White Lies

Everybody hurts

For Abigail, a new school could be the fresh start she so desperately needs. With her parents in the army and her sister Beth too far away to run to, she knows this year needs to be different. She’s never been part of the cool crowd and for the first time Abby wants to fit in. And all it takes is just one little white lie…because some truths are too painful to share.

Everybody lies

But at Cotswold Community College, Abby isn’t the only one with a past she’d rather forget. And when she stumbles across a closely guarded secret, Abigail realises that her one little white lie could reveal everything she’s worked so hard to hide…

Praise for Under My Skin

‘It’s a wonderful take on the often fractious relationship between teens and their parents, beautifully transmitted by Markham.’ – Jack Croxhall

‘In a nutshell, if you like young adult books then read this, if you like zombie books then read this and every kind of book in between you need to read this.’ – Random Redheaded Ramblings

‘A brilliant story this – addictive, dark, compelling and very clever. I read it fast, one of those books that hooks you in and won’t let go.’ – Liz Currently Loves

‘Read this book! If you’re at all a fan of anything YA, Gothic and/or Frankenstein then you will love the story of Chloe. Started reading this at 12.15a.m. and didn’t put it down until I was finished.’ – Fi on Goodreads

‘A great Gothic YA that will appeal to adult readers as well’ – Rosee on Goodreads

Also by Zoë Markham

Under My Skin

White Lies

Zoë Markham

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Zoë Markham 2016

Zoë Markham 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, 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 hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474045001

Version date: 2018-09-20

ZOË MARKHAM

Having recently pulled off a dramatic escape from the rat race, Zoë now spends her days endlessly monkeying about with words.

In a tiny, tumbledown bungalow in the wilds of West Oxfordshire she creates, destroys, giggles maniacally and cries dramatically whilst consuming epic amounts of builder’s tea and trying to keep the cats off the keyboard.

Her husband has learned to ignore her fictional delusions, but her five-year-old son still thinks they’re pretty cool, and often offers helpful advice – usually involving dragons.

Find out more about Zoë at her website: www.zoemarkhamwrites.com

With many thanks to Victoria and Rhea for helping Abby find her way.

For Tigerlilly, who always understands, and always texts me back.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Praise

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Inside: Day One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Inside: Day Two

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Inside: Day Three

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Inside: Day Four

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Inside: Day Five

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Inside: Day Six

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

Inside

Day One

I don’t think I meant to kill her.

I probably would’ve been OK with hurting her. I didn’t want her dead though. I’m not a complete psycho. And however much I might have hated her, I wouldn’t have wanted to go to prison. Or to end up in here.

The problem is, I didn’t not want her dead.

They said I was contradicting myself, but I’m just being honest. I would never have actually set out to kill her. It’s just that I maybe wouldn’t have been all that bothered if someone else had.

Anyway, what would I know about killing someone? I’m just a kid.

‘So was she,’ they said.

In the end I just closed my eyes and waited to wake up.

But I never did.

She’s dead and I’m in here and I’m scared to death of what happens next.

Chapter One

I saw it as soon as we turned off the motorway. The sun lit up the old building like some kind of celestial spotlight, turning it into something straight off a postcard. The satnav politely suggested that Mum make a U-turn. I couldn’t help thinking it might be on to something: that turning up as the nervous new girl at my fifth school in five years was going to be one more ‘fresh start’ than I could handle. Turning around and heading back in the opposite direction didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Mum disagreed.

“It wants me to go the wrong way down the M40! Turn her off, Abigail. I can see the place from here for goodness’ sake.”

I flicked the power button with a sigh. There was no last-minute reprieve on the horizon – just the sprawling mass of Cotswold Community College: Day and Boarding School, Established 1571. All pale Cotswold stone and leafy oaks and hundreds of kids I didn’t know.

Dad’s voice floated into my head: “There aren’t many state boarding schools around you know, Abs.” I’d heard that a million times down the phone and over Skype all summer long. That and: “You’re lucky to have got a place; this is your chance to really get settled and stay put for a while.” Every time he said it, it was like we’d won the lottery or something. A boarding school that didn’t cost the earth. One the MoD’s ‘Continuity of Education Allowance’ would almost cover.

Mum thumped the horn, tearing me out of my thoughts as a gleaming 4x4 overtook us on the inside and flew straight across the empty roundabout ahead.

