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Back The Lies We Told Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Table of Contents
  4. Dedication
  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. Acknowledgements
  41. Keep Reading…
  42. About the Author
  43. Also by Camilla Way
  44. About the Publisher

There was one incident that has always stuck with me. When she was twelve, a new neighbour popped round to introduce herself. She came in and I made us both a cup of tea. I remember feeling so pleased, because the rest of the villagers ignored us, more or less. When she left, I said goodbye to her at the door and turned to find Hannah standing on the stairs, watching us. She saw me notice her and made her way to the kitchen to get herself a glass of milk. I thought nothing of it at the time, but later that day while I was in my room I heard the sound of her voice.

When I went to investigate I looked through the crack of her door to see her standing in front of her mirror, talking to herself. ‘Goodbye now, Carol, so nice of you to call round,’ she said. It was exactly what I’d said to the neighbour a few hours before. She practised it over and over until she had the intonation, the inflexion, just right. ‘Goodbye now, Carol, so nice of you to call round!’ She copied the exact way I’d smiled, the little wave I’d given. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Did I know what she was back then? Could I have stopped her? Years later, of course, at Hannah’s trial, they had no hesitation in using the term I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud. Sociopath. That’s what their expert witness called her, that beautiful summer’s day, the afternoon light pooling through the small, rather dingy windows while she stood in the dock awaiting sentencing. But when she was still a young child, I prayed that I was wrong about her; that she’d grow out of her problems, that it would somehow all go away. And for those five years she behaved herself. She kept out of trouble. I suppose I allowed myself to hope that it would all somehow be OK.

16

London, 2017

Turning the corner into Great Eastern Street, Clara saw the Octopus Bar ahead of her and slowed her pace, suddenly gripped with nerves. Perhaps Mac had been right: perhaps she was crazy to do this alone. ‘What if it’s the nutcase who’s been stalking Luke?’ he’d pleaded. ‘It’s too risky. Let me go, please, Clara – let me go instead, just to make sure.’