust a stranger. Maybe they’re right. 

Another ten minutes, and she would be safely home.
Caroline Joseph gave a shudder of relief that the long journey would soon be
over. She never enjoyed driving at night and always felt slightly out of control. Each
pair of approaching headlights seemed to draw her towards them, their white light
illuminating the car’s interior as she gripped the steering wheel, struggling to point
the car straight ahead.
Not long now, though. She was looking forward to giving Natasha a warm bath, a
mug of hot chocolate, and tucking her up in bed. Then she could devote the
remnants of the evening to David. Something was troubling him, and Caroline
thought that maybe if they settled in front of the fire with a glass of wine when
Natasha was asleep, she might be able to coax the problem out of him. It had to be
something to do with work.
She glanced in her rear-view mirror at her precious daughter. Tasha was six – or
six and three-quarters, as she liked to boast – although her slight frame made her
appear younger. Her pale blonde hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and her
delicate features were bathed intermittently in yellow light as they passed each
streetlamp. Her eyes were closed, and Caroline smiled at how peaceful she looked.
Today Tasha had been her usual sweet-natured self, playing happily with her
young cousins while the adults scurried around doing Caroline’s father’s bidding.
He had issued one of his edicts – this time declaring that Caroline, along with her
siblings and their families, must come for a pre-Christmas dinner. As usual,
everybody had obeyed. Everybody, that is, except David.
The turnoff to the lanes leading to their house was fast approaching, and Caroline
took a final glance at Natasha. Once they were off the main road and away from the
brightly lit shop windows and the amber glow of the tall streetlamps, the back of the
car would be in dark shadow. She had slept for most of the journey, but was
beginning to stir.
‘You okay, Tasha?’ Caroline asked. The child just murmured in response, not
quite awake enough to answer as she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. Caroline
smiled. She braked slightly and changed gear to take the turning. All she had to do
was get through the last couple of miles of this journey along the narrow, hedgelined
lanes, deep in darkness, then she could relax. She felt a flash of irritation
towards David. He knew she hated driving at night, and he could have made the
effort – for Natasha, if not for her. They had both missed him today.
A sudden movement to her left caught Caroline’s eye, and her head spun towards
it, her heart thumping in her chest. An owl swooped low over the hedgerows, its
white breast catching the full beam of her headlights, bright against the black sky.
She let out a breath.
There was no moon, and the black tarmac on the narrow lanes that led to their
home was glinting with fragments of frost. Everything around her seemed perfectly
still, as if the world had come to a stop, and now that the owl had fled she was the
only thing still moving. Caroline knew that if she opened her window there would
be no sound other than the quiet hum of her engine. There was no light at all ahead
or behind, and for a moment her natural fear of the dark threatened to swamp her.
She leaned forwards and switched the radio on at a low volume, reassured by the
jolliness of the predictable festive songs. She would be sick of the sound of them
soon, but right now their cheery ordinariness relaxed her.
She smiled as the phone on the seat by her side started to ring. Certain that it
would be David asking when she would be back, she barely glanced at the screen,
but at the last moment she saw the call was from a blocked number. She prodded the
screen and cancelled the call. Whoever it was could wait until she got home. She
steered one-handed round a sharp bend as she placed the phone back on the seat,
and the car slid a little on the frosty road. She felt a small jolt of fear. But the car held,
and she breathed again.
Caroline took the next few bends cautiously, but her tense shoulders relaxed as
she came to a brief stretch of straight road with tall hedgerows shielding deep
ditches on either side. Caroline leaned closer to the windscreen, peering into the
night. Her headlights were picking up a darker shadow – something in the lane
ahead. She braked slightly and changed down a gear, slowing in anticipation.
She dropped down to second gear to approach the obstruction, finally recognising
in horror that it was a car, slewed sideways across the road, its front wheels buried in
the ditch on the right-hand side of the road. She thought she could see a shadow
inside, as if somebody was slumped over the steering wheel.
As Caroline crawled slowly towards it, her heart suddenly thumping, she pushed
the button to lower her window. It looked like somebody needed help.
