vowed that if she lived through the experience, she would leave that same night and take her boys with her. As you will now realise, that became the inspiration for Carol’s story.
Interviewing those women had a profound impact on me. I was in my twenties and reasonably naïve; I was happily married and my childhood had been warm and safe. What struck me most was that although these women’s narratives could be said to be over – they’d done it, they’d got away – what I saw was another terrifying beginning. They were badly scarred, physically and emotionally; they were destitute, jobless, homeless, with children to feed, clothe, bring up alone. They were refugees from war-torn homes. I could not get my head around how any woman could even begin to make a new life for herself under these circumstances. So what perhaps should have been the end of a story became for me the start: Carol leaves her husband in the opening section of the novel; it then focuses on how such a violent past might consistently hamper a present, how it might make a successful future almost impossible. As Nicola says, ‘The thing about second chances is that they drag with them the scars of the first fucked-up attempt, scars that infiltrate and derail our best attempts at redemption.’
It is said that reading makes people more empathic. In this story, I have tried to explore with empathy how easily a family can fall apart but how, with enough love, it can eventually heal. I am above all delighted that Bookouture have published Carol’s story. For me this book is about so many things: family, fear, the legacy of abuse, violence, politics, compassion, friendship, grief, redemption, kindness and, mainly, love. It is not the first time I have felt the responsibility for the subject matter very keenly. Whilst this is not a true story, it is based on a truth all too common. I hope with Carol that I have managed to represent at least some women who have been through something similar and to have told her story and that of her family authentically and compassionately.
The day spent at Lancaster Castle, back when it was a prison, marked me too. The visit, along with many conversations with a close and much-loved relative who worked as a prison chaplain, made me aware of how very difficult it is for offenders to stay out of prison. The psychological and emotional conditions as well as the often-challenging external factors make it almost impossible for some not to reoffend. One inmate I spoke to told me he preferred it inside; the responsibilities that came with life outside were too much for him to cope with. Graham’s story too has to do with second chances and why they are sometimes foiled by the past. I wanted to explore how someone so haunted might conceivably arrive at a point where he could come to terms with the huge existentialist crisis inherent in having taken a life, and begin to build a positive life of his own.
I could go on and on as this book means a great deal to me, but if you wish to get in touch, I am always happy to chat via Twitter, Facebook or Instagram. Writing can be a lonely business, so when a reader reaches out and tells me that my work has moved them, stayed with them or that they simply loved it, I am beyond delighted. I have enjoyed making new friends online through my psychological thrillers Valentina, Mother, The Pact, The Proposal and The Women, and hope to make more with this somewhat different offering.
Thanks again for reading The Lies We Hide. If you enjoyed it, I would be very grateful if you could spare a couple of minutes to write a review. It only needs to be a line or two and I would really appreciate it.
Best wishes,
Susie
The Pact
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You made a promise to your sister. It could destroy your daughter.
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The Daughter
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15-year-old Rosie lies in hospital fighting for her life. She’s trying to tell her mother what happened to her, and how she got there, but she can’t speak the words out loud.
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The Mother
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Rosie’s mother Toni has a secret. She had a traumatic childhood, and she and her sister Bridget made each other a promise thirty years ago: that they could never speak the truth about what happened to them as children, and that