Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Copyright
- Praise for The Lie
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Keep Reading
- Acknowledgements
- Book Club Questions for The Lie by C.L. Taylor
- A Conversation With C.L. Taylor
- About the Author
- Also by C.L. Taylor
- About the Publisher
We stand on the edge of the cliff for the longest time, staring into the dark drop beneath us. For the first hundred metres, spiky flowers and straggling plants cling to the mountain, but then they too are swallowed up by the inky blackness below.
“I thought she was going to stab you,” Al says, her voice no louder than a whisper. “I never meant … I can’t believe …”
“I know.” I should reach for her hand, I should put an arm around her, I should do something to comfort her, but I can’t shake the feeling that, if I did, I’d put my arm straight through her. She isn’t real; neither of us is real.
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“If we report it, I’ll go to jail. Have you got any idea what jail’s like over here?”
“It was an accident, Al.”
“No one’s going to believe that.” She looks at me. Her skin is pinched and ashen and her lips are chapped and blue, but it’s her dull, glassy eyes that worry me the most. They are as lifeless as a doll’s. “Gabe’s dead. Johan’s stabbed. Daisy and Isaac are gone. There will be an investigation. It’ll all come out. Someone at Ekanta Yatra will ask questions. And if they don’t, Leanne certainly will.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, but, even as the words leave my mouth, I know she’s right.
There’s no way of reporting Isaac and Daisy’s deaths without the truth coming out. Daisy didn’t deserve to die, but Al doesn’t deserve to go to jail. What’s going to happen if Leanne, or someone at Ekanta Yatra, gets in touch with the police?
“There’s no proof we did anything.” I lower my voice. “Johan killed Gabe, not us. We didn’t kill Isaac, either; and as for Daisy … there won’t be any evidence that you pushed her over the cliff.” I feel sick, even as I say it. “Al, you said it yourself. You thought Daisy was going to stab me.”
“We could try to make our way down there,” she says, but there’s no conviction in her voice, no feeling behind the sentiment. Daisy is dead but neither of us wants to be the one to say the words, because then they’re out there, they’re real, her death is real.