Hello everyone, and welcome back to The Bookworm’s Fantasy! I hope you’re all doing well. Today I’m really excited to be taking part in the blog tour for ‘No Further Questions’ by Gillian McAllister. I’ll be giving you some information on the book, and also sharing an exclusive extract with you. McAllister is one of my all-time favourite authors, so of course I absolutely jumped at the chance to take part! Thanks to Penguin for the opportunity. Keep reading…
The police say she’s guilty.
She insists she’s innocent.
She’s your sister.
You loved her.
You trusted her.
But they say she killed your child.
Who do you believe?
About the Author.
Gillian McAllister is the author of three Psychological Thriller novels: ‘Everything But The Truth’ (2017), ‘Anything You Do Say’ (2017) and ‘No Further Questions’ (July 2nd 2018). McAllister now lives in Birmingham with her boyfriend, and is a lawyer as well as a writer.
Somebody is lying in this courtroom. I don’t know who, yet, but somebody is: the defence or the prosecution. They cannot both be telling the truth.
The legal jargon seems to swirl around me as I listen to expert after expert being examined, cross-examined, and then re-examined by the barristers. Most of the time, I’m following it. Most of the time, I understand what’s happening.
But sometimes, like right now, I can’t see how we ended up here.
Last August, I gave birth to Layla in the middle of the night. It was dark outside and we were sequestered away in a side room at the hospital, Scott sitting on the end of the bed. I don’t remember when they finally handed her to me, but I remember her afterwards: a warm weight in my arms, her hand curling surprisingly around my own.
I’d texted my sister Becky, and only Becky, between contractions, though I hardly remember what I said. When she came to visit, she brought the late summer night-time chill in with her; I could feel her cold cheek against mine as she hugged me. ‘You did it! Oh, you did it!’ she said, celebrating me, and not the baby. It was exactly what I needed at that moment.
The woman who used to WhatsApp me first thing, every single day, without fail. The woman whose eyebrows I plucked on the eve of her wedding, both of us laughing as they became more and more uneven. The woman who painted my living room with me one Easter weekend. We didn’t stop chatting for the entire four days.
My sister. My best friend, Becky.
And now: here we are.
Cot death, the defence says – unexplained.
Murder, the prosecution says.
I look across at my sister in the dock.
The woman accused of murdering my child.
Happy reading 🙂