A guilty secret, p.1
A Guilty Secret, page 1
Praise for Philippa East
‘Written with subtle intelligence and quiet menace.’
DAILY MAIL
‘Smart, fresh, beautifully written and very tense.’
JANE SHEMILT
‘Cleverly written, with many layers – a compelling read.’
CATHERINE COOPER
‘An engrossing, twisty tale.’
NELL PATTISON
‘Taut, tantalizing suspense … Safe and Sound is gripping, spellbinding, and completely addictive.’
SAMANTHA M. BAILEY
‘A thought-provoking thriller.’
HEAT
‘Breathtaking suspense. A phenomenal talent.’
HOLLY SEDDON
‘An addictive and gripping read which kept me obsessively turning the pages; it is heart-breaking in its conclusion and packed with complex characters who stayed with me for days.’
LOUISE MUMFORD
‘Terrifically engaging.’
JO SPAIN
‘Tense.’
ARAMINTA HALL
‘Heart-breakingly realistic.’
GYTHA LODGE
‘Captivating and heartbreaking. An emotional family drama filled with twists and turns that will keep you guessing until the end.’
LAURE VAN RENSBURG
‘Addictive. I couldn’t put it down.’
PHOEBE MORGAN
‘Atmospheric, page-turning … Combining heart-rending sensitivity with sock-it-to-’em twists.’
HELEN MONKS TAKHAR
‘Such an original plot; a heart-breaking exploration of mental illness, loneliness and obsession, with characters who will stay with you long after you’ve read the final page.’
JACKIE KABLER
‘Compelling and beautifully written.’
DEBBIE HOWELLS
‘This emotional, twisty plot leads to a satisfyingly spellbinding end.’
CANDIS
‘A brilliant portrayal of the chasm that often exists between the reality of our lives and how we portray ourselves. It drew me in from the first chapter and had me hooked until the end!’
NIKKI SMITH
‘Engrossing and affecting … Beautifully written and deeply insightful.’
ROZ WATKINS
‘Philippa East has somehow maintained a real sense of foreboding throughout but at the same time there’s a genuine poignancy in the fears that beset almost all the characters.’
TREVOR WOOD
PHILIPPA EAST grew up in Scotland and originally studied Psychology and Philosophy at the University of Oxford. After graduating, she moved to London to train as a Clinical Psychologist and worked in NHS mental health services for over ten years.
Her debut novel Little White Lies was shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey New Blood Dagger for best debut of 2020, and this was followed by two further psychological thrillers, Safe and Sound and I’ll Never Tell. A Guilty Secret is her fourth novel.
Philippa now lives in the Lincolnshire countryside with her spouse and cat, and alongside her writing, she continues to work as a psychologist and therapist.
Author’s Note: Please be aware that this book deals directly with the issue of suicide.
Also By Philippa East
Little White Lies
Safe and Sound
I’ll Never Tell
COPYRIGHT
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperCollinsPublishers
Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper,
Dublin 1, D01 C9W8, Ireland
This edition 2024
1
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2024
Copyright © Philippa East 2024
Philippa East 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.
Source ISBN: 9780008455798
Ebook Edition © January 2024 ISBN: 9780008455828
Version 2023-11-29
NOTE TO READERS
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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008455798
For my parents,
Brian and Claire East
CONTENTS
Cover
Praise
About the Author
Author’s Note
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
Prologue: Carrie
Chapter 1: Finn
Chapter 2: Finn
Chapter 3: Finn
Chapter 4: Finn
Chapter 5: Carrie
Chapter 6: Finn
Chapter 7: Carrie
Chapter 8: Finn
Chapter 9: Finn
Chapter 10: Carrie
Chapter 11: Finn
Chapter 12: Carrie
Chapter 13: Victor
Chapter 14: Finn
Chapter 15: Carrie
Chapter 16: Victor
Chapter 17: Victor
Chapter 18: Carrie
Chapter 19: Victor
Chapter 20: Carrie
Chapter 21: Carrie
Chapter 22: Carrie
Chapter 23: Finn
Chapter 24: Victor
Chapter 25: Carrie
Chapter 26: Carrie
Chapter 27: Carrie
Chapter 28: Finn
Chapter 29: Carrie
Chapter 30: Victor
Chapter 31: Finn
Chapter 32: Carrie
Chapter 33: Carrie
Chapter 34: Finn
Chapter 35: Carrie
Chapter 36: Victor
Chapter 37: Victor
Chapter 38: Finn
Chapter 39: Victor
Chapter 40: Victor
Chapter 41: Carrie
Chapter 42: Carrie
Chapter 43: Victor
Chapter 44: Carrie
Chapter 45: Victor
Chapter 46: Victor
Chapter 47: Mae
Chapter 48: Finn
Chapter 49: Mae
Chapter 50: Carrie
Epilogue: Victor
Acknowledgements
Extract
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
Carrie
2003
The plastic cigarette lighter clicks. The orange flame jumps high, illuminating our features: pale, drawn, serious, exhausted. My friends’ faces are warped by the weird radiance, but each one still looks as familiar to me as my own.
