BooksBarbecue
Back The Imposter
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

She lies on her bed in the evening light. Maureen has left Puss on her pillow again. The clocks went forward last weekend and hope lingers at the end of each day now. Not for Chloe anymore. She could leave, she knows she could. She could just pack up her things and go. But – she looks out of the window, across the tops of the trees that disguise the garden in these desolated fields – something keeps her here. Maureen? Her unwavering belief that Chloe is her missing daughter? Or is it what had pulled her to Elm House in the first place: a search for truth? Everything is so blurred now, it’s impossible to tell.

She leans over the side of the bed and fishes underneath for her archive. Her hand sweeps dusty floorboards, a pair of old trainers, nothing else. She leans further off the bed, waiting to feel her fingertips touch the box, but instead there is a space where it should be. She slides off the bed, looks underneath, all the way back to the wall. Her heart is gripped with panic. She is on her belly now, frantically pushing aside the trainers, a few discarded magazines. There is no box. She pulls herself out. Scans her room. Did she leave it out? Might it have been found? But the shoebox is nowhere to be seen. She stands, circling the floor. Her head is pounding now. She strides back to her bed, strips off the duvet. Has it become tangled inside it? She strips the bed all the way back to the mattress, but it isn’t there. She throws the pillow onto the floor. She opens the cupboard of the bedside table, nothing. She pulls out the bed. She looks down the gap between the bed and the window. The box is gone. Her archive is gone.

Her archive is gone.

Her heart is pounding as she reaches for the door handle. The sweat on her hands makes it turn inside her palm. She’s trapped, she thinks, just for an instant. But then the door releases and the air on the landing is cooler, and downstairs the same old sounds float back up to her.

‘Is everything all right, Chloe?’ Maureen says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘I heard some banging up there . . . ooh, you do look pale.’

Chloe wipes her hands on her clothes. ‘No . . . no, everything is . . . I’m OK. I mean, it’s OK. There’s nothing.’