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The Other People: The chilling and spine-tingling Sunday Times bestseller (English Edition) Formato Kindle
'Hugely enjoyable and deliciously creepy' ALEX MICHAELIDES, author of THE SILENT PATIENT
'C. J. Tudor is terrific. I can't wait to see what she does next' HARLAN COBEN
'If you like my stuff, you'll like this' STEPHEN KING
THE CHILLING SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER THAT WILL SEND SHIVERS DOWN YOUR SPINE . . .
Driving home one night, Gabe sees the face of a little girl he knows in the rear window of the car in front.
She mouths one word - 'Daddy'. It's his five-year old daughter, Izzy.
He never sees her again.
The police believe she's dead. But three years later, Gabe still drives the roads, searching for the car that took Izzy, never giving up hope . . .
Meanwhile Fran and her daughter, Alice, aren't searching - but running.
Always one step ahead of the people who want to hurt them.
Because Fran knows the truth about Gabe's daughter.
And she knows what the people chasing her will do if they ever catch them . . .
'A creepy, intense novel that drew me right in and never let go' Samantha Downing, author of MY LOVELY WIFE
'Tense and exhilarating!' 5***** Reviewer
'Darkly compelling . . . an utterly propulsive plot' T. M. LOGAN
'A mesmerizingly chilling and atmospheric page-turner' J.P. Delaney, author of THE GIRL BEFORE
'C. J. Tudor's best novel to date . . . utterly emotionally believable . . . gripping and thoroughly entertaining' Sarah Pinborough, author of BEHIND HER EYES
Praise for C. J. Tudor:
'Britain's female Stephen King' Daily Mail
'Some writers have it, and C. J. Tudor has it big time. The Taking of Annie Thorne is terrific in every way' Lee Child
Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.
Monday, April 11, 2016, M1 North
He noticed the stickers first, surrounding the car’s rear window and lining the bumper:
Honk if you’re horny.
Don’t follow me, I’m lost.
When you drive like I do, you’d better believe in God.
Horn broken—watch for finger.
Real men love Jesus.
Talk about mixed messages. Although one thing did come through loud and clear: the driver was a dick. Gabe was willing to bet he wore slogan T-shirts and had a picture at work of a monkey with its hands over its head and the caption: You don’t have to be mad to work here but it helps.
He was surprised the driver could see out of the back at all. On the other hand, at least he was providing reading material for people in traffic jams. Like the one they were currently stuck in. A long line of cars crawling through the M1 roadworks; it felt like they had started sometime in the last century and looked set to continue well into the next millennium.
Gabe sighed and tapped his fingers on the wheel, as though this could somehow hurry along the traffic, or summon a time machine. He was almost late. Not quite. Not yet. It was still within the bounds of possibility that he might make it home in time. But he wasn’t hopeful. In fact, hope had left him somewhere around Junction 19, along with all the drivers savvy enough to take their chances with their satnav and a country-lane diversion.
What was even more frustrating was that he had managed to leave on time today. He should easily have made it home by six thirty, so he could be there for dinner and Izzy’s bedtime, which he had promised—promised—Jenny that he would do tonight.
“Just once a week. That’s all I ask. One night when we eat together, you read your daughter a bedtime story and we pretend we’re a normal, happy family.”
That had hurt. She had meant it to.
Of course, he could have pointed out that he was the one who had got Izzy ready for school that morning, as Jenny had had to rush out to see a client. He was the one who had soothed their daughter and applied Savlon to her chin when their temperamental rescue cat (the one Jenny had adopted) had scratched her.
But he didn’t. Because they both knew it didn’t make up for all the missed times, the moments he hadn’t been there. Jenny was not an unreasonable woman. But when it came to family, she had a very definite line. If you crossed it, then it was a long time before she let you step back inside.
It was one of the reasons he loved her: her fierce devotion to their daughter. Gabe’s own mum had been more devoted to cheap vodka, and he had never known his dad. Gabe had sworn that he would be different; that he would always be there for his little girl.
And yet, here he was, stuck on the motorway, about to be late. Again. Jenny would not forgive him. Not this time. He didn’t want to dwell upon what that meant.
He had tried to call her, but it had gone to voicemail. And now his phone had less than 1 percent battery, which meant it would die any minute and, typically, today of all days, he had left his charger at home. All he could do was sit, fighting the urge to press his foot on the accelerator and shove the rest of the traffic out of the way, tapping his fingers aggressively on the steering wheel, staring at bloody Sticker Man in front.
