The two girls had been drinking since three, a swig for every crash of the river. The Golden Virginia they were smoking like shrivelled worms falling out of rolling paper. They tried to blow rings in the sticky air.
Heads spinning. Could be the alcohol, could be the heat.
Now it was late, and the sky was pale pink, like the smooth inside of a conch. Cans of cider glinted in the grass and trees flopped like vast ivory wigs, heavy from the weeks of rain. Henna patterned the girls’ bare arms, a memory of windswept festivals bleeding colour
About the book
Tamar is admitted to Lime Grove, a psychiatric ward for teenagers, where the psychologists ask her endless questions. How did the self-harming start? Will you tell us what happened? How do you feel, on a scale of one to ten? But there’s one question Tamar can’t – won’t – answer: What happened to her friend Iris?
A uniquely powerful, devastating novel of friendship, fragility and forgiveness.
Contains scenes of suicide and self-harm that some readers may find upsetting
If you liked On a Scale of One to Ten, why not try ...
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