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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

She curses herself as she goes, curses herself for doubting Maureen and Patrick. Two parents who had proved time and again, year after year, how devoted they were to their little girl. She should have known them better. She knows, deep down, the past is always there, just under her skin. Life filtered through a lens of distrust is the best way of avoiding disappointment. But Maureen and Patrick are the first people who have ever proved her wrong. And surely that’s got to mean something.

NINETEEN

Out in the Fens the roads are long and straight. There’s often a camber each side which slopes into a grassy bank and then further still into a dyke, one side or the other, occasionally both. Through the windscreen of the bus, it looks as if the road is a giant grey play mat rolled out for a child to run toy cars up and down. The lumps and bumps in the road make Chloe’s stomach pitch up and down. Or perhaps that’s just nerves.

It’s been a while since the bus left Peterborough, crossing over one anonymous roundabout after another until the buildings faded away into flat countryside. From the A47 Chloe had spotted the lonely little Eel Catcher’s Cottage abandoned in the middle of a field, its thatched roof still withstanding the elements. On school trips to the coast, kids had made up stories about a wicked old woman who lived there and ate children for her supper.

The sky is bigger here. The grey clouds hang low, appearing, in the distance, to touch the tops of the trees that provide a windbreak for the crops – the only thing that breaks the Fenland for miles. The bus slows and stops to let people off as it passes through one village after another – Parsons Drove, Murrow – each little more than a string of bungalows with long neat gardens, interrupted only by the occasional empty petrol forecourt.

Chloe shuffles to the edge of her seat as a cluster of houses appears. She wonders each time if this village sign will read Low Drove, yet time and again she is disappointed – or perhaps a little relieved.

When she moves she feels the news cutting Hollie gave her crinkle inside her coat pocket. She’s brought it with her to make sure she’s got the right place. There it is again, that churning inside. Is today really the day she’s going to see Maureen and Patrick? Because that’s all she wants to do, just look. She’d already decided that before she left home. That’s why she didn’t take the same care when dressing. All she’s going to do is find the house, see where they live and perhaps – if she’s lucky – catch a shadow at the window, or a glimpse of them pottering in their garden.