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PRAISE FOR C.L. TAYLOR
‘Claustrophobic and compelling.’
Karin Slaughter
‘Smart, packing a punch to the heart, and dark
in all the right places.’
Sarah Pinborough
‘Terrifying . . . this brilliant book stayed with me long after I finished the last page.’
Cass Green
‘Highly original – kept me utterly enthralled.’
Liz Nugent
‘Twisted, unbearably tense, and a shock ending.’
C.J. Tudor
‘ The Missing has a delicious sense of foreboding from the first page, luring us into the heart of a family with terrible secrets and making us wait, with pounding hearts for the final,
agonizing twist. Loved it.’
Fiona Barton
‘Fans of C. L. Taylor are in for a treat.’
Clare Mackintosh
‘ Black Narcissus for the Facebook generation, a clever exploration of how petty jealousies and misunderstandings can
unravel even the tightest of friendships. Claustrophobic, tense and thrilling, a thrill-ride of a novel that keeps you guessing.’
Elizabeth Haynes
‘A gripping and disturbing psychological thriller.’
Lucy Clarke
‘As with all her books, C.L. Taylor delivers real pace, and it’s a story that keeps calling the reader back – so much so that I
read it from cover to cover in one day.’
Rachel Abbott
‘A dark and gripping read that engrossed me
from start to finish.’
Mel Sherratt
‘Pacy, well written, and anxiety-inducing.’
Lisa Hall
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‘A compulsive read.’
Emma Kavanagh
‘Kept me guessing till the end.’
Sun
‘Haunting and heart-stoppingly creepy, The Lie
is a gripping rollercoaster of suspense.’
Sunday Express
‘A rollercoaster with multiple twists.’
Daily Mail
‘5/5 stars – Spine-chilling!’
Woman Magazine
‘An excellent psychological thriller.’
Heat Magazine
‘Packed with twists and turns, this brilliantly tense
thriller will get your blood pumping.’
Fabulous Magazine
‘Fast-paced, tense and atmospheric, a guaranteed bestseller.’
Mark Edwards
‘A real page-turner . . . creepy, horrifying and twisty.
You have no idea which characters you can trust, and the result is intriguing, scary and extremely gripping.’
Julie Cohen
‘A compelling, addictive and wonderfully written tale.
Can’t recommend it enough.’
Louise Douglas
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See what bloggers are saying about
C.L. TAYLOR . . .
‘My eyes were simply glued to the page, I couldn’t tear them away!’
The Bookworm’s Fantasy
‘An intriguing and stirring tale, overflowing with family drama.’
Lovereading.co.uk
‘Astoundingly written, The Missing pulls you in from the very first page and doesn’t let you go until the final full stop.’
Bibliophile Book Club
‘Imaginative, compelling and shocking –
The Fear is a highly engrossing read.’
The Book Review Café
‘ The Fear is a dark tale of revenge and just when you
think you know where the story’s going,
the author takes you by surprise!’
‘[ The Missing] inspired such a mixture of emotions in me and made me realise how truly talented you have to be to even
attempt a psychological suspense of this calibre.’
My Chestnut Reading Tree
‘Tense and gripping with a dark, ominous feeling that seeps
through the very clever writing . . . all praise to C.L. Taylor.’
Anne Cater, Random Things Through My Letterbox
‘C.L. Taylor has done it again, with another
compelling masterpiece.’
Rachel’s Random Reads
‘In a crowded landscape of so-called domestic noir thrillers,
most of which rely on clever twists and big reveals,
[ The Missing] stands out for its subtle and thoughtful analysis of the fallout from a loss in the family.’
Crime Fiction Lover
‘When I had finished, I felt like someone had ripped my heart
out and wrung it out like a dish cloth.’
By the Letter Book Reviews
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‘ The Fear is a gripping, fast-paced read.’
The Book Whisperer
‘The Missing has such a big, juicy storyline and is a dream read if you like books that will keep you guessing and take on plenty of twists and turns.’
Bookaholic Confessions
‘Incredibly thrilling and utterly unpredictable! A must read!’
Aggie’s Books
‘A gripping story.’
Bibliomaniac
‘It’s the first time I have cried whilst reading.
