The Liar
Page 29
It wasn’t until we reached the bend in the lane with the twisted tree that Fatkins stopped. But he didn’t go inside Rose Cottage, he didn’t even look at it. He just stopped, like he was listening out for something, and then I knew that he was making sure that I could follow him. But he didn’t stop for long and after a few seconds he started walking again, his bad leg dragging heavily in the mud.
‘Fatkins,’ I called. ‘Please… Fat—, Mister Atkins.’
‘It’s Peter,’ he shouted. ‘My name is Peter.’
When the road opened up at the Missensham crossroads he stood and waited in the trees looking out over the road towards the war memorial. He still didn’t look behind him, but now, at last, he waited for me to catch him.
Then he stepped out into the road. He rested his back on the memorial, crossing his legs and peering round the stone, like he didn’t want to be seen. His chest was heaving and his hands were shaking. He looked at his pocket watch, but it was too dark to see the face or hands, but he did it anyway, like it was something that he did every day. I waited with him in silence.
Then the clouds shrank away and the moon glowed big and bright. Now I could see Emma’s house but it was smaller and greyer than I remembered. The car with the owl eyes was not there and the drive looked empty without it. But the house was not asleep – there was a crack in the curtains, as if a tiny part of it had stayed awake to wait for the morning.
Then an owl called out into the night.
Peter waited for it to finish. Then he took a deep breath, he gathered himself up and he walked up to the house and I followed him. He rang the doorbell.
‘Who’s there?’ said a voice.
Peter looked worried and for a few moments he just stood there like he didn’t know what he should do. He opened his mouth, the big knot in his throat drawing low like he was going to say something, but he just wiped his hands on his trousers and shut his mouth again. He shook his head slowly and then he looked at me. I looked up at him but he just smiled and nodded his head.
‘It’s Violet,’ I said. ‘Violet Marks.’
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Acknowledgements
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Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the strangers who inspired me – The chatty office cleaner who told me that violets brought bad luck indoors, and the builder who said that the draughty vents in my 1930s house had been put there to prevent the spread of tuberculosis.
I would also like to mention the place that inspired me – Missensham – in reality not one town but many; the area where I was raised on the outer reaches of the Metropolitan line where the blackened London tube trains rattle through meadows and trees.
I would also like to thank my partner, James, and Alison Bonomi at LBA for reading the early drafts of my work and for the people at LBA and Aria who made it possible to share this story.
About Jennifer Wells
JENNIFER WELLS works in Market Research when not writing. She lives in Devon with her young family and cat. The Liar is her first novel, she is busily working on her next…
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Addictive Fiction
First published in the UK in 2016 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Jennifer Wells, 2016
The moral right of Jennifer Wells to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781786691071
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