Prologue

September 2008

Adam closed George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and turned it over to look at the cover. He didn’t see the connection between the illustration and the story, but then he never did with these so-called ‘modern classic’ editions.

He lay back on his bed, stared at the ceiling and thought about the book. He’d read it before, at school, but he had gotten more out of it this time. He didn’t like the political propaganda, but it had an entertaining plot and was well written and that’s what counted.

He sat up, swung his legs off the bed and went to sit at his desk. After depositing the book on the larger of two piles at the back of the desk, he picked up a pen, examined the list that lay between them and put a small tick by Nineteen Eighty-Four. Now only six items were not ticked. He’d surprised himself. He might just pull it off. He was aiming to get through all the books on his reading list before he started university at the end of the month. He knew he’d have to read them again more closely during the course, but for now, he wanted to read them for pleasure. There were better ways to spend his summer holiday, but all of them cost money. What was the point of taking a gap year, working hard to hold down two jobs and saving every penny he earned, if he was going to blow it all before he even got to Westmouth?

“Hey, Adam! What’s up?” His sister, Laura, ran into the room. She had a copy of Fame magazine clutched in her hand.

“Sod off, squirt.”

“No, you sod off.”

“This is my room.”

“Whatever.” She waved a had dismissively and sat on his bed. “Have you heard the news?”

“You mean that thing about those twin girls in Bedford? It’s awful, isn’t it? How could someone do something like that?”

“No. Not that. This.” She thrust the trashy celebrity magazine towards him. He glanced at the main article, which was about a coke-head rocker and his supermodel girlfriend.

“Laura, I really couldn’t give a toss about Pete and Kate. It’s trivial.”

“No.” She pointed to one of the smaller articles on the page. “This.”

Adam read the short piece then looked up at Laura with surprise. “This isn’t true, is it?”

“Sure is. It’s been on the radio and the telly too.”

“Unbelievable.” He glanced up at a poster on his wall of the nineteen-year-old actress, Chloë Goodman, posing in a bikini on a golden, sun-kissed beach. She had her hands in her hair, which thrust her boobs out. The pose made Adam shiver every time he looked at it. The sun was setting over the sea behind her, giving the photo a dream-like quality. She looked every inch the modern sex siren.