The last chapter [of The Missing] was heart-breaking
and uplifting at the same time.’
The Coffee and Kindle
‘Another hit from C.L. Taylor . . . so cleverly written and so absorbing that I completely forgot about everything else
while reading it. Unmissable.’
Alba in Book Land
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C.L. Taylor is a Sunday Times bestselling author. Her
psychological thrillers have sold over a million copies in
the UK alone, been translated into over twenty languages,
and optioned for television. Her 2019 novel, Sleep, was a Richard and Judy pick. C.L. Taylor lives in Bristol with her
partner and son.
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By the same author:
The Accident
The Lie
The Missing
The Escape
The Fear
Sleep
For Young Adults
The Treatment
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C.L. TAYLOR
Strangers
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NOT FOR RESALE OR QUOTATION
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Published by AVON
A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
A Hardback Original 2020
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2020
Copyright © C.L. Taylor 2020
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.
ISBN: 978-0-00-822246-8 (HB)
ISBN: 978-0-00-822107-2 (TPB)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Typeset in Sabon LT Std 11.25/14.5 pt by Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk, Stirlingshire
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publishers.
This book is produced from independently certified FSC™ paper
This book is produced from independently certified FSC™ paper
to ensure responsible forest management.
to ensure responsible forest management.
For more information visit: www.harpercollins.co.uk/green
For more information visit: www.harpercollins.co.uk/green
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To Kellie Turner
My favourite Aussie
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STRANGERS
Chapter 1
Alice
Alice Fletcher has never seen a dead body before. She always
imagined they’d look peaceful: their skin slackened, their muscles softened and their mouths settled, not into a smile exactly, but a loose, contented line. Alice Fletcher was wrong. The body lying motionless at her feet looks nothing like the soothing mental
image she’s been carrying around with her for the last forty-six years; the mouth is open, the jaw is hinged into a silent scream and the glassy, lifeless eyes are staring into the distance, somewhere beyond the toes of her sensible court shoes.
Alice isn’t aware of the frantic pounding of her heart, the
heavy-duty lino beneath her feet or the steel-grey shutter that separates her from the rest of the world. Nor is she conscious of the people around her. She doesn’t notice when the tall hulking woman to her left takes a step closer. She doesn’t see the sweat patches under the armpits of Ursula’s pale blue sweatshirt or
the way her hands are shaking, one fingernail torn away leaving 1
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C.L. TAYLOR
behind a raggedy nail bed, tinged with blood. She isn’t aware
of Gareth’s laboured breathing or the bruise blooming on his
jaw.
An anguished scream from across the shop snaps Alice back
into herself. There are other sounds too: whispering, sobbing
and ‘Oh God, oh God’ repeated over and over again. And then
there’s the pain, the deep, nauseating ache that radiates up her arm and across her shoulder to her neck. Alice clutches at her arm, her fingers sliding over the warm, wet polyester sleeve of her blouse. But it’s not the blood that makes her stomach lurch and her legs weaken. There’s a dead body at her feet and her
nightmare isn’t over yet.
‘I need my phone,’ she mutters. ‘I have to find my phone.’
‘Where are you going?’ Ursula shouts as Alice stumbles away
and the frantic wail of a siren drifts through the open window.
‘The police are coming. What do we tell them when they get
here?’
Alice turns slowly, her gaze returning to the corpse. She looks at it for a second, two, three, then draws an exhausted, raggedy breath and raises her eyes.
‘We say it was self-defence.’
2
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STRANGERS
Chapter 2
the same evening, on twitter
@realmadwife:
Massive police presence in the centre of Bristol.
What’s going on?
@DiddleyBopDee:
Probably a road rage incident. The traffic is
MENTAL.
@PeterCrussell:
I follow BBC Radio Bristol and they haven’t mentioned
anything.
@realmadwife:
That doesn’t mean there’s nothing going on, Peter. It
just means we haven’t been told about it yet.
@pauldunphy:
Everyone’s a conspiracist. Ring the police if you’re so
worried.
3
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C.L. TAYLOR
@realmadwife:
I think they’ve got enough to deal with, don’t you?
Anyway, thanks for butting in with your ‘helpful’ advice.