“Look at that! Thinks he owns the bloody road,” she shouted, narrowing her eyes and squeezing the accelerator. The sun danced on the back windscreen of the speeding car ahead, winking at us, teasing us. Mum’s fingers tightened around the wheel and her knuckles flashed bright white. I pushed back in my seat and she leaned forward in hers – me trying to hold our ancient Ford Fiesta back and her trying to spur it on.

I watched the speedo as it slowly climbed. 75. 80. 85…

I took a deep breath and felt for the frayed friendship bracelet on my left wrist, running it between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, like I always did when I felt that first icy prickle of panic coming on. Sometimes just the feel of the old thread, knotted together just for me, only me, would be enough to drive my mind away from the places no good ever came of going.

87. 89. 91…

The engine whined desperately in protest. My legs were frozen in place – muscles locked in fear.

Mum’s mouth curled into a determined grimace.

“Isn’t it 60 through here?” My voice cracked. “Mum?”

I rubbed harder at the thread, worried one of these days I’d rub it clean away to nothing. “Mum, please.”

80. 70. 60…

She sighed as the 4x4 disappeared into the distance, and I could breathe again.

When we came to the next roundabout, I recognised the Little Chef and the open playing fields beyond. Rugby posts stood tall and bright, shining sentinels in the Sunday sun. We were almost there. Cars swarmed around us, bursting out of side roads now, flying across the roundabout in a steady stream. The sun sparked across each bonnet in turn, and I lowered my eyes as I tried to blink away the glare.

“Abigail…” Mum’s voice dripped a tired warning. “We’ve been through this…”

“It’s just the sun! I’m not—”

I could see in her face that she didn’t believe me. I could also see the black Volkswagen barrelling towards us as she made her exit, blind, her eyes on me instead of the road.

“Mum!”

She whipped her head back around and wrenched the wheel, swerving out of danger with inches to spare as every muscle in my body braced for the impact that didn’t come. The sound of the VW’s angry horn faded into the distance; my muscles stayed firmly locked. The next turn, sharp and angry as Mum took her frustration out on the kerb, flung us down a narrow lane off the main road, and we jerked to a standstill in the middle of a brightly zigzagged ‘School – No waiting’ zone.

“Here we are then,” Mum said in a voice filled with over-the-top cheer. I slowly let out my breath and rolled my shoulders a couple of times. She didn’t kill the engine. I looked over at her, and followed her gaze out across the wide, empty courtyard to the boarding house beyond. It was smallish, but still proper Sunday night drama material from certain angles. It was an old building, really old, and looked like it was overdue for some repairs here and there, but still it managed to look sort of classically elegant, screaming secret corridors and ancient, dusty books.

The sun ducked behind a cloud, and I felt a fresh burst of anxiety as the picture postcard view briefly turned into something more sinister in the gloom.

Mum gave a little shiver, before ramping the heater up, reaching across me to open the glovebox and rummaging around inside.

“That traffic’ll be worse on the way back, and I still haven’t finished the packing. It’ll be a miracle if I make that flight,” she muttered, scrabbling around madly before yanking her phone out on a wave of empty chocolate wrappers. I braced myself for the inevitable onslaught, but something on the screen caught and diverted her anger, and she started furiously pecking away at it in response.

I patted my pocket, checking for my own phone in case it had somehow slipped out when Mum pulled off her kerb-mounting turn; then I flipped down the sun visor to check my reflection. There were dark shadows under my eyes, my cheeks were puffy, and my too-dark, too-long hair looked lank and greasy. My forehead was too high, my nose was a breeding ground for blackheads, and—

I snapped the visor back up. Not looking was probably better.

I leant over and kissed Mum on the cheek. She kept on tapping and tutting, but threw me an air kiss in return.

“Will you see Dad, do you think? When you—”

“Oh, how many times, Abigail? I don’t know,” she snapped.

I felt my eyes sting; tears threatened, and there was no sun I could blame this time. Instead of shouting at me, her eyes softened and she threw an arm around me, her phone still clutched at the end of it. “I will, I’m sure, but it’s complicated, love. He’s all settled out there, and this is my first time. It’s going to take some getting used to for all of us. I won’t see him right away, and when I do it probably won’t be for long. Just send him an email as soon as you get settled. You know he logs on whenever he can.” She kissed my forehead then ruffled my hair, like I was a toddler. “And give me a ring tonight, OK?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything over the lump rising in my throat.

“Make it late though, love. I’ve no idea what time I’ll get in, and the packing…”

Her voice drifted off, and her arm retracted, all attention reverting back to the phone. I nodded again, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen.

