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

not really,” Clara said quietly. “Emily, after we last met my flat was set on fire. Luke’s friend Mac was attacked and his camera stolen. I just wanted to talk it over with you. I know how concerned you are about how the search is going. I thought I should let you know. To be honest, I’m still really shaken.”

Hannah leaned forward, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh my goodness, Clara, that’s terrible. You poor, poor thing, I’m so sorry. Were you hurt? Are you okay?”

Clara nodded. “I’m fine, and so is Mac, but yes, it was so awful.” She took a sip of her drink, an excuse to look away from Hannah’s intense gaze. This was the single most difficult thing she had ever had to do.

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. How are my mum and dad? This must have really rattled them.”

“About as well as you’d expect,” Clara replied. She hesitated. “Oliver, especially, is in a bad way—he’s really taking this badly. I’m worried about him—I mean, he’s not a young man. . . .”

It was almost imperceptible, the flicker of pleasure in Hannah’s eyes then, but it was definitely there. “And the police?” she asked. “They have no new leads?”

“No, nothing. It’s incredibly frustrating.” Clara sighed. “Sometimes I think they’ll never catch this person, whoever it is.”

Hannah nodded sadly. “We mustn’t give up hope,” she said. “They’ll find Luke. I’m sure they will.”

After a pause Clara said, “It’s so good to talk to you. I feel like I’m losing my mind with worry. Having you to talk things over with . . . I don’t know—it makes it easier somehow.”

Hannah smiled her sympathy. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

They lapsed into silence, watching the bar slowly fill up. Clara made herself smile shyly. “It was so lovely hearing you talk about your childhood with Luke the other day,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I found it comforting, somehow, hearing about what he was like as a little boy.”

At this, Hannah smiled warmly and with such apparent sincerity that Clara could only stare at her in horrified fascination. “Oh, he was such a great kid!” she said. “So funny, you know? Such a big personality. We really did have such a good time together, all of us.” Her eyes grew wistful. “My parents were just the best. We kids always felt so loved and wanted. It was wonderful.”

As she listened, Clara felt icy fingers walk up and down her spine. It was almost as though Hannah had persuaded herself she really was Emily, adored child of Oliver and Rose. She remembered how Rose had said that Hannah would skip school to spy on them all, watching their every move, like a kid with its nose pressed up against a sweetshop window. A chilling thought struck her then: if Hannah’s vendetta was partly fueled by jealousy, or a sense of injustice that Emily was treated like a beloved daughter while she herself had been cast out, if it was Emily’s place in the family that she coveted, would it have been necessary for her to get rid of Luke’s sister entirely? Nobody had seen Emily for twenty years. As she listened to Hannah talk, unease moved inside her like cold water.

They discussed the police search next, Hannah asking question after question, for all the world as though she didn’t already know the answers. Just when Clara thought she would crumble under the strain of it all, Hannah finally glanced at her watch and, seeing that it was almost seven, sighed unhappily. “I must go,” she said, “but I’m so glad I’ve been able to talk to you.” Her eyes met Clara’s. “I hope you know that you’re not alone in this, that if I can ever help, in any small way, then I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” Clara said gravely, relief overwhelming her as they both got to their feet. On the street, Hannah took Clara’s hands in hers, exactly as she had the time before. It was all Clara could do not to snatch them away.

“Keep strong,” Hannah said, looking deep into her eyes. Now that they were standing so close to each other, Clara felt her fear return twofold as she forced herself to return Hannah’s gaze. Something must have shown in her face, because Hannah tilted her head, her eyes suddenly quizzical. “Are you okay?” she said.

“I—I—,” Clara stammered.

“What, Clara? What is it?”

As Hannah’s hands tightened on hers, she had an overwhelming sense of suffocation, an instinctive compulsion to run. Her mouth dried. “Nothing,” she whispered, “nothing at all.”

Hannah nodded. “This must all be so hard on you.” She smiled compassionately again and the moment stretched, before, all at once, she released Clara’s hands, pulled her hood up around her face, and with a final, brief look of sympathy turned and left, leaving Clara standing alone, her heart pounding, as she watched her walk off down the street.

For a moment, she allowed the relief to surge through her: her part was over, at least for now. But when she looked across the street and saw Zoe emerge from the pub opposite, then set off slowly after Hannah, her fear returned. What the hell was she doing letting Zoe get caught up in this? She wanted to run after her and drag her friend back, but, terrified that Hannah would turn and see her, she made herself set off back up the street the way she’d come. She’d barely reached the corner, however, when anxiety got the better of her and she stopped and turned, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Zoe before she disappeared from view. And then she gasped. Because there Hannah was. Not walking away from her as she’d expected, but standing stock-still not far from where they’d parted, her eyes fastened upon her.

Clara felt a jolt of shock. Before she could help herself, she glanced across the road, seeking out Zoe, and sure enough, she spotted her friend standing by