Our site works best with the latest versions of these web browsers. Some BOTM features may not work on older or outdated browsers.
To update, click your preferred browser below and follow the instructions.
When her boyfriend disappears, Clara must sort through his family's web of lies to discover where he went—and if it's too late to save him.
“At first I mistook the severed head for something else.” The first sentence of this book had me SHOOK. I was so intrigued that I didn’t stop reading until I reached the last page! The Lies We Told contains two heart-pounding, twisty plots—and I could. Not. Wait. To see how they came together.
Cambridge, 1980: Beth and her husband tried for years to have a child until they were finally blessed wit...
When Clara's boyfriend, Luke, disappears, everyone believes that he's left her, but Clara thinks she knows the truth. Recent evidence suggests that Luke had a stalker, and Clara worries that he's been kidnapped. Then Luke's older sister, Emma, who vanished twenty years ago, suddenly reappears.
Emma wants to help Clara with her search for Luke, but she refuses to talk about what happened—even thoug...
Get an early look from the first pages of Camilla Way's The Lies We ToldRead a sample →
At first I mistook the severed head for something else. It wasn’t until I was very close that I realized it was Lucy’s. To begin with, I thought the splash of yellow against the white of my pillow was a discarded sock, a balled-up handkerchief perhaps. It was only when I drew nearer and saw the delicate crest of feathers, the tiny, silent beak, that I fully understood. And suddenly I understood so much more: everything in that moment became absolutely clear.
“Hannah?” I whispered. A floorboard creaked in the hall beyond my bedroom door. My scalp tightened. “Hannah”—a little louder now, yet with the same fearful tremor in my voice—“is that you?” No answer, but I felt her there, somewhere near; could feel her waiting, listening.
I didn’t want to touch my little bird’s head, could hardly bear to look at the thin brown line of congealed blood where it had been sliced clean from the body, or at the half-open, staring eyes. I wondered if she’d been alive or dead when it happened, and started to feel sick.
When I went to Hannah’s bedroom, she was standing by her window, looking down at the garden below. I said her name and she turned and regarded me, her beautiful dark eyes somber, just a trace of a smile on her lips. “Yes, Mummy?” she said. “What’s wrong?”