{"product_id":"the-hike-isbn-9780593422670","title":"The Hike","description":"\u003cb\u003eNo help.\u003cbr\u003eNo cell coverage. \u003cbr\u003eNo one to hear them scream.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBurned-out by both her marriage and work, Liz is desperate for an escape. More than that, she craves an adventure, a total reset. So, when she plans a vacation with her three best friends, she persuades them to spend four nights camping in the stunning mountains of Norway. Following a trail that climbs through lush valleys, towering peaks, and past jewel-blue lakes, Liz is sure that the hike is just what they need.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut as they stride farther from civilization, it becomes clear that the women are not the only ones looking to lose themselves in the mountains. The wilderness hides secrets darker than they could ever have imagined, and if they’re not careful . . . not all of them will return.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eOne of \u003ci\u003eReal Simple\u003c\/i\u003e’s Best Books of the Year\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Suspenseful . . . This page-turner deftly chronicles the fallout as it navigates back and forth through time and space while racing to its thrilling peak.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eCriminal Element\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Another thrilling novel from author Lucy Clarke . . . This one keeps you engaged throughout.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eRed Carpet Crash\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The strengths of the novel lie in the knife-sharp tension of the first half as well as the beautifully nuanced friendship of the four main characters. While there is danger and tragedy aplenty, hope and loyalty also abound.\" —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A taut, compulsively readable, and elegantly written thriller—Lucy Clarke has done it again! \u003ci\u003eThe Hike\u003c\/i\u003e transports you to the Norwegian wilderness where a group of female friends are pushed to their absolute limits and beyond. I couldn’t stop turning the pages! A brilliant exploration of female friendship and all that it entails. A must-read for 2023.\" \u003cb\u003e—Sarah Pearse, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Sanatorium\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An eerie 'alpine atmospheric' suspense novel about four friends on a wilderness trip that goes terribly wrong. Prepare for the cliff-hangers and nail-biting!\" —\u003cb\u003eNita Prose, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Maid\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A surprising, twisty thriller with compelling characters who are fierce but out of their depth, that keeps you guessing until the end. Lucy Clarke has done it again!” —\u003cb\u003eSarah Pinborough, author of \u003ci\u003eBehind Her Eyes\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eInsomnia\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Atmospheric, haunting, and beautifully written. This is Lucy Clarke at her best.\" \u003cb\u003e—Gillian McAllister, author of \u003ci\u003eWrong Place, Wrong Time\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A tear-those-pages thriller which is also a great meditation on female friendship. \u003ci\u003eThe Hike\u003c\/i\u003e navigates tough terrain and luscious fjords, but it also navigates motherhood, envy, longing, how to grapple with your worst possible instincts. I’d travel anywhere in the world with Lucy Clarke.\" \u003cb\u003e—Abigail Dean, author of\u003ci\u003e Girl A\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A breathtaking thriller of friendship pushed to the absolute limit – and beyond – amid the dangerous beauty of the Norwegian wilderness.\" —\u003cb\u003eTM Logan, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Holiday \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An immense achievement. The power, beauty and fear inspired by those Norwegian mountains feels utterly real, as do the emotions and physical demands they impose. The tension runs like a tight thread throughout the narrative; but though we never forget the threats that surround the group, getting closer all the time, we are allowed moments of wonder.\" —\u003cb\u003eJane Shemilt, author of \u003ci\u003eDaughter\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eLucy Clarke\u003c\/b\u003e was inspired to write \u003ci\u003eThe Hike \u003c\/i\u003eafter spending five days trekking through the wild, rugged beauty of Norway with a tent on her back. She is the author of seven other destination thrillers, which have sold more than a million copies around the world, including \u003ci\u003eOne of the Girls\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Castaways\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Blue, \u003c\/i\u003ewhich has been filmed as a major international TV series (titled \u003ci\u003eNo Escape) \u003c\/i\u003efor Paramount+. When Clarke isn’t away on research trips (her favorite part of the job!), she can be found writing from a beach hut on the south coast of England, where she lives with her husband and their two children.\u003cb\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLIZ\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiz knotted the laces of her hiking boots, then eyed herself in the hallway mirror. Her friends would tease her for wearing them to the airport, but there was no space in her backpack. She'd been scrupulous with her packing. She enjoyed the efficiency of it, the paring back, whittling down, every gram counting. It was pleasing to be able to step out with everything she needed on her back. There was an autonomy about it that she liked-maybe a little too much.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe checked her watch. If she left now, she'd arrive at Helena's fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Her backpack was waiting in the car. The tank was filled with petrol. Her checklist was ticked. There was nothing left for her to do except say good-bye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHard to believe that, by this evening, she, Helena, and Maggie would be in Norway. It had been her turn to choose the holiday destination. In previous years she'd picked Corfu, Madeira, the South of France. She'd loved those beach holidays-the kiss of the sun, the buzz of being with girlfriends, the languid days poolside-but recently she'd been thirsting for something different. She was thirty-three, a wife, a mother, a doctor. Her everyday life was organized, buttoned-down, scheduled. What she needed was an adventure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're serious?