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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

He’d reached down on to the passenger seat for a bottle of water, opened it and dropped it in his lap as he approached the corner. Water went everywhere, spilling into the footwell where his sketch book was with the drawings he’d done of Diana.

Beautiful images of her face, her hands, her hair, all from memory, her features imprinted on his brain like photographs.

He’d leaned down to grab the bottle, trying to save the drawings, not realising his foot was pressing harder on the accelerator as he did. His arm had snagged on the headlights lever, flicking them on in the process. When he sat back up after finally grasping the bottle, he saw the hedges and the bend in the road, figured it would be better to take it at speed than risk skidding if he braked too hard.

Then he saw her.

And he had kept going.

He thought he had heard a dull thud, like he might have hit something, but he pushed the thought away. Because he couldn’t go back now.

Oh god, what had he done?

Just for a moment, a fleeting second of time, he had seen her and not reacted. He didn’t brake, didn’t swerve. Just kept going.

He knew it was her and had kept going.

Who did that? To their stepmother? Their family?

She’ll be fine. He didn’t hit her.

It wasn’t her. Just someone who looked like her.

That thud? It was nothing.

It’ll be fine.

16

THEN

We sit on the pool steps, dripping, laughing. The sky is darkening outside, the shadows lengthening across the tiled floor. She has her legs out in front of her, aimlessly kicking in the water. Droplets of water slide off the smooth skin of her legs.

I sit with my arms crossed over my belly, conscious of the roll that forms if I sit forward. “What was your other school like?” I ask her.

“It was just a regular state school. There were some nice kids, some not so nice. Not so different to where I am now, except that most of the kids didn’t have mansions and swimming pools. A bit more diverse too.”

“What do you mean by diverse?”

She shakes her head at me, like I’m a child asking a silly question.

“What about your friends?”

“Nice. I had a couple of close girlfriends – we stay in touch on the phone and write letters. My parents have said I can go and visit when my exams are over.”

“It must be hard coming into a new school this late in the year.”