LITMIR.BIZ

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       Monday, 13^th August – 14 weeks, 1 day

       Thursday, 27^th September – 20 weeks, 4 days

       Friday, 28^th September – 20 weeks, 5 days

       Saturday, 29^th September – 20 weeks, 6 days

       Tuesday, 2^nd October – 21 weeks, 2 days

       Thursday, 4^th October – 21 weeks, 4 days

       Friday, 5^th October – 21 weeks, 5 days

       Saturday, 6^th October – 21 weeks, 6 days

       Thursday, 11^th October – 22 weeks, 4 days

       Tuesday, 16^th October – 23 weeks, 2 days

       Friday, 19^th October – 23 weeks, 5 days

       Monday, 22^nd October – 24 weeks, 1 day

       Thursday, 25^th October – 24 weeks, 4 days

       Monday, 29^th October – 25 weeks, 1 day

       Wednesday, 31^st October – 25 weeks, 3 days

       Friday, 2^nd November – 25 weeks, 5 days

       Saturday, 10^th November – 26 weeks, 6 days

       Sunday, 11^th November – 27 weeks exactly

       Wednesday, 14^th November – 27 weeks, 3 days

       Friday, 16^th November – 27 weeks, 5 days

       Wednesday, 21^st November – 28 weeks, 3 days

       Friday, 23^rd November – 28 weeks, 5 days

       Monday, 26^th November – 29 weeks, 1 day

       Tuesday, 27^th November – 29 weeks, 2 days

       Thursday, 29^th November – 29 weeks, 4 days

       Saturday, 1^st December – 29 weeks, 6 days

       Sunday, 2^nd December – 30 weeks exactly

       Wednesday, 5^th December – 30 weeks, 3 days

       Saturday, 8^th December – 30 weeks, 6 days

       Thursday, 13^th December – 31 weeks, 4 days

       Tuesday, 18^th December – 32 weeks, 2 days

       Thursday, 20^th December – 32 weeks, 4 days

       Sunday, 23^rd December – 33 weeks exactly

       Monday, 24^th December – 33 weeks, 2 days

       Tuesday, 25^th December – 33 weeks, 3 days

       Wednesday, 26^th December – 33 weeks, 4 days

       Thursday, December 27^th – 33 weeks, 5 days

       Friday, December 28^th – 1 day post-partum

       Extract from The Alibi Girl

       Extract from Sweetpea

       About the Publisher

Sunday, 24th June – 7 weeks pregnant

      KNOCK KNOCKKNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

      So there I was, red-handed, red-faced, naked and straddling a corpse. His body is covered in my DNA so even if I did toss him over the balcony onto several parked hatchbacks, the evidence would lead straight back to me.

      KNOCK KNOCKKNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

      ‘Jesus Christ police have got loud knocks. Okay okay okay okay think whatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?’ Prison is a no no. I’ve seen Orange is the New Black. I can’t do all that lesbianing. It looks exhausting.

       ANSWER THE FUCKING DOOR!

      ‘Yeah, I guess I’m gonna have to, aren’t I?’

      I fling on my dressing gown and tiptoe across to the bedroom door. The knock comes again and I jump a clear foot in the air.

      For crying out loud, Mummy. This isn’t just about you now. You’ve got me to think about. Answer it and tell them you can’t speak to them now.

      ‘Oh yeah they’re gonna love that, aren’t they? “Sorry, Sarge, could you pop out for a couple of doughnuts while I dispose of this corpse I’ve been sleeping with, then do feel free to come back with your Marigolds on and have a good root around?” It’s not gonna wash, Foetus Face.’

      KNOCK KNOCK.

      Right well that knocking is getting right on my tits now so just answer it. You’ll think of something.

      I’ll admit, I’d have been lost if it hadn’t been for that little voice from beyond my own vagina telling me what to do. I tiptoed across the cold floor.

      KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

      The words ‘shit’ and ‘creek’ spring to mind and there ain’t a paddle in sight. ‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!’

      Damn stupid to kill him here in the first place. What was I thinking? Must be the start of ‘Baby Brain’. That’s what I’m going to blame it on anyway.

      Don’t you lay this shit on me.

      How did I think I was going to get a six-foot Australian man-child out of my flat, along the hall, down two flights, across the car port and into my tiny car without being seen by some busy-body with a nose for cadavers? I’ve told you what to do - cut him up! Fortunately AJ wasn’t decomposing quickly – I’d drained him out over the bath before I left for the hen weekend. This slows the process down. I saw Dad do it once through a warehouse window – him and his associates, all in balaclavas.

      Not just a pretty face, am I? *wink emoji*

      Anyway, my heart’s pounding and my mouth’s all dry but the situation is what it is. There’s no escape. The knock echoes once more, I take in a deep lungful of air, prepare my best ‘shocked and saddened’ face and open the door of the flat.

      And it’s Mrs Whittaker.

      I let out my deep breath. Our kleptomaniac neighbour who gets more Alzheimersy each time I see her usually annoys the knicker elastic off me with her unsolicited visits, but today I could lick her bristly mouth.

      ‘Hello, Rebecca,’ she says.

      My name is Rhiannon but nobody ever gets my name right. Even at school. Even when I got famous, few news editors could spell it. I get it – people are stupid. I let old Whittaker off a bollocking for the simple fact that she isn’t wearing latex gloves or brandishing a search warrant.

      ‘I’m popping into town in a bit to do my big shop and I wondered if you wanted anything. I know your young man’s away at the moment.’

      The implication being that I, as a young woman alone, can’t cope. Bless. She’s eyeballing the room over my shoulder, as usual, obviously wanting to come in and snoop for unattended objets d’art.

      ‘Ah

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