Mae holds the lighter; she’s in charge, the rest of us circling around her. Our breaths rise and fall together in the darkness of the dormitory; it’s like we’re breathing as one.
‘Hold your hand out,’ she says.
Serena goes first. She’s tough and loyal, and always the person next in line to Mae. Still, Mae makes sure to hold her wrist while Serena says the words Mae has given her.
Victor is next. He tries to duck out of it but no one’s going to let him. We’ve started this now, and we all need to make the pact.
Swear on the pain …
Next is Alex, stepping up quickly. He wants it over and done with. In the darkness afterwards, I want to take his hand in mine and kiss it where it hurts.
Now it’s my turn, and I’m totally ready. Of course I know it’s going to hurt, but I don’t care; I want it. Mae clicks the lighter and the fire flares up again. I hold out my hand, balancing it right over the flame. Mae doesn’t need to hold me. I do it willingly, hungrily.
I feel a bit like I’m going to cry again, even though I’ve been crying all day. It’s so awful what’s happened, but right here, right now, I want to capture and preserve this moment forever: all five of us huddled together in the dorm room, transgressing all of St Michael’s rules in the middle of the night, taking it in turns to hold our hands above the scorching heat. I feel drunk, completely high, even though I’m neither. I’m one hundred per cent sober, but this feels more intense than any of the games we’ve played or things we’ve done before. They’re doing this for me and we’re all in this together. Never have I ever known friendship like this.
There’s darkness at the edge of the circle; all that’s happened beats its wings at the boundary of my mind. When the lighter flame goes out again, it will all rush in on me and I can t bear to think about what will happen after this. I want to stay here for eternity, in this circle with my friends, making this promise to each other again and again.
The pain is agonizing, overwhelming – beautiful in a way I can barely describe. It’s excruciating and totally pure, and I want to hold my hand in it forever.
CHAPTER 1
Finn
2019
I was already up the stepladder when my phone went off. My face was close to the harsh strip light that ran down the middle of the garage ceiling like a spine, and I could hear the light’s buzz and feel its pale heat on my scalp where my hair had started to thin. The garage was dim, musty, full of dust, cobwebs and dead spiders. Beneath me, the empty concrete floor was cracked and gritty.
The phone’s ring was like a scream in that empty space, and my body lurched with the shock. How had I missed something as simple as not switching off my phone despite having so carefully prepared everything else? Why had I even brought my mobile into the garage? Because, like everyone these days, I was used to carrying it everywhere with me? Of course, there was a more obvious explanation: the same reason I had ‘forgotten’ to turn it off. I knew what it really meant.
After a wrenching moment of hesitation, I let go of the canvas strap that I’d been so carefully arranging in place and left it swinging softly, innocuously, while I climbed down, legs loose and hollow, to answer the shrill ring.
It could have been anyone calling. It could have been work or my dentist or someone about an insurance renewal quote, even spam, but I still answered it. Later, I would wonder whether this wasn’t a strange twist of fate. A perfectly timed, preternatural message.
I climbed down and took hold of the shiny ringing handset, that little gossamer lifeline. I swiped the green icon and answered, ‘Hello?’
It took me a couple of seconds to recognize her voice, especially as she said simply, the way she always used to: ‘It’s me.’ Everyone knows that it takes a very particular kind of relationship for someone to greet you on the phone like that. Plus, I was disorientated, shaking, even feeling a little nauseous by then, which further slowed my reaction times.
Still, my voice was surprisingly steady when – a few heartbeats later – I said: ‘Mhairi?’
I should have recognized that voice immediately. Once upon a time, it had been my whole world. My ex-wife spoke in a rush, her words tumbling over each other. I had to ask her to slow down.
‘What?’ I said. ‘What?’
Mhairi took a breath and the line went silent for a while. I waited, bracing myself. I imagined her standing in her kitchen with Tom and the girls – or perhaps they would be through in the living room, or upstairs – standing with the phone pressed to her chest, eyes closed while she battled to compose herself. In that moment, any anger I might have felt towards her was pushed aside by concern.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, finally, ‘for calling you out of the blue like this. It’s about Kate.’
Our friend’s face swam into my mind: the fine bones of her jaw, the frame of blonde hair, the laughter lines scoring the corners of her eyes. And the lines of concern that replaced them when she brought me to stay with her, took care of me and did her very best to fix things.
