Elisabeth Carpenter

99 Red Balloons


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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

      

       Chapter Thirty: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-One: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Two: Maggie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Three

      

       Chapter Thirty-Four: Maggie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Five: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Six: Maggie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

      

       Chapter Thirty-Eight: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

      

       Chapter Forty: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Forty-One: Maggie

      

       Chapter Forty-Two

      

       Chapter Forty-Three: Maggie

      

       Chapter Forty-Four: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Forty-Five

      

       Chapter Forty-Six: Maggie

      

       Chapter Forty-Seven

      

       Chapter Forty-Eight: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Forty-Nine

      

       Chapter Fifty: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-One: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Two

      

       Chapter Fifty-Three: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Four: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Five

      

       Chapter Fifty-Six: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Seven: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Eight: Maggie

      

       Chapter Fifty-Nine: Stephanie

      

       Chapter Sixty: Maggie

      

       Chapter Sixty-One: Stephanie

      

       Acknowledgements

      

       Keep Reading …

      

       About the Author

      

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      I squint at him. The sun’s in my eyes and he looks like a shadow monster.

      ‘I can’t,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve got to get home. I’m only meant to be getting sweets from the paper shop, then straight back.’

      He crouches in front of me. He’s wearing a woolly hat, which is funny as it’s really warm today.

      ‘But your mum asked me to fetch you.’ His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.

      I fold my arms. When I tilt my head, his face blocks out the sun.

      ‘You might be lying,’ I say. ‘Mummy warned me about men with sweets and puppies.’

      The man laughs, like Gramps does when he’s Father Christmas.

      ‘I know,’ he says. ‘What’s she like? She’s such a worrywart.’

      He’s