The phone rang again.
Her first thought was to ignore it, but if there had been an accident she might
need to summon assistance. She snatched the phone off the seat and answered the
call, realising as she did so that her hand was shaking.
‘Caroline, are you home yet?’
It was a voice she vaguely recognised, but couldn’t quite place. Her eyes did not
leave the obstruction ahead as she drew to a halt and released her seatbelt.
‘Not yet. Why? Who is this?’
‘Just listen to me. Whatever you do, you must not stop the car. Whatever happens,
do not under any circumstances stop the car.’ The man was speaking low and fast.
‘Go home. Go straight home. Are you listening to me?’
The panic in the voice on the phone reflected Caroline’s own rising anxiety. She
‘But there’s a car across the road, and it looks like somebody’s in it. Maybe they’re
ill, or they’ve had an accident. Why can’t I stop? What’s going on?’
‘Just do as I’m telling you, Caroline. Do not get out of the car. Put your foot down
now and get past that car and don’t stop again for anybody or anything. Just do it.’
The voice was tense, urgent. Caroline felt fear rise in her throat. What was this? She
glanced in the rear-view mirror, and made her decision. She flung the mobile phone
onto the seat beside her and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The
stationary car was long and low, taking up most of the width of the road with its
back wheels slightly off the ground as the bonnet angled down into the ditch. There
wasn’t much space to get round the boot of the car, but she could do it. She had to do
She rammed her foot hard to the floor. The tyres skidded on the frosty road, but
they gripped, and she swung the car to the left. Her nearside wheels rose up on the
bank below the hedge and the car hovered at a perilous angle. She pulled the
steering wheel back round to the right and her car landed with a bump, facing the
opposite side of the road. Caroline pulled the wheel back round to the left to
straighten up, the engine roaring as she accelerated.
Suddenly she felt herself begin to slide. She spun the steering wheel madly in one
direction and then the other, but whatever she did, the car took no notice. Black ice,
and she was travelling too fast. She remembered being told to steer into a skid, but
that didn’t feel right.
A name flashed into her head. She suddenly realised who had called her. But why
him? She called out his name, but she knew that by then there was nothing he could
do. Her eyes were drawn to the mirror, to the shadowy rear of the car, where all she
could see were the whites of Natasha’s wide, terrified eyes.
She slammed her foot on the brakes, but nothing happened. The car slid sideways,
hit the bank again, rose up at an angle and flipped, turning over and over, crashing
through the hedge and into the ditch, Caroline’s broken body coming to rest half in
and half out of the open window.
The policeman drove along the narrow lanes, enjoying a rare moment of peace in the
run-up to Christmas. An anonymous caller had phoned to say there was a car off the
road somewhere around here, but according to the dispatcher the caller hadn’t been
able to give any details. The policeman was hoping this would be nothing more than
some idiot dumping his car because it had run out of juice or broken down. He had
had enough of dealing with drunks in the current party season, and a nice little
abandoned vehicle should keep him out of the way for a while – maybe even to the
end of his shift.
The realisation that his optimism was unfounded crept up on him slowly. It was
the lights that convinced him. Nobody dumped their car with the lights on, and yet
up ahead he could see a stationary white light, shining brightly, illuminating the
bare trees at the side of the road. As he got closer, the dazzling beams from the twin
headlights blinded him. He shielded his eyes slightly with the back of his hand,
approaching as cautiously as possible in case there was a body he couldn’t see lying
in the road. He pulled up about twenty metres from the car and switched off his
He knew immediately that it was bad. The car was upside down, the front end
resting up the bank at one side of the lane. But it was the noise that chilled him.
Cutting through the silence of the surrounding countryside, the gentle purr of an
expensive engine provided a subtle backing track to the unmistakable sound of Bing
Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’. The mellow music was escaping into the frosty night air
from an open window through which jutted a woman’s head at such an implausible
angle that the policeman didn’t need to approach the car to know she was dead.
