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

ALICE FEENEYis a writer and journalist. She spent 16 years at the BBC, where she worked as a reporter, news editor, Arts and Entertainment producer and One O’clock News producer.

Alice is a Faber Academy graduate from the class of 2016. She has lived in London and Sydney and has now settled in the Surrey countryside, where she lives with her husband and dog.

Sometimes I Lie is her debut thriller and is being published around the world in 2017.

Copyright Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017

Copyright © Alice Feeney 2017

Alice Feeney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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.

Ebook Edition © March 2017 ISBN: 9780008225360

Version: 2018-06-28

For my Daniel. And for her.

My name is Amber Reynolds. There are three things you should know about me:

1. I’m in a coma.

2. My husband doesn’t love me any more.

3. Sometimes I lie.

Contents

Cover

About the Author ALICE FEENEY is a writer and journalist. She spent 16 years at the BBC, where she worked as a reporter, news editor, Arts and Entertainment producer and One O’clock News producer. Alice is a Faber Academy graduate from the class of 2016. She has lived in London and Sydney and has now settled in the Surrey countryside, where she lives with her husband and dog. Sometimes I Lie is her debut thriller and is being published around the world in 2017.

Title Page

Dedication For my Daniel. And for her.

Now: Boxing Day, December 2016

Then: One week earlier – Monday, 19th December 2016

Now: Boxing Day, December 2016

Then: Monday, 19th December 2016 – Afternoon

Now: Boxing Day, December 2016 – Evening

Then: Monday, 19th December 2016 – Evening

Before: Monday, 16th September 1991

Now: Tuesday, 27th December 2016

Then: Tuesday, 20th December 2016 – Morning

Before: Thursday, 24th October 1991

Then: Tuesday, 20th December – Afternoon

Now: Wednesday, 28th December 2016 – Morning

Then: Tuesday, 20th December 2016 – Evening

Before: Wednesday, 13th November 1991

Now: Wednesday, 28th December 2016

Then: Wednesday, 21st December 2016 – Morning

Before: Saturday, 7th December 1991

Now: Thursday, 29th December 2016

Then: Wednesday, 21st December 2016 – Afternoon

Before: Saturday, 14th December 1991

Now: Thursday, 29th December 2016

Then: Thursday, 22nd December 2016 – Morning

Then: Thursday, 22nd December 2016 – Morning

Before: Easter Sunday, 1992

Now: Thursday, 29th December 2016

Then: Thursday, 22nd December 2016 – Evening

Before: Wednesday, 14th October 1992

Now: Friday, 30th December 2016

Then: Friday, 23rd December 2016 – Morning

Before: Friday, 30th October 1992

Now: Friday, 30th December 2016

Then: Friday, 23rd December 2016 – Afternoon

Before: Friday, 11th December 1992

Now: Friday, 30th December 2016

Then: Friday, 23rd December 2016 – Late Afternoon

Then: Friday, 23rd December 2016 – Early Evening

Before: Tuesday, 15th December 1992

Now: New Year’s Eve, 2016

Then: Friday 23rd December 2016 – Evening

Before: Friday, 18th December 1992

Now: New Year’s Eve, 2016

Then: Christmas Eve 2016 – Morning

Then: Christmas Eve 2016 – Lunchtime

Before: Saturday, 19th December 1992

Now: New Year’s Eve, 2016

Then: Christmas Eve 2016 – Afternoon

Before: Monday, 21st December 1992

Now: New Year’s Eve, 2016

Then: Christmas Eve, 2016

Before: Christmas Eve, 1992

Then: Christmas Eve, 2016

Now: New Year’s Eve, 2016

Now: New Year’s Eve, 2016

Then: Christmas Day, 2016

Then: Christmas Day, 2016 – Early Evening

Before: Thursday, 7th January 1993

Now: Monday, 2nd January 2017

Then: Christmas Day, 2016 – Early Evening

Now: Tuesday, 3rd January, 2017

Then: Christmas Day 2016 – Evening

Now: Tuesday, 3rd January 2017

Before: Sunday, 14th February 1993

Then: Christmas Day, 2016 – Night

Now: Tuesday, 3rd January 2017

After: Six Weeks Later 15th February 2017

After: Wednesday, 15th February 2017 – 04.00

Later: Spring 2017

Acknowledgements

Reading Group Questions

Extract

Copyright

Now

Boxing Day, December 2016

I’ve always delighted in the free fall between sleep and wakefulness. Those precious few semi-conscious seconds before you open your eyes, when you catch yourself believing that your dreams might just be your reality. A moment of intense pleasure or pain, before your senses reboot and inform you who and where and what you are. For now, for just a second longer, I’m enjoying the self-medicated delusion that permits me to imagine that I could be anyone, I could be anywhere, I could be loved.

I sense the light behind my eyelids and my attention is drawn to the platinum band on my finger. It feels heavier than it used to, as though it is weighing me down. A sheet is pulled over my body, it smells unfamiliar and I consider the possibility that I’m in a hotel. Any memory of what I dreamt evaporates. I try to hold on, try to be someone and stay somewhere I am not, but I can’t. I am only ever me and I am here, where I already know I do not wish to be. My limbs ache and, I’m so tired I don’t want to open my eyes – until I remember that I can’t.

Panic spreads through me like a blast of icy-cold air. I can’t recall where this is or how I got here, but I know who I am: My name is Amber Reynolds; I am thirty-five years old; I’m married to Paul. I repeat these three things in my head, holding on to them tightly, as though they might save me, but I’m mindful that some part of the story is lost, the last few pages ripped out. When the memories are as complete as I can manage, I bury them until they are quiet enough inside my head to allow me to think, to feel, to try to make sense of it all. One memory refuses to comply, fighting its way to the surface, but I don’t want to believe it.