S. K. Tremayne books

The Ice Twins

But then I am unable to sleep. For six dusty hours, next to snoring Angus, I lie there, eyes bright and fierce and upset, and I turn over her words in my mind.Who am I?What must that be like, to not know who you are, to not know which one of ‘me’ is dead?At seven a.m. I rise, urgent and desperate...