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Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Dawn Goodwin
  3. WHAT I NEVER TOLD YOU
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. Dedication
  7. Prologue
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. Acknowledgements
  55. About the Author
  56. An Invitation from the Publisher

Lydia watched Helen at the head of the table, sitting with her back straight, picking at her food like she was Victoria Beckham, when Lydia knew she liked to stuff her face with anything she could find when she thought no one was looking. Lydia had seen the wrappers in the bin, the crumbs on her shirt.

Most of the time Helen didn’t notice Lydia was there.

None of them did.

That’s the thing with being the quiet one. They all looked through her, like she was clingfilm. And if they couldn’t see her, then they mistakenly thought she couldn’t see them, so Lydia became insignificant. Out of sight, out of mind.

Except that Lydia did see and hear everything.

She saw them all very clearly. What they were hiding. The parts of themselves they were desperate to conceal or deny. Like the fact that Mills had bottles of vodka stashed under her bed and liked to lean out of her bedroom window and exhale cigarette smoke into the night air. Sometimes Lydia sneaked into Mills’ room and poured some of the vodka down the sink, replacing it with water. Yesterday she had stolen a cigarette from the pack in Mills’ bedside table, and had coughed and puffed at it until she felt dizzy and sick. Mills never noticed. Because Lydia was invisible.

Even Matt, her own brother, who spent hours online practically stalking one of the girls at his art college, greedily consuming every tiny movement of her social media feeds, following her on Snap Map, salivating over her Insta stories. It was beyond creepy.

And Helen – well, Helen had quite a few things hidden away. Secrets that she didn’t want exposed.

The only one who seemed to be transparent and true to himself was her father.

Lydia wished they would all see her.

But then she would remind herself that part of the fun of being invisible was that you tended to be underestimated.

And that was a powerful position to hold.

4

THEN

Shouting, shoving, banter around us as we stand in the bus queue outside the front of the school, the relief of being released from the classroom tangible as we wait. The sun is still warm on my face, September being kind, and I can smell the sea on the breeze, but the chill is lurking in the background now that summer is over. My last year in school ahead of me. Decisions to be made, exams to be written, a life to be mapped out.