Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015
Copyright © C.L. Taylor 2015
C.L. Taylor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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 hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007544271
Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780007544264
Version: 2020-03-16
“ Black Narcissus for the Facebook generation; a clever exploration of how petty jealousies and misunderstandings can unravel even the tightest of friendships. Claustrophobic and tense, a thrill-ride of a novel that keeps you guessing.”
Elizabeth Haynes
“ The Lie is absolutely brilliant – The Beach , only darker, more thrilling and more tense. Compelling, addictive and wonderfully written.”
Louise Douglas
“Creepy, horrifying and twisty. C.L. Taylor is extremely good at writing stories in which you have no idea which characters you can trust, and the result is intriguing, scary and extremely gripping.”
Julie Cohen, 2014 Richard and Judy Summer Book Club Pick
“A gripping and disturbing psychological thriller: every bit as good as The Accident .”
Clare Mackintosh
“C.L. Taylor delivers another compelling read that’ll keep you turning pages way too late into the night. Warning: may cause drowsiness the following day.”
Tamar Cohen
“My heart was racing after I finished The Lie . Dark, creepy and full of twists. I loved it.”
Rowan Coleman
To Laura B, Georgie D and Minal S
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for The Lie
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Acknowledgements
Read on for an extract of Strangers
Book club questions for The Lie by C.L. Taylor
A Conversation with C.L. Taylor
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by C.L. Taylor
About the Publisher
I know he’s trouble before he even sets foot in the building. I can tell by the way he slams the door of his 4×4 and storms across the car park without waiting to see if his short, bespectacled wife is following him. When he reaches the glass double doors to reception, I avert my gaze back to my computer screen. It’s best to avoid direct eye contact with an aggressor. When you spend twelve hours a day with dangerous animals, you learn a lot about confrontation, fear and hostility – and not just in relation to dogs.
The bell above the doors rings as the man enters the reception area, but I continue to enter the details of a seven-day evaluation into the computer database. An Alsatian-cross called Tyson was brought in by an inspector a week ago. We’ve been evaluating him ever since, and I’ve identified behavioural issues with other dogs, cats and humans – unsurprising in a former drug-den guard dog. Some people believe that a dog like Tyson should be put down for his own good, but I know we can rehabilitate him. Your past doesn’t have to define your future.
“Where’s my fucking dog?” The man rests his elbows on the reception counter and juts out his chin, contempt etched onto his thin, sunken face. His shoulders are narrow beneath an oversized leather jacket and his jeans hang loosely from his hips. He can’t be much older than late forties, early fifties tops, but he looks worn down by life. I suspect he’s the sort to own a dangerous breed. Small man, big car. Big dog, too. No wonder he wants him back. He’s missing his canine penis extension.
“Can I help you?” I swivel round to face him, and smile.
“I want my dog. One of my neighbours saw the inspector turn up when we was out. They took him out the back garden. I want him back.”
“He’s called Jack, he’s a Staffordshire bull terrier and he’s five years old.” His bespectacled wife puffs into the reception area, her black leggings sagging at the knees, her pink lipstick neatly applied and her grey-streaked hair scraped back into a tight ponytail.
“And your name is?” I look back at her husband.
“Gary. Gary Fullerton,” the man replies, ignoring his wife.
I know the dog they are talking about. Jack was brought in four days ago. His right eye was so swollen it was sealed shut, his lip was torn and bloody and his left ear was so mangled the vet had to remove half of it. He’d been in a fight but it clearly wasn’t a one-off. You could tell that by the scars on his body and the wounds on his face. This owner’s obviously fresh from the police station. On bail pending a hearing, probably.
My smile fades. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“I know he’s here,” the man says. “You can’t keep him. We haven’t done anything wrong. He got into a fight in the park, that’s all. We’ve got seven days to claim him. That’s what my mate said.”
I angle myself away from him so my shoulders are square on to the computer and we’re no longer facing each other. “I’m sorry but I can’t discuss special cases.”
“Oi!” He leans over the counter and reaches for the monitor, yanking it towards him. “I’m talking to you.”
“Gary …” His wife touches his arm. He glares at her but lets go of the monitor. “Please.” She peers at my name badge. “Please, Jane, we just want to see Jack, that’s all, just to check he’s okay. We don’t want any trouble; we just want to see our boy.”
Her eyes mist with tears behind her glasses, but I don’t feel sorry for her. She must know Gary enters Jack into fights. She’s probably objected from time to time, maybe tried her best to clean Jack up with a wet flannel afterwards, but, ultimately, she’s done nothing to stop that dog getting torn to bits.
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