Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- Dedication
- KARLA
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Epilogue
- The Affair
- Hear more from Sheryl
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- A Letter from Sheryl
- The Babysitter
- The Second Wife
- Acknowledgements
She has a hand to her throat. It’s bruised and sore. ‘Karla,’ she croaks, her voice raw. She is crying, upset, stepping towards me, reaching out for me.
Who is she? I back away.
‘Karla!’ she cries, desperation in her voice.
Clamping my hands over my ears, I don’t answer. I am not listening. I don’t want to hear. I can’t listen to any more lies. I can’t.
‘I did it to protect you!’ she calls, following me into the hall as I turn to flee.
‘Liar! You did it to protect you!’ I scream, pausing to glare at her as I thunder up the stairs. ‘Was it worth it? All the secrets you kept, the lies you told, the people you sacrificed so you could feather your fucking nest, was it worth it?’
‘Karla, please… Let me explain.’
‘No!’ I keep going, past my parents’ room and the room beyond it, which became mine, and on up to the third floor, where I bang open the door to a room that has rarely been ventured into since the funeral. As I hear my mother hurrying along the landing, I turn the key in the lock. It’s a sturdy lock. It will keep her out for a while. I wish I’d turned the key all those years ago. I wish I could turn back the clock.
And be with me? Sarah asks hopefully.
I don’t know, I answer silently. I don’t fit anywhere. I’ve no idea who I am. Who anyone is. I don’t want to be… anywhere.
‘Karla,’ Mum says tremulously outside.
Ignoring her, I head for the window. Sarah and I used to look out over the park from here, telling stories of charming princes and wicked witches, sharing our dreams.
The sharp wind cuts through me as I throw the window open. The heavy rain that’s now steadily falling spatters my face. I can’t stand outside without stooping any more, but I can sit comfortably enough on the wide window ledge. The man who thought he was my father said he would build a balcony here, once, so we could all eat together, looking out over the park. He said he wanted to do it himself at the weekends. He never did. He was always too busy nursing his hangovers on Sundays.
Shifting slightly, once I’ve lowered myself, I clutch my knees tight to my chest and rest my head. I can see Sarah, smell her, smell my mother’s Poison perfume. We would sneak into her bedroom and steal a spray sometimes.