Phoebe stands on Pultenay Bridge trying to cover her face with her hair so she won't be recognized. Her tights are gashed from toe to thigh. She has lost a shoe. People keep looking. Was it five, or t
“[Evokes] both Jeanette Winterson and Ian McEwan . . . an elegiac and uplifting novel about the indissoluble bonds between mothers and daughters, and a reminder of how the imagination can set yo
They're not my real parents, but they tell me what to do, and what to say. But there are things I won't say. I won't tell them I'm going to hunt for my real parents. Or that I'm a hunter for lost soul
