The Lies We Told
Chapters (44)
Title Page
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Camilla Way 2018
Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photographs © Stephen Carroll/Trevillion Images (staircase), Jacinta Bernard/Trevillion Images (girl)
Camilla Way asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008159092
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008159085
Version: 2018-04-04
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
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
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading…
About the Author
Also by Camilla Way
About the Publisher
Dedication
For Albert and Sidney
1
Cambridgeshire, 1986
At first I mistook the severed head for something else. It wasn’t until I was very close that I realized it was Lucy. To begin with I thought the splash of yellow against the white of my pillow was a discarded sock, a balled-up handkerchief perhaps. It was only when I drew nearer and saw the delicate crest of feathers, the tiny, silent beak, that I fully understood. And suddenly I understood so much more: everything in that moment became absolutely clear.
‘Hannah?’ I whispered. A floorboard creaked in the hall beyond my bedroom door. My scalp tightened. ‘Hannah,’ louder now, yet with the same, fearful tremor in my voice, ‘is that you?’ No answer, but I felt her there, somewhere near; could feel her waiting, listening.
I didn’t want to touch my little bird’s head, could hardly bear to look at the thin, brown line of congealed blood where it had been sliced clean from the body, the half-open, staring eyes. I wondered if she’d been alive or dead when it happened, and started to feel sick.
When I went to Hannah’s bedroom she was standing by her window, looking down at the garden below. I said her name and she turned and regarded me, her beautiful dark eyes sombre, just a trace of a smile on her lips. ‘Yes, Mummy?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’
2
London, 2017