\" Helena had balked when Liz pitched the idea of four days wild hiking and camping in Norway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiz was. \"I've always wanted to see the fjords and mountains.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So book a cruise.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA few months earlier, thanks to a broken fan belt that the garage took an age to repair, Liz had been forced to walk to the clinic. As she'd walked, something magical had seemed to happen; with each step, it was as if she were shaking off the chaos of lost homework, packed lunches, and missing uniform items. She noticed birdsong, learned the names of the trees she passed, took the time to wave good morning to neighbors. By the time she arrived at work, her thoughts felt more spacious, her body grateful for the movement. She had been out in the weather and felt the day. The action of moving her feet, step after step, meant she arrived fresh and energized.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiz being Liz, she wanted to understand the physiological benefits of walking, so she'd dived into the research. She discovered that regular walking improved the immune system, lowered cholesterol, and strengthened feelings of well-being. She shared these findings with her patients. \"I'm prescribing you a daily walk.\" It was simple, free, doable for most. Life-changing in some cases.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRight now, Liz needed \u003ci\u003elife-changing\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe glanced toward the kitchen. She could hear the morning symphony of breakfast: the clink of bowls set on the table, the gush of the tap, the scrape of a stool, Evie's voice pitched above Daniel's, the calming tone of Patrick mellowing them both.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eShe moved toward the noise and warmth of her family. The thick-soled tread of her boots made her gait feel unfamiliar. She found herself standing in the kitchen doorway unnoticed, and-for a few disconcerting moments-it was as if she were watching someone else's life. How much would they miss her? she wondered. Patrick knew the routines of family life so well: he was the one who made the packed lunches, did the school run, and helped with homework.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvie, hair mussed from sleep, was the first to spot her. \"Mummy! Are you leaving now?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes,\" she said, feeling tears lodged at the back of her throat. She'd never liked protracted good-byes. Out the door and get on with it. That was best.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePatrick turned, warm brown eyes sliding over her face but not meeting her gaze. \"So, you're picking up Helena first? Then Maggie?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then Norway here we come.\" She tried for upbeat, but her tone fell flat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Please get a photo of Helena in hiking gear!\" He grinned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiz moved toward her son, who was sitting at the breakfast bar, shoveling cornflakes into his mouth. She pressed a kiss on his cheek, feeling the machinations of his jaw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvie put down her spoon to wobble a front tooth, asking, \"Will this have fallen out by the time you're back?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiz nodded. She would probably return to find her daughter with a new gap in her perfect line of baby teeth. She would miss that sweet moment of slipping into a dark room to swap a tissue-wrapped tooth for a shiny pound coin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was used to missing things: Evie's first word (Dan-dan); Daniel's first steps across the lounge floor-caught in Patrick's arms; watching the twins in their first swimming lesson. But there were many more things that she had been there for, and Liz knew that tallying up the misses and the been-there-fors only led to a scorecard etched in guilt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Look after each other while I'm away,\" she said, breathing them in. She kissed their heads, told them she loved them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe followed Patrick to the front door. He opened it onto a sun-bright September morning, and there was something about the gesture that made Liz feel like a guest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Excited?\" he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe forced a smile, nodding. \"I'll see you when-\" She faltered. She wouldn't see him when she got back. The arrangement was a month apart. A trial separation, taking it in turns to be out of the house so it wouldn't affect the children: a week in Norway for her, then a week for him visiting his brother, and then more switching and organizing on her return. A month apart to give them time to decide what they wanted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat do you want? \u003c\/i\u003eshe wondered, looking briefly at Patrick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bye, Liz,\" he said, leaning down to press a kiss against her cheek. He smelled of toast and coffee and the fabric of their home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe had a strange vertiginous feeling-as if she needed to reach out, grip on to his solidity, as the rest of the world spun away from her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe blinked quickly, looking down at her neatly laced hiking boots. She took a deep breath, then turned and stepped out of her life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e2\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eHELENA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHelena eyed her backpack. It leaned with jaunty arrogance against her front door, blocking her exit. Buckles and straps strained against the bulk of its contents. She'd cut the price tag from it this morning, nicking her thumb with the nail scissors. A single bead of blood had dripped onto the front of the pack, leaving a tiny dark stain. If Maggie noticed it, she'd believe it was a bad omen. But Helena didn't believe in omens. She believed she needed to be more careful with scissors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe sipped her coffee, luxuriating in the deep, velvety flavor, knowing it would be her last AeroPressed coffee for a while. Four sachets of instant coffee were sealed in a pocket of her backpack-one for each morning of the hike. She'd Googled travel-size coffee makers, picturing the romance of one perched on a hissing camp stove, framed by a beautiful Norwegian backdrop. She'd liked the image enough to press \u003ci\u003eBuy\u003c\/i\u003e, but once the coffee maker had arrived and she'd laid it out on the spare bed alongside the other packages that landed almost daily-dry bags, waterproof over-trousers, merino wool socks, two-man tent, down sleeping bag, lightweight roll mat, camping stove, gas canister-she knew she couldn't justify the extra weight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe moved cautiously toward the backpack, the way you might approach a wary horse, slowly placing a palm to its flank. Was she really going to lug this through the wilderness for four days?