I Know Who You Were

CopyrightPublished by ConstableISBN: 978-1-40871-725-7All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.Copyright © Steven Savile, 2023The moral right of the author has been asserted.All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.ConstableLittle, Brown Book GroupCarmelite House50 Victoria EmbankmentLondon EC4Y 0DZwww.littlebrown.co.ukwww.hachette.co.uk ContentsCopyrightDedicationNowChapter: OneChapter: TwoChapter: ThreeChapter: FourChapter: FiveChapter: SixChapter: SevenChapter: EightChapter: NineChapter: TenChapter: ElevenChapter: TwelveChapter: ThirteenChapter: FourteenChapter: FifteenChapter: SixteenChapter: SeventeenChapter: EighteenChapter: NineteenChapter: TwentyChapter: Twenty-OneChapter: Twenty-TwoChapter: Twenty-ThreeChapter: Twenty-FourChapter: Twenty-FiveChapter: Twenty-SixChapter: Twenty-SevenChapter: Twenty-EightChapter: Twenty-NineChapter: ThirtyChapter: Thirty-OneChapter: Thirty-TwoChapter: Thirty-ThreeChapter: Thirty-FourChapter: Thirty-FiveChapter: Thirty-SixChapter: Thirty-SevenChapter: Thirty-EightChapter: Thirty-NineChapter: FortyChapter: Forty-OneChapter: Forty-TwoChapter: Forty-ThreeChapter: Forty-FourChapter: Forty-FiveChapter: Forty-SixChapter: Forty-SevenAcknowledgements This one is for the survivors of thatStamford Green School Trip.Into the wilds all those years ago … NowI gagged on a mouthful of brackish water.The rain came down, tears of damnation from a blackhearted sky.I stumbled deeper into the water.On the bank, somewhere behind me, she howled at me, her words losing all shape beneath the wild wind. I wasn’t listening. I didn’t care. I had to get to them.The storm had robbed the day of its last few hours, and the night threatened to rob me of everything I loved.I ran until I couldn’t run, stumbled until I couldn’t stumble, and still I kept on going, plunging forward as a streak of lightning split the sky. Those blinding electric-blue forks froze the world around me. All the ugliness of it was trapped in the those tines, the stark angles and the contrast of deep shadow that gathered around the monster and the woman I loved, too far away to save.I sank deeper into the water, fear flooding through my senses until the only thing I felt was cold. And still I kicked and swam and dragged myself on, deeper into the lake, still so far from the other side.The rain lashed at the bleak landscape, hiding so much of it from me.Shouting and sirens were muffled beneath the storm.I swallowed water with every step I took.I had to get there, to them, to the LAST WEEKONEI can’t imagine having to make my entire life up.Think about it.The sheer amount of energy it would take is mind blowing.We’re this patchwork of life lived – all these random experiences that simply happen to us and around us. They dent us and shape us and eventually we become this person at the end of it. I’m not just talking about the big stuff either, the divorces and the broken hearts as well as the broken bones, or the whole nurture versus nature argument and how we’re all products of our environment.It’s the stupid stuff that ends up defining who we are.Like the fact I put the maple syrup on my plate before I put the pancakes down. It’s a nothing detail, but I always do it the same way. I do it because I’ve always done it.Then there’s the stuff of our souls. I still listen to bands no one remembers because this girl that fourteen-year-old me was hopelessly in love with loved them. ‘Love is a Wonderful Colour’ is right up there at the top of my favourite songs with ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’, just because she played them for me once and said they were the most beautiful songs she’d ever heard. She was over-the-top enthusiastic about everything, and it all came