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

as soon as she left the house, I called in to work, quickly leaving a message to say I’d had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in until later. When I emerged on the street, I saw her disappearing around the corner and got into my car to follow her, keeping a safe distance behind and parking out of sight when I saw her waiting at the bus stop.

I followed her bus to the nearest town and when she got off, I parked and saw her hurrying toward the train station. Inside, I saw her queuing at the ticket office, and I managed to stay hidden behind a magazine stand while I listened to her ask for a ticket to a town in Suffolk, twelve miles away. I knew I’d never be able to get on the train without her seeing me, and I wouldn’t be able to get there before her in my car, so for that day, frustrated and more confused than ever, I gave up and went home.

The following week, however, I was ready for her. As soon as she came down for breakfast, I made an excuse about wanting to get to work early and drove straight to Suffolk. I arrived in a large market town not very far away from the village Doug and I grew up in. When I got there, I parked and, sure enough, ten minutes later saw her emerging from the station. Keeping a safe distance behind, I followed her as she headed into the town’s center. Eventually, to my astonishment she came to a large building with a sign outside that read CROFTON HILL SIXTH FORM COLLEGE. As I loitered at the gate, I saw her approach a bench near the main entrance, then sit down to wait.

At eleven o’clock students began to pour out of the college doors, and a tall, pretty, dark-haired girl a year or so older than Hannah walked toward my daughter with a wide smile on her face. When she reached her, Hannah got up and the two girls hugged. I was dumbstruck. Who on earth was she? Was Hannah secretly studying here? I was utterly confused. A few minutes later the two linked arms—such an easy, affectionate gesture, and so unlike anything I’d seen my daughter do before that my astonishment deepened. When they turned in my direction, I hurriedly ducked out of sight, concealing myself behind a parked van. A few minutes later I saw them heading back into town, so I followed them to a café, where they sat down together at one of the outside tables.

I watched them for about an hour. Hannah looked so carefree and happy, so entirely different from her usual self as she smiled and laughed, that I felt a wave of sadness, even jealousy for this stranger, whoever she was. When, finally, the girl looked at her watch and grimaced, they both got up and hugged again, before finally going their separate ways, leaving me to drive home alone, still entirely confused.

For three weeks I remained none the wiser, and then, one morning everything suddenly became horribly clear.

It was a Sunday, and Doug had taken Toby to rugby practice as usual. Hannah had barely shown her face all morning and I was about to start the ironing. I happened to be standing right next to the downstairs phone when I heard Hannah come out of her room and pause on the landing. I knew she was in her usual spot, hand poised over the receiver, ready to lift it as soon as it rang. But this time, as soon as it started ringing, I snatched it up myself. My heart thudded: had Hannah heard the click? Apparently not. The person on the other end was speaking. “Becky, is that you?”

Becky?

“Yes! How’s it going?”

“Fine, you know, college work and stuff . . .”

“Ugh, how’d it go with that essay?” my daughter asked.

There followed a conversation about schoolwork, annoying teachers, and favorite TV shows. The usual chatter of your average teenager. I should have been used to it, should have heard this or something like it all the time. But I didn’t. Because this wasn’t my daughter talking, not really. I knew Hannah—I knew she wasn’t this girl, the sort of ordinary teenager I’d long given up wishing she’d become. This was Hannah pretending to be someone else entirely. It reminded me of the day I’d overheard her impersonating me talking to the neighbor: today, too, each girlish giggle, breathless exclamation, was nothing more than an act. It was both fascinating and utterly chilling.

As I listened, it became clear that Hannah—or “Becky”—was claiming that she, too, was at a sixth form college taking her A-levels, and after some more chat about course work and deadlines, the conversation suddenly turned to me and Doug. “What’s going on with your parents, anyway?” the girl asked.

“Doing my head in as usual,” Hannah sighed. “I wish my mum and dad were like yours. They sound so great—you’re so lucky.”

The girl snorted. “You’re joking, right? They don’t give a shit about what I want. Mum just wants me to go into medicine like her so she can show off to all her friends, and Dad only cares about his own work and what my brothers are doing.” She sighed. “They don’t take me seriously at all. Like that Greenpeace rally I went on last week, I tried to talk to them about it, and they just nodded and asked me if I’d done my bloody revision. I mean, who cares about that? Half the planet’s being destroyed and they’re worried about a fucking biology exam. So as usual we ended up having a row. They don’t see how important this stuff is to me, and I’m sure I’m going to fail my exams anyway. Sometimes I feel like giving up.”

“No, you’re not,” Hannah replied. “I wish you believed in yourself more.” Then, mock sternly, she added, “Okay, repeat after me: ‘My name’s Emily Lawson and I’m