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Back The Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. Acknowledgements
  66. Reading Group Questions
  67. Read More
  68. I
  69. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Romy read it from beginning to end – although she pretty much knew the nightmare words by heart, so often had she studied the letter, both in fact and in her mind. For a moment, as she sat on the edge of her bed, she had a strong desire to tear it up, burn it – as Michael had begged her to back then. But even with the future beckoning with such promise, she could not quite bring herself to destroy what she still considered unfinished business. By doing so, she felt she would be abdicating all responsibility – finally and for ever – for the unnamed girl.

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5

Finch walked the seven minutes home from Romy’s in a daze. It was pitch dark, and breezy, but he was unaware of anything except the frisson he’d felt just now, in Romy’s hall, her face almost touching his.

Arriving home, he slung his house keys onto the hall table and went through to the kitchen, turning the lights on as he went. All around him on the walls were photographs of Nell, some with her daughter, Grace, some with just himself, some of the three of them together. One photograph, in particular, framed in pale wood next to the oven, was his favourite. It was a headshot of Nell, taken on the beach at Climping on a glorious, shimmering-blue summer day. Her head was back, her short blonde hair ruffled by the breeze, her wide grey eyes squinting against the sun as she smiled exuberantly into the camera. It was the image Finch talked to – every day, after he’d first lost her – when he wanted to tell Nell something.

Finch had met Nell – a professional dancer who taught at a Brighton dance centre – on a train. She had lost her ticket and the whole carriage, especially Finch, became involved in the drama. By the time a volatile and dramatic Nell had dug it out of the zippered pocket of her bag – where she’d already looked for it a thousand times – Finch was completely hooked.

Now he went straight over to the photograph and stood, hands planted on the work surface, and stared at his wife.

‘OK.’ He took a deep breath. ‘This is serious, Nell.’ As he spoke, he could suddenly feel her all around him, hear her crazy laugh, her lively teasing, see her fluid dancer’s walk. ‘I very nearly kissed someone tonight,’ he said, almost as if he thought the woman – frozen for ever in time on the wall in front of him – might actually reply.