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

She was right, of course. She knew that the secret she held over us ensured that we would never try to force the issue. We were too afraid of what she’d do, and she understood that only too well.

Little by little, the scruffy, shapeless T-shirts and tracksuit bottoms disappeared to be replaced with miniskirts and tight, low-cut tops; she would often go out with her face plastered inexpertly in makeup. It terrified me. Sometimes the police would bring her back, drunk or high. There they’d stand in our living room, describing how they’d found her at a squat party they’d searched for drugs, or hitching home alone at night, or getting stoned at bus stops with God knows who.

She loved that, the police involvement. Absolutely loved it. She’d watch us with her kohl-lined eyes, a smirk on her face, while the police officers sat in our living room reminding us that she was a minor, that it was our responsibility to ensure she didn’t come to harm. She knew how terrified we were of them, that she could blow open our secret there and then with just a few choice words. And I would think of my sleeping boy upstairs beneath his Star Wars duvet and grit my teeth and say, “Yes, Officer, we’re sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I grew used to the hostile looks from my neighbors, who no doubt thought it was all our fault, that if she were their child, they would have done things differently. No doubt they would have, but they didn’t have to deal with someone like Hannah, someone utterly devoid of conscience or love for us, someone who wouldn’t think twice about exposing us if we really tried to force her hand.

Eventually, filled with a burning shame and dismay, I took to leaving packets of condoms in her underwear drawer when I knew that she was out. She caught me only once. I turned to find her watching me from her bedroom door, the expression on her face one of amused enjoyment at my discomfort.

We thought of moving away, but what would have been the point? The situation would have stayed the same wherever we went. And we liked our village. We both worked in the area—I had found a job at the medical center in the next town, resuming the nursing job I’d had before Hannah came along, and I loved it there, situated as it was far away enough for no one to know me, or Hannah. Besides, we’d had to leave our home, fleeing my childhood village, once before. I couldn’t face doing it again.

There were many, many nights that Doug and I spent driving around the nearest towns looking for her, Toby, wrapped in his duvet, sleeping in the back. They were dark and desperate times; I was convinced that we’d eventually find her left for dead in the street. I was permanently terrified for her; I lost almost two stone, the knot of fear that seemed always to lie in the pit of my stomach preventing me from eating. But though those months were unbearable, she always stopped just short of going too far, staying just enough out of trouble to ensure that the police and social services never followed through with their many threats to remove her from our care. She was smart enough to know that if that happened, the freedom that her hold over us afforded her would be curtailed. And besides, she had bigger fish to fry, as we were soon to find out.

—

It was an ordinary morning, not long after she’d turned sixteen. Toby, who was ten by then, was getting ready to walk to school. I was dressed in my nurse’s uniform in preparation for another shift, and Doug was clearing the breakfast things away. I didn’t even look up when she came into the room, though I was surprised she was out of bed. She had finished school without passing any of her exams and, having flatly refused to re-sit them, spent her days at home, rarely surfacing before noon as she slept off the night before. I remember I glanced at Doug, and my first hint that something was wrong was the expression of astonishment on his face. It was then that I turned and looked at my daughter.

Of all the awful things she had shocked us with over the past couple of years, nothing could have prepared me for how she looked that morning. Because it was an entirely different girl who stood before me now. Her usual rat’s-nest hair was clean and neatly brushed. And though I had assumed she’d long ago thrown out all the nice clothes I’d bought her, today she was dressed in a pretty coral-colored jumper and a plain, knee-length denim skirt. Her makeup was subtle, the black nail varnish removed, as were the nose ring and multiple ear studs she’d taken to wearing lately.

She didn’t look at us as she made herself some toast. Doug, Toby, and I stared at one another in mute disbelief.

“Hannah,” I finally said nervously. “You look very nice today.”

She looked up then, but though she raised her eyebrows mockingly, she didn’t reply.

“Going somewhere?” Doug asked.

“Nowhere special,” she said. We watched as she finished her breakfast, and then she got up and left the house. I didn’t find out for a long time what she was up to. And when I did, it was far too late to stop her.

EIGHTEEN

LONDON, 2017

Clara closed the door to Mac’s spare room and sat down on the bed, listening as he moved around the flat turning off the lights, before going into his own room. On the table was a pile of books he’d left there for her, and she smiled at his thoughtfulness. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep. From the moment they’d said good-bye outside the bar, Emily had haunted Clara’s thoughts. Their meeting had done nothing