A lot of the stickers looked old. Faded and wrinkled. But then, the car itself looked ancient. An old Cortina, or something similar. It was sprayed that color that was so popular in the seventies: a sort of grubby gold. Moldy banana. Pollution sunset. Dying sun.
Dirty grey fumes puffed intermittently out of the wonky exhaust. The whole bumper was speckled with rust. He couldn’t see a manufacturer’s badge. It had probably fallen off, along with half of the number plate. Only the letters “T” and “N” and what could be part of a 6 or an 8 remained. He frowned. He was sure that wasn’t legal. The damn thing probably wasn’t even roadworthy, or insured, or driven by a qualified driver. Best not to get too close.
He was just considering changing lanes when the girl’s face appeared in the rear window, perfectly framed by the peeling stickers. She looked to be around five or six. Round-faced, pink-cheeked. Fine blonde hair pulled into two high pigtails.
His first thought was that she should be strapped into a car seat.
His second thought was: Izzy.
She stared at him. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, revealing a tooth missing right in the front. He remembered wrapping it in a tissue and tucking it under her pillow for the tooth fairy.
She mouthed: “Daddy!”
Then a hand reached back, grabbed her arm and yanked her down. Out of sight. Gone. Vanished.
He stared at the empty window.
His daughter was at home, with her mum. Probably watching the Disney channel while Jenny cooked dinner. She couldn’t be in the back of a strange car, going God knows where, not even strapped into a car seat.
The stickers blocked his view of the driver. He could barely see the top of their head above Honk if you’re horny. Fuck that. He honked anyway. Then he flashed his lights. The car seemed to speed up a little. Ahead of him, the roadworks were ending, the 50mph signs replaced by the national speed limit.
Izzy. He accelerated. It was a new Range Rover. It went like shit off the proverbial shovel. And yet the battered old rust bucket in front was pulling away from him. He pressed the pedal down harder. Watched the speedometer creep up past seventy, seventy-five, eighty-five. He was gaining, and then the car in front suddenly darted into the middle lane and overtook several cars. Gabe followed, swerving in front of an HGV. The horn’s blare almost deafened him. His heart felt like it might just burst right out of his chest, like bloody Alien.
The car in front was weaving dangerously in and out of the traffic. Gabe was hemmed in by a Ford Focus on one side and a Toyota in front. Shit. He glanced in his mirror, pulled into the slow lane then darted back in front of the Toyota. At the same time a Jeep pulled in from the fast lane, just missing his hood. He slammed on his brakes. The Jeep driver flashed his hazards and gave him the finger.
“Screw you, too, you fucking wanker!”
The rust bucket was several cars in front now, still weaving, tail lights disappearing into the distance. He couldn’t keep up. It was too dangerous.
Besides, he tried to tell himself, he must be mistaken. Must be. It couldn’t have been Izzy. Impossible. Why on earth would she be in that car? He was tired, stressed. It was dark. It must be some other little girl who looked like Izzy. A lot like Izzy. A little girl who had the same blonde hair in pigtails, the same gap between her front teeth. A little girl who called him “Daddy.”
A sign flashed up ahead: services ½ mile. He could pull in, make a phone call, put his mind at rest. But he was already late; he should keep going. On the other hand, what was a few more minutes? The slip road was sliding past. Keep going? Pull over? Keep going? Pull over? Izzy. At the last minute, he yanked the wheel to the left, bumping over the white hazard lines and eliciting more horn beeps. He sped up the slip road and into the services.
Gabe hardly ever stopped at service stations. He found them depressing, full of miserable people who wanted to be somewhere else.
He wasted precious minutes scuttling up and down, past the various food outlets, searching for a payphone, which he eventually found tucked away near the toilets. Just the one. No one used payphones any more. He wasted several more minutes looking for some change before he realized you could use a card. He extracted his debit card from his wallet, stuck it in and called home.
Jenny never answered on the first ring. She was always busy, always doing something with Izzy. Sometimes she said she wished she had eight pairs of hands. He should be there more, he thought. He should help.
A woman’s voice. But not Jenny. Unfamiliar. Had he called the wrong number? He didn’t call it very often. Again, it was all cellphones. He checked the number on the payphone. Definitely their landline number.
“Hello?” the voice said again. “Is that Mr. Forman?”
“Yes. This is Mr. Forman. Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Detective Inspector Maddock.”
A detective. In his house. Answering his phone.
“Where are you, Mr. Forman?”
“The M1. I mean, in the services. On my way back from work.”
He was babbling. Like a guilty person. But then, he was guilty, wasn’t he? Of a lot of things.