I was stiff from sitting in the car so long, and I felt a hundred years old as I got out – nothing like the fifteen-year-old I was supposed to be. A bubble of guilt burst in my stomach as I pulled my suitcase out of the boot, remembering the two carrier bags hidden carefully inside a sweatshirt at the very bottom. If Mum had found them, well, I didn’t know if I’d even be here. I looked at the case for a second, sitting there on the pavement, full of secrets, and wondered if that would’ve been a good thing or a bad.

I slammed the boot shut, and Mum flung the car around in the road, startling me out of my thoughts. Her window came down. She’d put her big sunglasses on, the ones that made her look like an enormous wasp, and the phone was still clutched in her left hand.

“You’ll be fine, Abigail,” she said over the noise of the engine. “This place will do you the world of good.”

“Yeah. I know,” I lied. I was terrified. “Drive safe, Mum. And…”

She nodded, and smiled, but I couldn’t see if it reached her eyes.

It wasn’t like we hadn’t done this before. Goodbyes were nothing new. This time though, it felt different. Saying goodbye to both of them, to Beth, to home – it was goodbye all round. Suddenly that felt huge. Suddenly I felt more lost than ever.

And then down went the foot: Mum’s ‘legendary lead foot’ Dad used to call it. It was crazy, how hard some habits died. You’d think after what had happened…

I reached for the bracelet.

She turned back out onto the main road, one hand waving out the window, presumably steering with her knees as she pecked away at her phone with the other.

“Right then,” I muttered to myself. “I’ll be fine.”

Hey, it’s only boarding school, Abs! Beth’s voice rang out as clear as a bell in my mind. Stop with the self-pity. Mum’s the one heading off to a war zone, not you. Get a grip!

Beth’s world class when it comes to brutal honesty, and has never had any concept of tact. Everyone needs a friend like that in their lives. Mine just happens to be my big sister. She’s like a jellyfish sometimes, stinging you once, twice, or even three times before you realise it; but she’s usually right on the money. Sometimes you needed a sting to make you get up and out of the water.

I wrestled up the handle of my case, got a grip, and dragged it into line behind me.

**

My footsteps rang loudly on the stone as I walked across the courtyard – an unpleasant, auditory reminder that I should have made more of an effort to diet over the summer. Or, actually, any kind of effort. The start of the school year had always felt so far away. Until suddenly somehow it’s tomorrow, and here I am. Not ready. So not ready.

The building looked completely deserted, and with the sun refusing to come back out from under its blanket of cloud I was starting to get chills. I was also picking up a cheesy horror film vibe – casting myself in the lead role as the classic, vulnerable teenage girl – abandoned in a secluded spot…

In leafy, upper-class Oxfordshire, where endless old biddies peer through their curtains to check on their Volvos and bedding plants every five minutes…

Beth’s eyebrow lifted in my mind’s eye. And I conceded the point. There was probably nowhere safer. But as I looked up at the heavy oaks circling the courtyard they felt dark and oppressive somehow, like they could close ranks any second and trap me inside.

My heart started to pick up speed, and my fingers reached for the familiar, worn cotton as I fought to remind myself that I wasn’t alone; however much it might feel like it sometimes, I was never alone.

Chapter Two

Once I’d made it to the wide, crumbling stone doorstep, I had one last look around in case I’d somehow missed a big group of kids huddled together somewhere catching up on all the summer gossip. Maybe they were all up at the school itself; maybe I should’ve gone there first.

“It’s never like that in the books,” I remembered saying to Dad. “The dorms aren’t half a mile away from the school at the bottom of a hill at Hogwarts, are they?”

“Hog-whats?” Dad wasn’t much of a reader. “It’s a very old school,” he’d told me. “Not one of your concrete sixties’ monstrosities. You should be grateful!”

Panicking now, that I was in totally the wrong place, I delved into the front pocket of my case and pulled out the letter they’d sent at the beginning of the holidays.

‘Boarders are expected between 5p.m. and 7p.m. on Sunday 6th September.’

I looked down at my watch and sighed. No wonder there was no one about – I was two hours early.

I gnawed on my thumbnail for a while, before giving the door handle a surreptitious rattle: locked. I tried the buzzer next to it. Nothing.

