The Lies We Told Camilla Way (latest books to read .TXT) 📖

passed on the way to the kitchen seemingly full of kids crowded around the telly, where some kind of Wii tournament was going on. “’Scuse the mess,” Amy muttered. The kitchen was a pleasant, cozy room with lilac walls and a round pine table around which were crammed several chairs. “You want a cuppa?” she asked, removing a pile of washing from the table.

Once they were all sitting down with mugs of tea, she raised her eyebrows questioningly. “So, what’s all this about, then? I told the police when they came before that I hadn’t really spoken to Luke for years. Occasionally I’ll bump into him in the village at Christmas or whatever, but it’s never more than ‘Hello, how’s it going’ or what have you.”

Clara glanced at Mac. “We’re trying to build a picture of what Luke was like when he was younger,” she said cautiously.

Amy blinked at her, nonplussed. “Yeah, that’s what the police said, and like I told them—”

“We’re just trying to find out anything we can, to see if we can work out what happened to him,” Mac said.

“Right,” Amy said, still looking mystified. “Well, he’s not here, is he?”

There was a silence. This, thought Clara, had been a really bad idea. They must look completely barking mad. Suddenly Mac got up and went over to a photo stuck on the fridge. “Shit,” he laughed. “Is this you and Mandy Coombs?”

“Yeah, that’s us!” Amy’s smile lit her face once more. “Think it was my eighteenth.” She took the picture down and handed it to him. “Still a nutter—see her all the time!”

Clara listened while they reminisced about a club they used to go to in Ipswich. When there was finally a break in the conversation, she asked, “Do you have any of Luke and you? Pictures, I mean?”

Something passed across Amy’s face and she turned away. “No, I got rid of them years ago.”

“Oh,” Clara said. “Right . . .”

Amy shrugged. “Past is past. Ancient history, isn’t it?” She looked at Mac. “Sorry, can you keep an ear out for the kids? Just going to have a quick ciggie in the garden.”

When she’d gone, Clara and Mac glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. “Maybe we should go,” Mac said. “We’re not going to find out anything here. Guess it was a bit of a long shot. . . .”

But had there been something strange about Amy’s expression just then, Clara wondered, her desire to leave the room so quickly? “Hold on,” she said.

Following Amy into the garden, she found her standing next to a trampoline strewn with toys, shivering while she puffed on a roll-up. Clara smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I know you and Luke were a long time ago—it’s just . . . no one knows what happened to him. He’s completely disappeared. The police don’t seem to be getting anywhere, or not that they’re telling me, anyway. I’m trying to work out if there’s anyone from his past who might know something.” She paused and then, her voice catching, added, “We’re all so worried about him, his mum and dad, Mac, we’re getting desperate.”

Amy’s face softened. “Look,” she said. “I’m sorry he’s disappeared, I really am, and I hope he’s okay. But it’s not like we kept in touch. I don’t exactly have great memories of my relationship with Luke.”

Clara looked at her in surprise. “Really?”

The other woman stared at her for a moment, and then she turned decisively away, her face closed again. “I don’t really want to talk about all that, to be honest. And like I said to the police, there’s nothing I could tell you that would bring them any closer to finding Luke. I don’t know anything.”

Clara’s despair hit as if from nowhere, like a bus slamming into her at full speed. After the shock of him vanishing, the news about Sadie, the ridiculous hope she had felt to be finally doing something proactive, she realized now how stupid she had been, how pointless it all was. She sank down onto a rickety garden chair and put her head in her hands.

“You all right?” Amy’s voice was suddenly near.

She looked up. “Sorry, I’m sorry. We’ll leave you in peace. I don’t know what I’m even doing here, to be honest. You must think we’re mad.”

Amy sighed and sat down next to her. She thought for a moment, then rolled herself another cigarette. “You want to find out what he was really like back then? Behind his perfect image, I mean?” Clara glanced at her in surprise to hear the note of bitterness in her voice. “Well, look, I’m sure he’s probably changed by now, grown up a bit, but okay. I’m not sure it’ll help, but I’ll tell you if you want me to. But come on now, stop crying.”

Clara nodded and wiped her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

Amy sighed. “I got pregnant when I was sixteen and he dumped me, leaving me to have the abortion on my own. I was really far along in the pregnancy when I realized, and the whole thing was horrendous. I was devastated.”

Clara stared at her in shock. “I’m so sorry,” she faltered. “I had no idea.”

Amy shrugged.

“Did anyone else know about it?” Clara asked.

She laughed. “Everyone thought the sun shone out of Luke Lawson’s arse. No one would ever think badly of him—in fact, everyone always acted like I was bloody lucky to have a spoiled posh lad like him.” She grimaced and added, “He was a selfish little shit, all said and done—I’m sorry, but he was.” She glanced at Clara. “Perhaps he’s changed. But all he cared about then was what people would think, especially his parents, how it would fuck up his plans to go to uni, how a baby wouldn’t fit in with his perfect bloody image. He dropped me without a backward glance. But no, I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. I guess I felt . . . ashamed, somehow.” She sighed. “Now I’d like to go back in time and give my