The Step-sister by Jenny O'Brien
But there's no mistake when Ness goes missing.
Desperate for the truth, Victoria heads to Holland to find out what happened to her. Has she, as her texts show, embarked on a whirlwind romance? Has someone abducted her or even worse?
But there’s someone watching, and that person wants her dead.
Can Victoria find out the truth before it’s too late?
Arriving in Holland with a fractious dog that’s been penned up in a cage for the last hour isn’t the best of ways to arrive in a new country. Pet passports might be a great idea but currently I wish I’d never heard of them. After clearing Customs, I have no time to take in the strange sights. I’m dragged out of the airport, my rucksack slung across my shoulder, Nigel pulling me towards the nearest tree.
I don’t know all that much about the country outside of a couple of school projects. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit that my knowledge of Holland can be summed up in three words. Bicycles, tulips and windmills. But arriving in the beautiful, flower-festooned Delft, I quickly have to add a whole host of adjectives to my limited knowledge like stunning, breath-taking, quaint and unexpected. Everywhere the tall, narrow buildings are dripping with flowers from an assortment of window-boxes. There are even flowers emblazoning the railings that mark the canal edges. And bicycles. So many bicycles. There are bicycles everywhere and with an assortment of riders.
Nigel mutters to himself but I ignore the grumbles. I’m captivated by the old buildings casting their shadows across the still waterways. I’d never thought to come to Holland. Now I’m annoyed at what I’ve been missing out on all this time.
The taxi negotiates a bridge before finally pulling up outside a tall, narrow house. I don’t know what to expect but any preconceived ideas are stripped back by the first sight of our inheritance.
The house is in a stream of other similar structures; all tall, narrow and bordering the canal. But our house, the middle one, holds a hint of neglect under its red brick exterior. Is it the lack of flowers in its derelict window boxes? Or the faded-to-grey paintwork edging the windows? Or is it the fact that all the other properties have the appearance of well-kept and well-loved homes and this one just seems a little tired?
My eyes flash from the taxi meter and back to the house. I can do this, I’ve done a lot worse. It’s only a house, a house that I’m going to put on the market. I shove my fears back where they belong and concentrate on trying to count out the unfamiliar currency while the cab driver unloads my rucksack and dog basket onto the pavement next to Nigel.
She's an avid reader and book reviewer for NetGalley in addition to being a RoNA judge.
She writes for both children and adults with a new book coming out every six months or so. She's also an avid collector of cats, broken laptops, dust and happy endings - two of which you'll always find in her books.
In her spare time she can be found frowning at her wonky cakes and even wonkier breads. You'll be pleased to note she won't be entering Bake-Off.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ScribblerJB
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