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe laughed at the absurdity of it. Her, Helena Hall, going wild camping in Norway!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBloody Liz. It was her year to choose the destination. When it had been Helena's turn three years earlier, she'd picked Ibiza. Even Joni had shown up, flying in for two nights in the middle of her tour schedule, hooking them up with VIP club passes. The four of them had spent a week lazing in the sunshine, swimming in rocky coves, and partying until sundown. That was a holiday.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHiking in Norway? \u003ci\u003eIt'll be an adventure\u003c\/i\u003e, Liz had assured them, her lips working a bit too hard to stretch into a smile. Still. She wasn't going to stick here alone in her flat while the others went off together. When you're single in your thirties, you jump at the chance to go anywhere with your girlfriends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEarlier in the week she'd messaged Liz at midnight: \u003ci\u003eToilets! Where do I go for a crap?\u003c\/i\u003e And Liz had sent back an emoji of a poo and a forest-and then sent a link to a trowel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFine. It was going to be absolutely fine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe finished her coffee, rinsed and dried the mug, then returned it to the cupboard, handle pointing outward. She smoothed her hands against her thighs. Looked around. The granite surfaces were empty. The downlights switched off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe glanced at her watch. Liz would be here in fifteen minutes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMoving into her bedroom, she looked wistfully through the open window onto the city. Outside, the early September light held a golden warmth to it-the last breath of summer. Her city-Bristol-smelled of diesel and concrete and warm trash. She filled her lungs with it. Oh, the beauty of pavements, and buildings, and traffic, and the clip of heeled footwear. Not a hiking boot or fleece in sight. She pulled the window closed reluctantly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe caught sight of a package resting on her dressing table, still in a carrier bag. She eyed it for a moment, lips pressed together, heart rate picking up speed, deliberating. Then she snatched it up, tore free the bag, and stared at the pregnancy test.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA hot flush of dread swam through her. She didn't want to take the test. She didn't want to even \u003ci\u003elook\u003c\/i\u003e at it. But she needed to get it done. Then she could put it behind her and enjoy the trip. It would be a good anecdote for the plane. Liz and Maggie could poke fun at her feckless single lifestyle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe ripped open the box and scanned the instructions without reading a word. She knew the drill. Pee on a stick. Wait for three minutes, sweating.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe carried it to the en suite, irked to notice her hands were trembling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDo I even need a wee? she wondered, slipping down her knickers and crouching over the toilet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe held the pregnancy test between her legs. Closed her eyes. Tried to concentrate on relaxing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe'd been poised for only a moment when the door buzzer blared. \"Christ!\" she cried, leaping from the seat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe snapped up her knickers, then strode into the hallway, zipping up her trousers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's me!\" Liz's voice beamed through the intercom. \"I'm outside.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCourse Liz would be early.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You ready?\" she trilled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGlancing at the unused pregnancy test, she felt a bolt of irritation at Liz for arriving early-but, beneath that, Helena felt a sense of reprieve, of a bullet dodged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe pressed her mouth to the speaker. \"Ready.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e3\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMAGGIE\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaggie studied her daughter, watching her tiny fist gripping the crayon, the tip of her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOutside, gravel crunched beneath tires. Phoebe looked up, eyes large and round. A crease appeared on her otherwise smooth brow. \"Daddy?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaggie made sure her voice came out warm and bright. \"Yes.\" She glanced at the kitchen clock: he was an hour late. \u003ci\u003eArsehole\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't want to go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I know,\" Maggie said, opening her arms to the warmth and weight of Phoebe's body as she climbed into them. She pressed her face into her daughter's neck, inhaling the sweetness of her skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhoebe had never stayed at Aidan's. Maggie had put it off, citing the need for breastfeeding, and later co-sleeping, but now that Phoebe was three, Aidan had insisted that he finally have her overnight. It was fair, she knew that. She did. And Maggie wanted him and Phoebe to have a relationship-yet the thought of being apart from her was a physical, wrenching pain. There was something instinctive and primal about the need for her daughter's flesh to be pressed to hers, to feel her heartbeat each night through her cotton pajamas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat's why Norway had come at the right time. Maggie couldn't stay at home without Phoebe. Every corner of their rented cottage was lined with reminders of Phoebe: the farmhouse door covered with curling paintings; the pine table where they had milk and cookies in the afternoons; the giant beanbag they flopped in for story time; the windowsill where they'd planted cress in tiny pots made from newspapers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe heard the exhale of brakes as the car pulled to a stop in front of the house. The engine quieted. A door opened and closed. Footsteps on gravel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaggie pasted on a big smile as she carried Phoebe to the door, saying, \"You'll have such a fun week.