The Lies We Told by Camilla Way (best book recommendations txt) 📕

pavements fairly busy with office and shop workers beginning their journeys home. She felt a stab of fear now that she was so close and for a moment contemplated turning back round again. Just then, a burst of evening sunlight penetrated the clouds, and the passersby lifted pleased, surprised faces to the sky. Surely nothing bad could happen here, in such a public place?

Encouraged, she walked on and when she entered the bar, she was relieved to see that at least half the tables were already taken. There was a low buzz of music and conversation in the air, and the barman smiled cheerfully at her as she approached. Her body tensed with anticipation and nerves, she scanned the room. There were no lone drinkers, male or female, and she relaxed a little, glad that out of the two of them it was she who had arrived first.

When she’d bought her drink, she chose a seat that gave her a good view of the street—close enough to the large plate glass window to be able to see people as they approached. The minutes passed slowly. Six o’clock became six fifteen, then twenty past. Restlessly she glanced around. It was a nice place, simply decked out without any of the self-consciously hip touches so many bars in the area were afflicted by: no ironic taxidermy on the wall, no neon flamingos, or jam jars used as cocktail glasses. Just an ordinary bar with an unpretentious, after-work crowd. She settled back into her seat and continued to wait, her eyes fixed on the door.

It was quarter to seven before she finally admitted to herself she’d been stood up. The disappointment crushed her. She realized at that moment that the biting anxiety she’d felt since Luke disappeared had been temporarily lifted a little by the prospect of finally meeting Emily, and it was only now, as she slowly and despondently began to gather her coat and bag, that she realized how desperately she’d wanted it to be true. The despair she’d been feeling since the day Luke had gone missing returned now with renewed strength; everything seemed entirely hopeless once more.

Just then, the sound of smashing glass turned her attention to the bar, where she saw the guy who’d served her earlier looking down at a dropped tray. He grinned ruefully at her when their eyes met, and she smiled her sympathy back. When she turned back to her table, it was to find a woman standing in front of her and she jumped in surprise.

“Clara?” the woman said, and then, with a quick, tentative smile, added, “It is you, isn’t it?”

The stranger was so unmistakably Luke’s sister that at first Clara could only stare at her in stunned silence. She was slim and slightly younger looking than her thirty-seven years, strikingly attractive, and dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans. Her hair, thick and dark like her brother’s, framed a finely featured face that had large brown eyes the replica of Luke’s. Even their mouths, with their wide, full lips, were identical. “Oh,” said Clara, jumping to her feet, “oh my goodness, it’s you, isn’t it, it’s really you!” She wanted to hug Emily, but she seemed so nervous, as though she might bolt at any moment, that she just stood, drinking her in.

When they’d sat down, Clara gave a shaky laugh. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Emily’s voice was low and soft, with the same gentle middle-class Suffolk accent as her brother’s. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, before adding anxiously, “You didn’t tell my parents you were meeting me?”

Clara shook her head. “No.”

“You told no one? Are you sure?”

For a split second Mac’s face flashed into her mind, but before she could even process the thought, she heard herself say, “No. I promise. I didn’t tell a soul.”

At this, Emily relaxed a fraction, though she continued to scan the room with quick nervous glances.

What was she so scared of? Clara wondered, because there was no doubt about it: Emily certainly seemed afraid of something. She was like a tightly wound spring, as though at any moment she might jump out of her chair and run off into the night. “Would you like a drink?” Clara asked, the normalcy of the question sounding utterly surreal in the circumstances.

“No. No, thank you, I’m afraid I can’t stay long.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and the smile that flickered across her lips was one of such sweetness that Clara smiled back.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said.

“When I saw you on the news, I couldn’t believe it . . . that it was my brother you were talking about.” Emily shook her head in wonder. “When they showed his picture . . . Seeing him again after all these years, all grown up . . .” Her eyes swam, and instinctively Clara reached over and put a hand on hers. “I’ve missed out on most of his life. He was ten years old when I last saw him and I’ve thought about him every single day since. When I saw you, I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t not contact you.”

Clara was about to reply when Emily leaned down and pulled something from her bag. “I have something to show you,” she said, handing her a small, creased photograph.

Clara gazed at the faded picture in amazement. It was of Luke aged about four, wearing stripy pajamas and a huge toothy grin. Behind him stood Emily, a gangly, pretty girl of around twelve, her arms wrapped tightly around her brother’s shoulders, her smile a replica of his. In the background was the living room of the Willows, its walls painted an unfamiliar green.

“Oh my goodness,” Clara murmured.

“I carry it with me everywhere,” Emily said. “And this one too.” She passed her a second picture, which showed herself aged about fourteen or so and standing between a smiling, much younger-looking Rose and Oliver in the back garden of the Willows, both of them with a glass of champagne in their hands. They looked so relaxed