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A stunning domestic thriller in the vein of Kimberly McCreight's Reconstructing Amelia.
When Lizzie Thorne's charismatic older sister Anna is killed in a tragic fall from the roof of her school, everyone is devastated. A year later, grief still has its icy grip on the Thorne family.
Mrs. Thorne has retreated from her life and is desperate to find someone to blame for her daughter's death. Mr. Thorne is doing his best to care for his family, but the stress of holding his marriage together is pushing him to the breaking point. Lizzie just wants to leave her sister's ghost in the past and find happiness again.
But then a shattering revelation begins to raise questions about what really happened the night Anna died. Lizzie finds herself speeding headfirst into a passionate but forbidden love affair, while at the same time trying to grapple with her dead sister's emerging secrets.
Rebecca’s hot, tear-wet cheek. Rebecca lowered her hands and stared at Kate, who leant forward and kissed Rebecca’s forehead. When Rachel took Kate’s hand and squeezed it, she had to fight hard to keep her own tears back. ‘I’m sorry I told you about them,’ Rebecca whispered. ‘Mrs Howe said I was a selfish little girl who only thought of myself and didn’t think about your and Jon’s feelings.’ ‘She said what?’ said Rachel. Kate stepped back in shock and sat down on the edge of the coffee table.
help. You have to ask us for help. Jon finds it hard, but he means it when he says he’ll help. All you have to do is give him some guidance. He’s not sure about it. Seeing Peter like this unnerves him. It’s been a rough year – neither of us have been any use to anyone, least of all ourselves. But we are here.’ Barbara looked at her and smiled. ‘I know you are.’ She patted Kate’s knee. Kate took hold of her hand and squeezed it. At the sound of footsteps she turned to see Jon, and caught his
a dress code – ‘wholly inappropriate’ – and told him to bring a girlfriend. Jon could almost hear the goading in those scrawled few words: If there is one! He imagined how much Dan had smirked as he wrote that. Dan the Stud. Dan the Player. Dan the bloody Man. But Jon’s little black book of dead-end dinners, awkward kisses and (a pathetic two) one-night stands threw up nothing but flat no-thank-yous, and so there he was, outside the party, no girl and preparing for Dan’s relentless destruction
idiotic,’ he said, stopping the football film and scrolling to the next. ‘It’s just films of kids mucking about at school. It’s—’ And then . . . ‘Oh my God,’ he breathed. ‘What?’ Kate was at his feet, on her knees, her face stricken. ‘What is it? Please tell me it’s not her. Please, Jon. I’m begging you. Please tell me it’s not Anna.’ Jon didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His voice was strangled by what played out on the tiny screen. His throat tightened around his breath and his eyesight faltered. He
school. I cannot think—’ Stephen’s voice cracked and he turned his head away from the audience, lifting his hand to his mouth to compose himself. A moment or two later he nodded and faced them again. ‘I cannot think of anything I would rather do than be the headmaster of Park Secondary School.’ He held the audience for a while and then nodded once and looked across at Angela, who gestured for him to step away as she moved herself to the edge of the stage. ‘The issue of false allegations,’ she