The Lie

THE LIE A COMPLETELY UNPUTDOWNABLE AND HEART-POUNDING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER KATHRYN CROFT BOOKS BY KATHRYN CROFT The Lie The Suspect The Warning Silent Lies While You Were Sleeping The Girl You Lost The Girl With No Past The Lying Wife The Neighbour Upstairs The Other Husband The Mother’s Secret CONTENTS PART ONE Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 PART TWO Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 PART THREE Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 The Girl with No Past Prologue One Hear More from Kathryn Books by Kathryn Croft A Letter from Kathryn The Suspect The Warning Silent Lies While You Were Sleeping The Girl You Lost Acknowledgements * For Gosia and Joanna Dwie wspaniałe kobiety PART ONE “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - Emily Dickinson, ‘“Hope” is the thing with feathers’ ONE LUCY We all have secrets, don’t we? Things we want kept hidden, even from ourselves. Never run away, they say. It might work for a while, but sooner or later whatever it is we’ve escaped will catch up with us. And then things can only get worse. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Tom’s voice catches me off guard, causing me to jolt round so that coffee from my mug sloshes onto the floor. It’s barely five in the morning, and, other than me, nobody in the house stirs before seven. Especially on a Sunday. This quiet stretch of time is sacred, a brief respite before I’m plunged into the day. I grab a cloth and wipe away the dark brown puddle. ‘I was just about to clear up outside,’ I say, standing up and nodding towards the garden, where litter from yesterday evening’s barbeque remains strewn across the lawn. Despite the mess unnerving me, my lips form a smile. It was a successful evening; everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. It was a step towards becoming part of this community. Tom stands beside me and nods. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t want us to deal with it last night.’ ‘Hmm. I’m regretting that this morning.’ How different the garden looks in the aftermath: wretched and neglected. The newly blossomed peonies in the raised beds do nothing to detract from the mess. ‘Leave it for now, Lucy, I’ll help you later. Go back to bed for a bit. It’s Sunday.’ Tom chuckles. ‘How’s your head? You were putting them away last night. I didn’t even hear you come to bed.’ ‘I’m fine,’ I say, too defensively. Although I don’t tell him I can’t face the thought of breakfast. And I’ll probably avoid lunch later too. ‘It’s just not like you to drink like that,’ Tom continues. ‘You mean you can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself?’ I deliver a light punch to his arm. ‘Are you saying I’ve become dull and middle-aged?’ He drapes his arm across my shoulders. ‘No, not at all. You’ve been so focused on the move. Setting up the business. And the kids, of course. It was nice to see you relaxing for a change. And I would have joined you if I hadn’t been on those.’ He points to the bottle of antibiotics on the worktop. But I hadn’t been relaxed, even with alcohol loosening me up. I was watching Ava like a hawk, scrutinising everything she did. Or didn’t do. Tom thinks now that we’ve moved, we can all rid ourselves of the past, as easily as pushing a switch. That along with a new life for all of us, this is a new me. ‘Are you happy being here?’ I ask, turning to face him, so he knows this conversation is serious. ‘Do you miss London?’ He pulls me closer. ‘No. I still work there so it hasn’t been too much of a change. Except that it’s far more peaceful here. And greener, of course. Brighter. We actually know our neighbours here.’ Despite his assurances, a sliver of guilt rushes through me. ‘I know I’ve thrown myself into the business. You’ve hardly seen me lately. But it’s Easter.’ Tom seems to understand that there are peaks and troughs in the floristry business, and that I have to capitalise on the moments when business floods in. He never complains when I’m shut in the greenhouse or my workshop for days on end, or in the cutting garden, visible yet out of reach. We uprooted our lives for me to do this, so I’m determined to make it work. Of course, this isn’t the only reason we’ve moved from London to Surrey, but the other one I force from my mind. Tom opens a cupboard and pulls out a mug. He’s not going back to bed, then, despite his suggestion that I should. ‘It’s fine, Lucy,’ he says. ‘You’re not the only one who’s been busy with work. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty. The kids do their own thing most of the time anyway. It’s not like they’re little and want to be with us all the time. It can’t stay that way forever, can it?’ He squeezes my shoulder. ‘Moving here was the right thing for all of us.’ ‘Especially Ava.’ He nods. ‘She barely spoke to anyone at the barbeque,’ I say. ‘Even though I invited several parents from her year. She just didn’t join in with those kids.’ Tom shrugs. ‘She’s just shy. We know that. It doesn’t mean anything.’ His words cause me to