“You need to come home, Mr. Forman. Right away.”
“Why? What’s going on? What’s happened?”
A long pause. A swollen, stifling silence. The sort of silence, he thought, that brims with unspoken words. Words that are about to completely fuck up your life.
“It’s about your wife?.?.?.??and your daughter.” --Questo testo si riferisce alla paperback edizione.
- ASIN : B07NRY6VCL
- Editore : Penguin; 1° edizione (23 gennaio 2020)
- Lingua : Inglese
- Dimensioni file : 3222 KB
- Da testo a voce : Abilitato
- Screen Reader : Supportato
- Miglioramenti tipografici : Abilitato
- X-Ray : Abilitato
- Word Wise : Abilitato
- Memo : Su Kindle Scribe
- Lunghezza stampa : 357 pagine
- Posizione nella classifica Bestseller di Amazon: n. 234,573 in Kindle Store (Visualizza i Top 100 nella categoria Kindle Store)
- Recensioni dei clienti:
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Gabe is driving down the motorway, supposedly on his way home from work when he spots his daughter in the back of a car driving in front of him. Absolutely convinced it is his five year old daughter, Izzy, he gives chase, only to lose them. Pulling over to call his wife at home, where Izzy should be, a detective answers the phone to tell him his family are dead. Gabe refuses to believe he was mistaken and begins his four year search to prove his daughter is alive.
There are elements of creepiness and eeriness, but the story involving three sisters, and estranged family and a secret Gabe has kept from his teenage years is complicated to the point it is hard to follow at times.
I wouldn't not recommend the book, as CJ Tudor is a brilliant writer and I still look forward to her next publication, but in comparison to her previous works, it doesn't have the same gripping factor.
Seeing as I've read this book in less than a week and that's mostly been at night, I think it shows how compulsive reading it is!
I thought the storyline was very clever, I'm not going to spoil this for anyone, but it involves, murder & retribution, and how the choices we make can affect us and many other people... think of the butterfly flapping its wings on the other side of the world.. I kept trying to guess how the characters related to each other with each chapter but did not guess the final outcome. The twists and turns in this book kept me reading through the night. and i thought it was a very clever storyline.
If I have one criticism it would be the use of American words in a book clearly set in the UK...for instance Junkyard instead of Scrap dealer, but that may just be me being picky!
I've devoured all of Ms. Tudors books, and she is undoubtedly growing with each book that she writes.
A 5 Star read, which quickly draws you in and means you cannot put it down.
When Gabe sees a young girl who looks like his daughter in the back of a car, he thinks it is someone who looks like her. But he has no idea how his life is going to change from that moment. A short while later he receives a call from the police who deliver devastating news. His wife and daughter have been killed. But who was the girl he saw in the back of the car? The police don’t believe he saw anything, and he soon falls under their suspicion. But Gabe is desperate to track down the girl he saw. What is really going on here?
C.J. Tudor has penned a complex plot, and she kept me guessing as I was reading. Gabe’s desperation to find out what had happened to his daughter and wife comes through really strongly in her writing. He is a broken man and the only thing keeping him going is the belief that his daughter is still alive, even though everyone else believes otherwise, including his mother and father-in-law. With every chapter, the tension rose. The plot takes an even darker turn as Gabe gets closer to the truth behind what happened to his wife and daughter.
We also hear from several other characters. The plot flows really well and at no point did I ever feel confused, which can sometimes happen with a novel told from multiple viewpoints. I wondered just how each of the characters was connected. I thought the way C.J. Tudor brought them together was done really well.
There is also a supernatural element to this book which adds to the tense atmosphere. This part of the plot really intrigued me, and I felt that C.J. Tudor explained everything in a satisfying way.
The Other People is chilling, and the pace rocketed along as I waited to find out the real truth. This is C.J. Tudor’s best book to date, and I can’t wait to read what she writes next.
However, there wasn't too much of it and it was possible to jump through it without missing much. Otherwise this was a great read, even though I guessed an awful lot of what was going to happen before it did, it still moved fast and kept me on my toes.
My first, and last, book by this author, unless she stops all the stupid hooboo-vooboo stuff.
I can only assume that the author, having decided that she is going to be a writer in that genre, felt she needed to introduce this element whether the story needed it or not.
I had worked out a lot of the "mysteries" for myself long before the book ended, but I still enjoyed the story and the basic premise was good. I think the author just needs to make up her mind whether she is going to be a writer of supernatural & paranormal tales or of thrillers - then stick to that genre and develop her talent.