Book : Who Did You Tell? A Novel - Kara, Lesley

-Titulo Original : Who Did You Tell?: A Novel

-Fabricante :

Ballantine Books

-Descripcion Original:

A recovering alcoholic’s dark secrets catch up with her in this gripping novel of psychological suspense from the internationally bestselling author of The Rumor. “Instantly immersive, then intriguing, then insanely suspenseful, then . . . the truth. Believe me, Lesley Kara knows what she’s doing.”-Lee Child We said to keep it a secret, that no one needed to know. Astrid is newly sober and trying to turn her life around. Having reluctantly moved back in with her mother, in a quiet seaside town away from the temptations and darkness of her previous life , she is focusing on her recovery. She’s going to meetings. Confessing her misdeeds. Making amends to those she’s wronged. If she fills her days, maybe she can outrun the ghosts that haunt her. Maybe she can start anew. But someone is tormenting me now. Someone knows where I am and what I’ve done. Someone knows exactly what Astrid is running from. And they won’t stop until she learns that some mistakes can’t be corrected. Some mistakes, you have to pay for . . . The question is: Who did you tell? Review Praise for The Rumor “Keeps you guessing until the final page.” -Paula Hawkins, author of The Girl on the Train “Everyone is going be talking about The Rumor.” -Shari Lapena, author of The Couple Next Door “A roller-coaster ride to the very last sentence.” -Fiona Barton, author of The Widow About the Author Lesley Kara is an alumna of the Faber Academy Writing a Novel course. She lives on the North Essex coast. She is the author of The Rumor, a Sunday Times Top 10 bestseller. Who Did You Tell?, is coming soon. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1 I smell him first, or rather the aftershave he used to wear. Joint by Roccobarocco. A ’90s vintage scent-masculine and woody. A discontinued line. I spin round, but no one’s there. Only a girl in a puffer jacket squatting to tie her laces. I almost trip over her. Then I see him, sprinting toward the sea, the furry flaps of his trapper hat flying in the breeze like a spaniel’s ears. Simon. My knees give way. I stare after him, but he’s disappeared into the night. That’s if he was ever there in the first place. Maybe it’s all in my head. A hallucination. I’ve had a few of those in the past. Whatever it was, I scurry home. A small, frightened creature, suddenly afraid of the dark. Afraid of him. Mum pounces on me like a sniffer dog the second I walk through the door. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been worried sick.” Her fingers dig into my arms and I have to shake her off. “It’s only ten o’clock, Mum. You can’t keep doing this. You’ve got to trust me.” The snort is out before she has a chance to think better of it. “Trust? You’re talking to me about trust?” She crumples onto the bottom stair with her head in her hands, and something inside me crumples too. I kneel down beside her and bury my head in her lap. “Sorry.” My voice is muffled in the folds of her dressing gown and the years roll away. I’m in my first year of secondary school and someone has upset me. Mum is telling me to rise above it. Now, as then, she rubs her hand in a circle between my shoulders. “I just don’t understand why you have to walk when it’s so late,” she says, and I want to explain that if I have to come home and sit in this dreary little cottage night after night without drinking, my head will explode. I want to tell her that I walk to stay alive, that I have to keep on the move, doing things, going places, even when I’ve nothing to do and nowhere to go. Especially then. But all I can do is shed hot, silent tears into her lap. It’s been five months since I woke up in hospital, Mum standing at the foot of my bed with “That Look” on her face. A fortnight since my spell in rehab came to an end. It was she who suggested this arrangement. If she hadn’t, I might have been forced to ask, wouldn’t have had the luxury of indignation. “Move in with you? In Fli