When Lola went missing 8 years ago, I was only five. I don’t remember her much, but I knew one thing.
I hated her. I hated my big sister. Because she took my life away from me. Mum never paid any attention to me. She was lost in her own ocean of grief, and I was left. Abandoned. Dad had died seven years ago. Her fault. Lola’s fault.
There was a knock at the door. I sighed, hauling myself to my feet. I always have to get the door, although it wasn’t very often. We never get visitors. Everyone stays away from us. There’s only the occasional postman. But this time it was a girl.
“Who are you?” I asked suspiciously.
“Are you Maddy?” The girl asked.
“I’m… I’m Lola.”