I press “send.”
All done.
Log out, Nicki. Why are you still sitting here, staring at your inbox? How devastated will you be if he doesn’t write back immediately?
Then why did you order him not to?
His reply arrives within seconds.
I agree: you owe me an explanation. What happened with the policeman? First time and second time, please. All or nothing is a sound principle—and since you’ve already given me some of the story, you must now supply all of it. G.
This sounds more like the Gavin I’m familiar with: wooden. Giving me orders. Desire stirs inside me. I shift in my chair.
Should I tell him? If I don’t, he’ll never understand, not really. Can I bring myself to write what happened in an email? The prospect makes my skin prickle.
I click on “reply.” Downstairs, a door bangs shut, making me jump.
“Kids!” I call out. “Don’t slam the door!”
“Not kids. Me. Sorry.”
Adam. Shit.
Terror floods my body, freezing me in place. It’s a few seconds before I can move again. I grab the mouse. “I’ll be down in a sec,” I shout. Please don’t come upstairs.
What will Adam do? I listen for clues, with the cursor hovering over ‘Sign Out’ in the top right-hand corner of the screen. Please go into the kitchen, Adam. I need a few more seconds . . .
I hear the creak of a door—the living room, I’m guessing—followed by Adam trying unsuccessfully to talk to the children. He gives up after a minute or so. I hold my breath, listening for footsteps on the stairs.
Nothing. He must have gone into the kitchen, or to the bathroom.
You don’t know that. Sign out. Don’t risk it.
I type:
Need to go now. Might explain later. No promises, though. Bye. N x
I press “send,” then sign out. Then I go to “History,” click on “Show All History” and delete all the email entries. I’m so grateful that I can do this. It’s the online equivalent of saying a few Hail Marys and being absolved of all your sins. Thank you, technology.
What next? I can’t think straight. Oh yes, I know: Yahoo Mail, my respectable email account.
Adam pushes open the spare-room door as I’m opening a message from my mum. “Hi, hon,” he says. “OK day?”
“Why brilliant?”
“Well, actually . . . not that brilliant.” Come on, Brain, start working, for fuck’s sake. I have nothing to be excited about, not officially. I must keep this in mind—for the rest of my life, ideally.
It’s a good sign that, after only three weeks and four days of being good, I am already much worse at lying.
I’m not going to start lying to Adam again. I can’t.
“I had to go to school and back four times,” I say. The email from my mother about when we’re next all going to get together is still up on the screen. Not at all secret from my husband, but still . . . I ought to feel more guilty about this ongoing correspondence than I do about the one with Gavin.
If I’m making a list of people to cut off contact with, my parents have surely earned their place at the top.
You’re not cutting anyone off, though, are you? You never will.
How did I not hear Adam on the stairs? He could so easily have caught me.
But he didn’t.
Being bad and getting away with it: there’s no feeling like it.
About the Author
SOPHIE HANNAH is the New York Times bestselling author of nine psychological thrillers as well as The Monogram Murders, the first novel to be authorized by the estate of Agatha Christie. Her books have received numerous awards, including the UK National Book Award, and are published in twenty-seven countries. She lives in Cambridge, England.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Sophie Hannah
Little Face
The Wrong Mother
The Truth-Teller’s Lie
The Dead Lie Down
The Cradle in the Grave
The Other Woman’s House
The Orphan Choir
The Monogram Murders
The Carrier
Woman with a Secret
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This work was previously published in 2015 by Hodder Paperbacks in the UK under the title Pictures or it Didn’t Happen.
Excerpt from Woman with a Secret copyright © 2015 by Sophie Hannah
THE WARNING. Copyright © 2015 by Sophie Hannah. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JUNE 2015 ISBN: 9780062428844
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062428851
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com