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe doorbell rang.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaggie wrapped her fingers around the handle and steeled herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Auntie Helena!\" Phoebe beamed, wriggling out of Maggie's arms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHelena was standing in the doorway, in cropped black trousers and red lipstick, her dark bob sleek. She crouched low, opening her arms as Phoebe barreled into them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We thought you were Daddy!\" Phoebe cried.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh no. I'm much better-looking than Daddy.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBehind her, Liz, dressed in full hiking gear, stepped forward and gave Maggie a huge hug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHelena glanced up, eyebrow cocked. \"Not here yet?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLate\u003c\/i\u003e, Maggie mouthed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHelena rolled her eyes.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"I'm scared,\" Phoebe said, sidling even closer to Helena, fingers reaching for the gold horseshoe that hung from a delicate chain on her neck. \"Are you a pony?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not today, because ponies can't pass through airport security. But sometimes I am.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhoebe nodded sincerely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Now, tell me: why are you scared?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhoebe pointed at the bright purple case and folded duvet that waited in the hallway. A cuddly leopard was sitting guard on top. \"I'm going to Daddy's house. I might want to go home.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaggie felt her heart squeeze tight. She had to stop herself from reaching for Phoebe, telling her, \u003ci\u003eYou don't have to go. We'll stay here! Mummy won't leave!\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ah,\" Helena said, her expression matching Phoebe's seriousness. \"Yes, I have that feeling sometimes. In fact\"-she lowered her voice-\"I have that feeling right now.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In true life?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes, in true life. You see, Liz is making me go to Norway and camp in the mountains-and I've not done that before, and I'm a bit scared that I might want to go home.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhoebe tilted her head, considering Liz.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm not exactly making her...,\" Liz added.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhoebe looked unconvinced. After a moment, she strode to her case, plucked the stuffed leopard from its perch, and held it out to Helena. \"You can borrow Leopold.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaggie bit down on her bottom lip. Leopold was Phoebe’s favourite toy. She slept with him tucked beneath her chin, the fur on his collar worn thin from loving him so hard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, sweetheart,\" Helena said, \"you are the kindest. But Leopold might be nervous about staying somewhere new, too, so you need to look after him, okay?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Through the open door, they all turned to see Aidan’s red sports car crawling down the narrow lane. The paintwork. He’d hate to scratch the paintwork.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He parked behind Liz’s Ford and cut the engine. A moment later he stepped out with expansive arms and a huge beam. \"Phoebe!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Phoebe pressed herself against Maggie’s legs, tiny fingers bunching around the skirt of her lemon dress.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hello, Aidan,\" Maggie said, trying her hardest to smile and mean it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Maggie,\" he nodded. \"Liz. Helena.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Helena was watching him with the disdainful expression reserved just for him. It was something to do with the poise of her jaw line, her chin lifted just a few degrees higher than most people, giving the impression that she was literally looking down her nose at him. And in Aidan’s case, she was.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe scanned the exterior of Maggie’s terrace, and she could guess he’d be noticing the peeling paint where the render showed, or the overgrown window box she’d not had chance to weed. What he couldn’t see was the fun she and Phoebe had planting those flowers together, tucking seeds into secret earthy beds in the spring, and afterwards soaking their hands in a sink of warm water, popping soap bubbles with crescents of earth still pressed beneath their fingernails. Aidan had always seen mess where Maggie saw joy. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You all ready, trooper?\" he said, stepping forward and ruffling Phoebe’s hair. \"I’ve got a treat for you in the car!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eAlready with the counterfeit love,\u003c\/i\u003e Maggie thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Let’s get you buckled in,\" Maggie said bravely, scooping up Phoebe. She carried her to the car, pressing her love into her daughter, ingraining it, their bodies stamped with each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She fastened the belt as she told her, \"I love you so much, baby. I’ll miss you. Look after Leopold, okay?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Phoebe nodded. Then she whispered, \"Look after Auntie Helena. She’s scared of the mountains.\"","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302792155365,"sku":"NP9780593422670","price":28.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593422670.jpg?v=1767739799","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-hike-isbn-9780593422670","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}