Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
It had taken a while for the driveway to empty. Maureen’s legs had gone from underneath her just moments after she had given Patrick the news, which had meant that everyone’s attention had been directed towards getting Maureen back inside and onto the sofa. She sits there now alongside her husband, whispering something over and over into a scrunched-up tissue in her hand. Chloe can’t quite make out what.
The living room is more cramped than Chloe has ever known it. There are two detectives here – one who sits in Patrick’s chair, the other standing – and two uniformed officers. They are here only to keep the press away, and when they’d said this, Chloe’s stomach had turned underneath her clothes. But no journalists have turned up yet at Elm House.
The uniformed officers turn down the volume on their radios, and Chloe sees one of the detectives nod at them. They leave the living room and go into the kitchen, offering to make tea.
When they’ve left, the standing detective pulls up a pouffe in front of the sofa and sits down with Maureen and Patrick. She’s young, not much older than Chloe, she reckons. Her knees are almost touching Maureen’s as she sits on the pouffe. Her voice is gentle when she speaks.
‘Mr Kyle, I know this must be a huge shock—’
‘Wait, let me just stop you there,’ Patrick says. Since Maureen collapsed in his arms on the drive, he hasn’t taken a hand off her, he hasn’t said a word. Now he holds her, as if propping her up under his right arm, his left hand holding hers in his. Maureen leans into his chest – just like she did in those photographs in 1979 – the two of them immediately resuming the poses they’d assumed for the cameras back when Angie disappeared, some instinct to get through this the only way they know how, a muscle memory instantly flexed. Patrick drops Maureen’s hand for a second, though he keeps his other arm tight around her waist. He wipes his face and then, taking a deep breath, says to the detective, ‘What do you mean, Angela’s been found?’
The detective moves an inch closer. When she speaks, her voice is almost a whisper.
‘We’re sorry to inform you that a body believed to be that of a four-year-old girl was discovered in some undergrowth this morning.’
A body? Chloe leans against the sideboard to steady herself. She feels Angie looking down from the shelf, witnessing this whole scene unfold, but she can’t turn around and face her. She can’t bear to meet her eyes. A body means Angie is dead.