He moved slowly towards the upended car to turn off the engine, and with it the
music. He was able to breathe again. Now it was just a single-vehicle road traffic
accident, although a tragic one. He reached for his radio.
While he waited for the paramedics to arrive, knowing that there was nothing
they could do other than confirm what he already knew, the policeman organised
the closing of the road, called for the specialist team to investigate the crash and
asked for a PNC check on the car to determine ownership. He grabbed a powerful
torch from his boot and shone it around the lane, in the ditches, along the bank,
searching for anybody who might have crawled out of the car and could be injured,
or anything on the road that could have caused the car to swerve. There was nothing.
The road was empty.
For the policeman, it was a relief when the silence was disturbed by the sound of
sirens, growing ever nearer, and a few minutes later the ambulance pulled up, its
lights picking out a lone cyclist who was approaching the scene hesitantly.
The man hopped off his bike and stood some distance away. The policeman
walked towards him.
‘I’m sorry, sir – you need to keep back.’
‘Okay, officer. I’m just trying to get home.’
‘I understand, but I can’t let you along this stretch of road at the moment, sir. I’m
sure you appreciate that.’
‘Is anybody hurt? That looks like Caroline Joseph’s car. Am I right?’ the cyclist
‘I can’t confirm that at the moment, sir.’
The man peered around the policeman to get a better look at the car.
‘Is that her I can see? Oh my God. She’s dead, isn’t she?’ He looked at the
policeman, his mouth half open in shock. ‘Poor David. That’s her husband. He’s
going to be devastated.’
The policeman didn’t comment. All he could do was keep the man as far away as
possible until reinforcements arrived, but even from this distance the woman’s head
was all too visible.
‘She didn’t have Natasha with her, did she?’ the cyclist asked, his voice shaking.
‘Her little girl? Cutest kid.’
The policeman shook his head with some relief.
‘No, sir. The child seat is in the back but thankfully it’s empty. There was nobody
else in the car.’


Emma glanced out at the dismal day. The black clouds heavy with rain were creating
such gloom that the kitchen lights were a necessity even this early in the afternoon.
For a moment, she was in a trance, staring at nothing because in her head she
could see summer days when the garden was finished, the beds bursting with newly
planted flowers. She could almost smell the lavender she would grow in the borders.
She wasn’t sure of the moment that it happened. It wasn’t an instant in time, it
was more of a gradual awareness, but as she stared blindly at the black window,
dreaming of the happy months ahead, something moved at the edge of her
peripheral vision. Her eyes refocused from the garden to the surface of the glass, the
bright lights of the kitchen against the dark sky beyond creating a perfect mirror.
Every nerve ending in her body prickled, and she gasped as her brain finally
acknowledged what she was looking at.
It was a pair of eyes. A pair of eyes that were behind her, watching.
Close behind her. In her kitchen.
A beam of sunlight burst through the black clouds, hitting the kitchen window
and obliterating the reflection as if it had never been there. Emma’s fingers gripped
the edge of the sink. Had she imagined it? But as quickly as the sun had come out, it
was chased away by the squally clouds and the mirror image returned.
Locking eyes with the ghostly reflection that ebbed and flowed as the light
outside adjusted from black to grey, Emma groped along the draining board,
searching with her fingers for a weapon. Reaching up to the cutlery holder, she felt a
sharp pain and a rush of liquid warmth as her fingers grasped the blade of a sharp
boning knife, and she followed the steel down to grip the handle with damp, sticky
Scared of breaking the fragile eye contact for even a second in case the person
moved – moved closer to her or to Ollie, moved out of her line of vision or into the
hall, where she would be forced to follow – Emma took a deep breath and spun
round, leaning heavily back on the sink for support as her legs suddenly weakened.
Her heart thumping and her throat too tight with tension to scream, she stared at
the person in front of her as adrenaline pumped through her body, preparing it for
fight or flight.
It was a girl, little more than a child.
‘What are you doing in my kitchen?’ Emma asked. ‘Get out now, before I call the
The girl didn’t move. She just stared back, her eyes never leaving Emma’s face.

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