I thought for a while, and decided I had two choices: I could haul myself and my case off up the hill in search of somewhere to get a hot chocolate, or I could just park myself there and wait it out. And as much as I loved anything and everything chocolate-based, I wasn’t built for climbing, so I slouched to the ground and wrapped my arms around my chest against the chill. I told myself I could use the time to get my head straight and make sure my grip was good and tight before all the other kids started arriving. But despite my best efforts it wasn’t long before those trees began to feel like they were closing in around me, and the silence slowly but steadily grew so very loud around me that I couldn’t bear it.

I dug my phone out of my pocket and my fingers went straight to Beth’s name – like chubby little magnets – when a sudden noise shattered the silence. I dropped the phone in surprise as something exploded out of one of the oak trees, arrowing across the courtyard in a flurry of disturbed leaves and frantic wings. I ducked down and swore reflexively, pulling my hands up over my head before realising nothing was actually attacking me. I looked up and saw a magpie. I felt ridiculous. Thank goodness no one had been around to see.

“Good-morning-Mr-Magpie-how’s-your-wife?” I blurted the silly greeting Mum always used out of superstitious habit, and the bird let out a rapid-fire series of yaks that sounded like laughter in response, then disappeared into a hedgerow across the lane.

A car door slammed nearby, and I swung my head around as I spotted what must have disturbed the bird in the first place. A dark hatchback sat across from the gate, which now swung open to let a handsome, older man – Silver fox! Beth would’ve said – into the courtyard. An equally handsome blond teen with a large rucksack slung over his shoulder followed close behind.

“Hello!” The George Clooney lookalike offered me a cheery smile as he walked over. “Are we too early? Strickland not about?”

“Um…who?”

“Mr Strickland? Or Mrs – it’s usually Ian who opens up and then Irene…” He drifted off and looked down at my nervous, fidgeting form. I sprang up into a standing fidget instead, almost going flying over my case in the process. The boy beside him, the spitting image of the man who could only be his dad, slowly took me in without saying a word. I felt my cheeks flush.

“I’ve only just got here,” I said. “I haven’t seen anyone yet. It’s my first day.”

“Ah, I didn’t think I’d seen you before.” He beamed at me. “You’ve not been left on your own, surely?”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” It wasn’t like I was a little kid or anything. I felt my cheeks do their thing even more.

“Well, you’ve got some company now,” he said. “This is my son – Tyler.” He punched the boy lightly on the shoulder. “Say hi, Ty!”

Tyler, all surfer hair and golden tan, rolled steely-blue eyes before a loud buzz belched out from the speaker by the door – making me jump yet again. My nerves were completely, embarrassingly shredded. A deep voice boomed from within. “What’s this then? Such keenness! Commendable!” A wheezy chuckle followed, then, “Well, come on up! Don’t stand about making the place look untidy!”

As the door clicked open, surfer-boy Tyler grabbed his dad in a quick, one-armed hug.

“See you Friday,” he said in a soft voice, clapping him on the back before ducking through the door. I was just about to awkwardly thank Clooney for the introduction when Tyler stuck his head back out and lifted an eyebrow. “You coming then, New Girl?”

“Ty’ll help you find your feet,” Clooney said, lifting my case up and over the step for me. “He’s just starting Year Twelve so he knows the ropes. Don’t let him boss you around though!” He gave me a friendly wink before making his way back towards the gate. When I turned around, Tyler had already gone back in. I took a deep breath, visualised Beth making shooing motions at me with impatient hands, and headed in after him.

The second both my feet were inside the building a single, piercing yaw rang out from behind me. I spun, expecting to see the magpie again, almost losing my balance and face-planting in the process; but as I turned, a gust of wind caught the door and slammed it soundly shut behind me.

Chapter Three

My heart thumped with a mixture of nerves and general out-of-shape knackeredness as I wrestled my case up the dim stairwell – finally emerging into the bright reception area like an exhausted mole. A short man, completely bald with a perfectly round belly sitting like a beach ball under his shirt, was chatting away cheerily to Tyler. Mr Strickland, I presumed. He looked like he’d been off somewhere hot for the summer, as the top of his head and the front of his nose were brightly burned – a flaming red a million miles from the sun-kissed look Tyler was rocking. That made me smile. He was, quite literally, a shining beacon of normality.

I stood out from both of them though: ghostlike in my comparative paleness, and chubbier than the pair of them put together. Vive la difference! Dad would have said. Get over it, Fatty, would’ve been Beth’s advice. It’s your own fault. Double sting. But I’d spent most of the summer indoors, with comfort food for company. She was right. I had no one to blame but myself.