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Back The Imposter Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. ANNA WHARTON
  3. Dedication page
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  54. Praise
  55. THE IMPOSTER

Maureen told Chloe that Patrick took early retirement from an engineering firm in the city before they moved out here, and coupled with the sale of their house and a decent pension, they have enough to live on. Renting this room gives them a little extra so they can afford treats, and when she’d told her Chloe had resisted the urge to look around their shabby kitchen and wonder what they might be. It’s not a glamorous place, she knows it never will be. A little sign hangs on the wall beside the clock, in the kitchen. Another hope sign. This time it’s an acronym: H.O.P.E. Hold On Pain Ends. She’s seen Maureen straighten it once or twice as if each time she does might bring her closer to believing it.

Chloe goes upstairs to her room, familiar now with each floorboard that creaks on the landing. Out of the window at the top of the stairs, the flat Fens spread all the way back to the village and miles beyond the willow tree. She’s learnt over the last week that wildlife is their neighbour out here. Just last night a barn owl flew right into the back garden and perched on the edge of the outhouse roof. She and Maureen had got up and watched it from the patio doors. It sat there for at least ten minutes, blinking back at them with big black eyes.

‘In the old house I used to find white feathers every now and then,’ Maureen had said quietly, so as not to disturb the owl. ‘Just out of nowhere, you know?’

Chloe had nodded.

‘They say they’re left by angels, but if that’s so and it was Angie leaving them . . .’

Her sentence trailed off and Chloe had reached for her hand because that’s what people do in films. She knew what Maureen was trying to say but Chloe found it hard to think that she really thought Angie might be dead. She’d never given that impression in the cuttings.

Maureen talks more about Angie now. It’s as if Chloe being here has brought her daughter back to this new home. The dead flies are gone from this windowsill, and now there’s a little photograph of Angie in a mother of pearl frame. As she reaches the top of the stairs, Chloe picks it up. It’s one she never saw in the newspaper cuttings. She’s aged around three or four. Her finger runs the length of her orange summer smock dress with mustard-yellow flowers, then across the child’s smile. She puts it back and it falls face down. For a moment she thinks to leave it there, then walks back to return it to standing.