Sometimes I Lie: A psychological thriller with a killer twist you'll never forget. Alice Feeney

I could walk from here to her front door with my eyes closed. But I don’t. My eyes are open and the first thing I see is Paul’s car. It’s quite distinctive. A second-hand green 1978 MG Midget, lovingly restored to its alleged former glory. He bought it with the advance for his first novel and he loves it almost as much as I hate it.

      I march up the drive with a tightness in my chest, feeling like I might have stopped breathing altogether. I have a spare key for Claire’s house in my handbag but feel uncomfortable just letting myself in. She gave it to me, hoping it would prompt an exchange. It didn’t.

      I ring the bell repeatedly, wanting to get this, whatever it is, over and done with as soon as possible. The cold hurts my hands and I can see my breath. Inside, I hear a child start to cry and I see the blurry image of an adult getting bigger through the frosted glass. Claire’s husband yanks the front door open and greets me with the kind of expression I reserve for door-to-door salesmen. I’m not sure why we don’t get along. It isn’t that we don’t have anything in common – we have Claire – so maybe it’s the opposite.

      ‘Hello, Amber. Thanks for waking the twins,’ he says, without even the hint of a smile. He doesn’t invite me in. My brother-in-law is a big man with small amounts of time and patience. He’s still wearing his overalls.

      ‘I’m so sorry, David, I wasn’t thinking. This might sound a bit strange but is Paul here?’

      ‘No,’ he says. ‘Should he be?’ He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes. Being married to my sister has aged him. She calls him David so we do too, but everyone else calls him Dave.

      ‘His car is here,’ I say. David peers past me at the car on the garage forecourt.

      ‘Yes, it is.’ He doesn’t elaborate, and when I don’t say anything in response his frown deepens, as though it might break his face. He looks down at my feet and I follow his stare. I’m still wearing my slippers. Two grubby felt pug faces look up at me, their stitched eyes seem full of equal amounts of wonder and pity. They were in the kids’ section at the supermarket, but they fitted and I liked them.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

      I think about his question and give him the most honest answer I can come up with. ‘No, not really. I don’t think I am. I need to talk to Claire. Is she home?’ He stands up a bit straighter and looks confused, then something ugly spreads across his features.

      ‘Claire hasn’t been here all day. I thought she was with you.’

Before

       Wednesday, 13th November 1991

      Dear Diary,

      I’ve been ten for a whole month now and I’m not sure double figures feels any different really, even though Mum said it would. There’s still loads of stuff I’m not allowed to do, I’m still quite short and I still miss Nana every day. I’m so angry with Mum for lots of reasons, but especially because of what she did at parents’ evening tonight. She went on her own because Dad had to work late. Mum said he might sleep there again; he’s been working really hard lately. Because she didn’t have Dad to talk to, she got chatting to some of the other parents at school. When she got home, she was all excited, not because of my brilliant grades like a normal human being, but because she’d met Taylor’s mum and was so pleased to find out I’d made such a good friend. She went on and on about it, asking why I hadn’t mentioned Taylor. I said I didn’t want to talk about it and we sat in silence for a while.

      Once Mum understood that I was in a not-talking mood, she got up from the table and made herself a Mojito. I don’t know what’s in it, but she calls it her ‘happy drink’. She made me a lemonade with lots of ice and a bit of mint on top so that my drink looked like hers. I took the mint out when she wasn’t looking. Then she got some chicken in breadcrumbs and crinkle-cut chips out of the freezer, which is my absolute favourite dinner that she makes. She got the ketchup from the cupboard and turned it upside down, then set just two places, using Nana’s best plates. Because Dad wasn’t there, she carried the little TV into the kitchen from his study and we watched Coronation Street