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About the Author

LISA HALL loves words, reading and everything there is to love about books. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl and, after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.

Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor

Booklist

Also by Lisa Hall

Between You and Me

Tell Me No Lies

The Party

Title Page

Praise

PRAISE FOR LISA HALL

‘This is an unrelenting and scarily plausible story weaved expertly around some very real characters. Good luck putting it down . . .’

Heat

‘Compelling, addictive . . . brilliant!’

B A Paris

‘A dark, compelling read that demands to be read in one sitting.’

Sam Carrington

‘An addictive read.’

Closer

‘This is a fast-paced book, and with twists up until the final page, you won’t regret investing in it.’

Woman Magazine

Dedication

To Nat, Charch and Christie . . .

#solesisters

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

The fire crackles as the flames leap into the frigid November air, sending out showers of sparks. The wooden pallets that have been piled high by volunteering parents, eagerly giving up their Saturday afternoon, crumple and sag as they burn. The guy – the star of this cold, clear Bonfire Night – is long gone now, his newspaper-stuffed belly and papier mâché head only lasting a matter of seconds, the crowd cheering as his features catch alight, feeding the frenzy of the flames.

My breath steams out in front of me, thick plumes of white that match the smoke that rises from the bonfire, but I am not cold, my hands are warm and my cheeks flushed pink. The crowd of parents, teachers and children, five or six deep in some places, that gathers in the muddy field behind the school are transfixed as the first of the fireworks shoots into the sky, before sending a spectacular display of colours raining down through the night air. I watch as she keeps her gaze fixed onto the display, the heat of the bonfire casting an orange glow across her features, her hat pushed back on her head, so her view isn’t obstructed. For a moment I feel a tiny twinge of guilt – after all, none of this is really her fault – before I remember why I’m doing this, and I bat it away impatiently.

All I need to do now, is wait. Wait for the realisation to dawn on her face, for the fear to grip her heart and make her stomach flip over as she realises what has happened. For her to realise that Laurel is gone.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1