@onthecliffedge:
I bet the Harbourside Murderer is pleased.
@lisaharte101:
About what?
@onthecliffedge:
That we’re talking about something else for a change.
Ha. Ha.
@lisaharte101:
Seriously? People have died and you’re laughing?
@cris_matthiesen:
There’s no such thing as the Harbourside Murderer. It’s
an urban legend.
@snugbookshop:
Really? So how did three people just disappear then?
Answer me that . . .
4
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STRANGERS
Chapter 3
Alice
one week earlier
Monday
It’s the beginning of March but a bead of sweat winds its way
down Alice’s spine as she unbuttons her damp coat and slides
it off her shoulders. There’s a small round wooden table in front of her and a print of a dog sitting next to a gramophone on
the wall but Alice isn’t interested in what she can see. She’s listening: for the tinkle of the bell above the door and the squeak of shoes on the sticky pub floor. But there’s no one creeping up behind her. The pub is silent apart from the tap-tapping of a
man at his laptop on the other side of the room, the murmured
voices of two old blokes at the bar and the clink of glasses as the dishwasher opens. She takes a steadying breath then flings the coat over the back of a chair and sits down on the padded
5
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C.L. TAYLOR
corner seat, shuffling around the table so she’s facing the door.
Her pulse slows.
Alice likes predictability. All-day delivery slots make her tense and just the thought of someone sneaking up on her, covering
her eyes and shouting, ‘Guess who?’ is enough to bring her out in hives. The day she turned thirty-nine she texted all her friends telling them that under no circumstances were they to arrange
a surprise party for her fortieth. It was probably the worst thing she could have done. Her phone didn’t stop pinging with threats to hire village halls, to swipe her spare house keys, to collude with Peter. One so-called friend had even tormented her with
the promise of a male stripper.
She shudders at the thought and takes a sip of her lemonade.
As it turned out there was no surprise party for her fortieth
and, although she’d felt nervous stepping into the restaurant her friend Lynne had booked, there was no stripper either. It was a lovely evening, surrounded by good friends and full of laughter.
Peter had been on his best behaviour all evening and, even
though she’d girded herself for unpleasantness in the taxi on
the way home, he hadn’t started a fight.
Her mobile vibrates on the table and she snatches it up, certain it’s Michael, cancelling their date. But it’s just Lynne, her best friend and workmate at Mirage Fashions, asking her how it’s going. She taps out a reply, keeping one eye on the door. It’s tipping down with rain outside and people are running past the pub, heads
down, their faces obscured by heavy hoods and damp brollies.
He’s not here yet and I’m shitting myself. I don’t know why I agreed to this. Actually I do. Emily!
She inserts a rolling eyes emoticon at the end of the text, then deletes it. Her twenty-year-old daughter didn’t force her into using Tinder. But Emily certainly dropped a lot of hints:
‘It’s been two years since Dad left . . .’
‘I can’t remember the last time you went on a date.’
6
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STRANGERS
‘You’re forty-six, not eighty-six. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life alone.’
‘Doesn’t it get lonely? Spending the weekends on your own?’
She’d answered all of her daughter’s comments with a sharp
comeback but when she tried to respond to the last question
the words dried in her mouth. Returning to her empty two-
bedroom flat wasn’t so bad in the week when her daughter was
there. Besides, she was so tired after spending eight hours a day on her feet, smiling at customers and rallying her staff, that all she wanted to do was sink onto the sofa and lose herself in a
documentary or some terrible reality TV show. But on a Sunday, when her daughter disappeared off to her boyfriend Adam’s
place, the flat seemed to swell and Alice seemed to shrink. As she walked from room to room, looking for something to do,
she felt like a marble rolling through a maze. And on the rare occasions when she spoke – to herself or to the television – her voice seemed to bounce off the walls. It was almost a relief to wake up on Monday and get ready for work.
She stares at her phone, pushing down the wave of self-pity
that threatens to engulf her and deletes the part about her
daughter. She presses send and, a couple of seconds later, the phone vibrates with a reply.
Leave! Meet me for a coffee and a sandwich! Kaisha can
cover for me.
It’s a tempting offer but there’s no way she’s going to let her nerves stop her from meeting Michael. She decided, on 31st