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A two-word text message changed fifteen-year-old Sophie Hodgson’s life for good, but not for the better, not by a long shot. And in retrospect, she knew that she probably shouldn’t have sent it, or at the very least had a plan to deal with the veritable shit storm which followed. But send it she did and plan she didn’t. Such is the lot of a teenage girl.
Right now, though, Harry was doing his best to smooth out the lines in his face a bit and take it down a notch from ‘serial killer’ to something that wasn’t that, which wasn’t easy to do, not least because a lot of the lines were scars, and also because it was sat as it was on top of his imposing frame.
‘It’s a secondment. Think of it like an exchange programme if you want. We’re sending you there in exchange for, well, for you not being here, if I’m honest.’
