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

I have to ask because it might help us find Luke. I can’t help thinking . . . it’s such a coincidence that first you disappeared, and now Luke too. . . . I thought maybe the two might be linked. They’re not, though, are they? I mean, they can’t possibly be . . . ?”

Emily’s gaze held Clara’s for a beat or two, her expression unreadable. Finally she said, “Is that what my parents think too?”

Clara shook her head in surprise. “I don’t know.”

Emily looked away. “No,” she said. “They aren’t linked.”

Just then, a group of men in business suits came through the door on a wave of noise and cold air. It was dark in the street now. The lights inside the bar burned brighter, the atmosphere deepening into something more raucous and drunken. Emily glanced nervously around her. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ve stayed too long. I have to get back. . . .”

“So soon?” Clara asked in dismay.

“I’m sorry.” Emily got up. “I have a very long journey.”

“But where are you going back to?” Clara asked desperately, getting to her feet too. “Where do you live?”

She turned away without answering, and Clara picked up her things and hurried after her into the street. They stopped and regarded each other. “I’d like to meet you again—if you want to?” Emily said.

“Yes,” said Clara eagerly. “Yes, please. You can message me anytime.”

At this, Emily reached over and surprised her by taking both her hands in hers. “Clara, I can trust you, can’t I?” she said. “When I saw you on the news, I felt that I could trust you. I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

She shook her head, unable to look away from Emily’s gaze, its quiet intensity reminding her suddenly so much of Tom. “No,” she said, “you weren’t wrong.” Then, as she watched, Emily pulled her hood up so that it half obscured her face. “I better go,” she said, shooting quick, tense glances at passersby. “I’ll be in touch.” And without another word she set off, slipping away through the crowd. Clara watched her go, adrenaline shooting through her now that their meeting was over. But then something strange caught her eye. Just before she lost sight of Emily completely, Clara saw, or thought she saw, someone who looked very much like Mac. He was walking just behind Emily—in fact, as Clara strained to see, it almost looked as though the two were in step, as if, in fact, they were walking side by side. A moment later they turned off down a side street and disappeared, swallowed by the London night.

She stood staring after them in confusion. Surely it couldn’t have been Mac? That made no sense at all. At last she turned away and, finding her phone, clicked through her contacts until she found his number. But when she rang, it went straight to voice mail. She listened to the answerphone message in surprise. He’d said he’d be waiting for her to call, desperate to hear how it went. Why, then, was he not picking up? Eventually she put her phone back in her bag and began walking back toward the tube. It can’t have been Mac, she decided finally. It was pretty dark and the street had been crowded; she must have been mistaken. She’d go straight to his place now and then she’d know it hadn’t been him.

Now that she was away from Emily, her anxiety at keeping something so momentous from Rose and Oliver returned. Could she really do it? What had Emily meant when she said it would be dangerous for her to go back to them? It made no sense. Guilt nagged at her. But perhaps Emily was right that everyone’s focus needed to be on Luke now, and it was true it wasn’t Clara’s place to break the news to Rose and Oliver if Emily wanted to do it herself. Plus, Emily had promised she’d go to her parents as soon as Luke was found. It was so hard to know what to do for the best, but finally she came to a decision. She would give Emily a week. Whatever happened in that week—and she hoped to God they would find Luke—she would tell Rose and Oliver herself if it looked like Emily wouldn’t. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to give Rose and Oliver false hope, tell them she had found their long-lost daughter only for her to disappear off the face of the earth again—that surely would be too heartbreaking for them. No, she would keep quiet for now. Hopefully she’d see Emily again soon and be able to unravel a little more of the mystery then.

When she reached Old Street, she paused, gazing off toward the station in the distance. A group of laughing teenage girls clattered past her in high heels, followed by a drunk man weaving along in the gutter behind them, clutching a can of cider. A cool breeze picked up. Across the road was the narrow side street that led to Hoxton Square. She hadn’t been back to her flat for five days and she longed to go home suddenly: to the quiet and privacy of her own space, to be surrounded by her own things, to take a shower and make a cup of tea and take stock of everything that had happened without feeling she was encroaching on anyone else, hospitable as Mac was. And what if Luke had come back while she’d been away? What if he had phoned or written or left a message? Before she knew it, she found herself crossing the road at a run.

It was past eight now, the square’s bars and restaurants busy, clusters of people standing outside them, smoking and chatting in the cool spring air. When she reached her building, she glanced up at its three rows of windows and paused. Only the first floor showed signs of life: electric light shining through the gaps in the curtains, the shadow of a figure crossing the room. The Japanese couple who