‘What’s happened? Is everything all right?’
‘No. No, she … Finn, Kate hurt herself.’
‘What?’ I pictured an accident: our friend slipping down a flight of stairs or mishandling a chopping knife or wrenching a steering wheel to try to avoid a crash. That thought was terrible enough, but already I feared that wasn’t what Mhairi meant. ‘When you say she hurt herself … ?’
‘They said it was deliberate.’
My chest went tight. ‘Well,’ I managed after a moment, ‘is she okay?’
‘No … No, she’s …’
‘Oh, Mhairi, what are you—?’
‘She didn’t make it, Finn.’
A silence like a vacuum stretched between us. I tried to scramble across it, my tongue catching against the sharp edges of my teeth. I was struggling. ‘My God,’ I said. ‘This is such a shock. This is terrible. Mhairi, I’m so sorry.’
‘It is. It’s awful.’ I could hear the tears pushing their way in with her words. Kate hurt herself? This time I imagined a car screeching to a stop too late to avoid the tumbling figure in the road; I imagined plumes of pinkish blood in a bath. I pictured a figure stepping off a building or a bridge. And at the same time, I really struggled to imagine Kate doing any of that.
‘They found her at home,’ said Mhairi. ‘In her clinic room. She’d …’ She broke off. ‘But it’s more typical for women to use pills, isn’t it?’
I could hardly believe we were having this conversation. I had never expected Mhairi to call me for this. Pills. Not slashed wrists or a hurtling jump. Of course Kate wouldn’t have done something as violent as that. She would have tried to cause as little disruption as possible. Even so, the details released a black flash of horror through my mind. There was a rushing in my ears: a wave of grief, shame, sickness. I needed to sit down, get blood to my head. I lowered myself to my knees on the gritty concrete floor.
‘I’m glad you … Thank you for calling.’
‘Of course. I had to. But I don’t understand, Finn. How could she do it? It’s Kate.’
I knew what she meant: Kate wasn’t like that. She wasn’t haunted or damaged. She helped people and made them better. She was never the crazy one. She had the answers. She was supposed to be the one who made everything all right.
‘It happens,’ I said. ‘It can happen to anyone.’ I wasn’t sure that I really believed that. There were people who seemed to be luckier than that.
I could sense Mhairi vehemently shaking her head. She repeated: ‘Not Kate.’
No, she was right: not Kate. But it had been. And there was no way I could tell Mhairi now what I had been doing when she rang. Not that I had ever planned on telling her. Or anyone.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I repeated, the conversation unfolding between us with so much else left unsaid. ‘But I’m grateful for you calling. For telling me. I might not have known otherwise. Listen, Mhairi.’ I tried to pull myself up a bit. ‘How are you managing? How are you and Tom and the girls?’
She didn’t answer that. ‘There’s a funeral,’ she said instead. ‘Next Wednesday. You could get a train, take time off work …’
The request was implicit and I never meant to hesitate. Of course I wanted to be there; never in a million years would I not go to Kate’s funeral. The idea was unimaginable – more shocking almost than the news of her death. It was just that a few minutes ago, the future had been nothing to me. A nothingness. A blank. It was completely bewildering trying to recreate it for myself now and the confusion of it blocked up my words.
‘I … I don’t …’
‘I need you to come,’ Mhairi said, into the silence I was leaving.
It was like shaking myself, violently pulling myself away from the place I’d been about to step into just moments before: that black chasm. I drew a breath, like the first breath of a newborn.
‘Mhairi,’ I told her. ‘Kate was my best friend too. Of course I’ll come.’
And that was when she really did break down crying, a sound that carved fractures across my heart. From then on, all I could hear were her sobs on the line, and then Tom’s voice appeared in the background, coming closer, saying, ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’
The line cut off. She must have hung up. I pictured her rolling herself into Tom’s strong arms, in a way that – by the end – she had become too frightened to do with me.
I clicked my own phone back to black and knelt on the cold concrete floor, panting. Devils, hellfire, the haunting of souls.
A vast shudder ran through me as I pushed myself to my feet. I’d been pulled back just in time from the lip of an abyss. By some ironic, tragic coincidence, Mhairi’s phone call about our friend had saved me just in time.
From: mhairi_1981@gmail.com
To: katefallon@hotmail.com
Sent: 15.05pm, 05/09/2009
Subject: Moving to Cambridge!
Hello Kate!
How are things with you? I hope life is good.
I wanted to let you know that I’m moving to Cambridge next month! I thought it was time to get out of London and a job came up in the East Anglian branch. I saw in the college newsletter that you’re still working (and living?) there, so I wondered if at some point you’d like to meet up? It would be handy to have someone to show me around the city a bit!
