The Child Between Us by Alison Ragsdale: Excerpt

THE CHILD BETWEEN US, Alison Ragsdale

My beautiful girl, you are my missing piece. You came into my life and changed everything, placing your warm little hand in mine, and looking up at me with your sky-blue eyes, so full of hope. Little did we know what lay ahead, but for a while at least, we had each other…

When I first met you, darling Marina, you were just five years old. You took my breath away, with your long, dark waves and pink cheeks. You needed me, and I instantly knew I’d do anything to protect you. When six years ago, my heart was shattered, I was left utterly broken – but I didn’t know just how lost I was until you filled that hole in my heart.

You quickly became the centre of my world, your sweet laugh my favourite sound. But then things started to change… I put my pain down to work stress, but when the diagnosis came through it was worse than I could ever have imagined.

Our world is about to come crashing down around us, little one, and I don’t know how to stop it. I’ve finally discovered the truth behind the betrayal that rocked me to my core all those years ago. The pain of my past could be the one thing that saves us – or tears us apart. We’re just becoming a family, Marina, should I risk everything to trust the one person who hurt me? They could be your only hope.

We only have each other… But if I don’t make it, what will happen to you?

The Child Between Us is a heart-wrenching story about an impossible choice and what it really means to be a mother. Readers who love Kate Hewitt, Jodi Picoult and Diane Chamberlain will be utterly gripped.

The Child Between Us EXCERPT

PROLOGUE 

It is the sweat that wakes me. The unnerving, clammy trickle between my breasts as I begin to pant, the air in the room seeming to pulse around me. My hair sticks cloyingly to the back of my neck as I throw the covers o. 

Isla. My twin. The other half of my heart. 

Your name floods my mind, along with images of us together as children, giggling as we kicked each other under the dining table, making indoor tents out of old sheets and riding our bikes along the river at Dunkeld. Next, I picture us, huddled together, freezing on the shore at Loch Lomond, as Mum and Dad – with ruddy cheeks and matching bright smiles – coaxed us into the icy water. 

Born only minutes apart – we were inseparable – and yet I felt like a protector, a parent rather than a sister, for much of our lives. Even though I was a child, too, I felt responsible for you. 

Then, I see you curled up at the end of my bed, on our seventeenth birthday, after I found you trying to take those pills. You were crying, hugging your knees to your chest, your painfully thin arms wrapped around your shins as you rocked yourself. 

I never knew what to do when you got like that. When the heavy blanket of depression that hovered behind you took you over. Sometimes I resented the way Mum and Dad wrapped you in cotton wool, the constant allowances they made for you, when I was expected to just understand. Then, overtaken by guilt for my lack of compassion, I would lavish you with love and try to make you believe how special you were, to us all. 

When your face would turn pale and you’d cry, for no apparent reason, I thought if I tried to make you laugh, held you close and sang to you, it would take away the hurt of that darkness buried deep inside, that tortured you so profoundly. 

I was naïve, and too easily persuaded by you to paper over the cracks that those episodes would leave on your heart, for a lifetime. I even agreed to keep your secret from that awful night, not telling Mum and Dad, despite knowing I should. 

Now, still trembling, I sit up in bed, my heart rattling in my chest, then I whisper your name. ‘Isla. Where are you?’ 

It has been almost six years since I’ve seen your face – an exact copy of my own. We have the same, deeply waved, mop of red hair that hangs below our shoulder blades, matching moss- coloured eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones dusted with freckles. We are identical in every way – on the outside. 

It seems like yesterday when you left me that cryptic note at my studio, saying that you were sorry, but that this was the only way you could survive, before you disappeared. 

Suddenly, my breathing becomes laboured, and I shove the duvet away and stand up, stumbling blindly towards the window. 

Stuart is asleep, his left arm and leg dangling over the edge of the bed, and his mouth agape. His messy blonde curls obscure the chocolatey eyes that initially pulled me in to his nocturnal, musical world, as he snores softly into the pillow. He even sleeps messily, and I tut loudly as I trip over yet another abandoned shoe. 

As I reach the window, I turn to face the bed, the windowsill hard against my hip. Isla. I scoop my hair up into my hands and hold it away from my clammy neck, and suddenly, with a choking certainty, I know that you need me, even more than you did on that night when we were teenagers. I have to nd you. 

I close my eyes, willing you to send me a signal, for our thoughts to meld as they did when we were children. 

Just hold on, Isla. Iím coming. 

BUY HERE 

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