Who I Am - blog tour

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Who I Am - Sarah Simpson

About the author

Sarah Simpson has a first-class honours degree in Psychology and has experienced working at a Brain Rehabilitation Hospital. She has spent time as a family consultant for Warwickshire and Oxfordshire solicitors and gained knowledge of the Family Court System. She now lives in Cornwall with her husband, three children and animals.

Follow Sarah

Twitter handle: @sarahrsimpson

Facebook: @sarahsimpsoncornwall

About the book

I know everything about you

And you know everything about me… except

WHO I AM.

Andi met Camilla at university. Instantly best friends, they shared everything together. Until their long-planned graduation celebration ends in tragedy…

Years later, Andi is living a seemingly perfect life on the rugged Cornish Coast with her loving husband, happy children and dream home. Yet Andi is haunted by a secret she thought only she knew. Someone out there is bringing Andi’s deepest fears to life. And she knows there’s no escaping the past that has come back to haunt her…

You trusted me with your secrets, you told me everything, you thought I was your best friend... but you have no idea WHO I AM.

Gripping, unputdownable and packed with twists and turns from the first page to the very last, this stunning psychological thriller will make you question whether we can ever really trust the ones we love.

Buy links

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2EqTY99
iBooks: https://apple.co/2CoIQqQ

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2NLVJx9
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2QVLBDM

Follow Aria

Website: www.ariafiction.com

Twitter: @aria_fiction

Facebook: @ariafiction

Instagram: @ariafiction

EXTRACT

Turning my head against the stiffness of the pillow, stones for a filling, my pain receptors fully awake now, I bite down hard, pressing the top jaw into the lower. I find something to focus on outside the window. A palm tree stretching out tattered green and rusty yellow fingers, gesturing to me with the summer breeze, azure light particles embracing its form. I don’t want to talk to the police, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Especially not the police. Breathing in deeply through my nose, I brace myself, holding it until my chest yearns, begging me to let go. But it’s still there, the lingering smell of the sea, I can taste it, sour salt smothering tiny taste buds, the same sour salt that has doused the pores of my hair, living on, beneath my skin, bear-hugging my lungs. Tighter and tighter. More than anything I want to scrub my pale, mottled skin with fragrant hot suds and new beginnings. New beginnings, no going back, hot fragrant suds, yes, focus on this. I turn to her, touching the soft bandage with my free hand, feeling across my forehead. ‘How large is this?’ I ask.

‘What, the gash, love?’

I nod, ‘Yes. Feels huge, this bandage.’

She reaches over, moving my hand away, ‘don’t you be worrying, now. You’ve several minor cuts, here and here,’ she waves her hand to indicate reciprocal areas on her own forehead. ‘So yes, at the moment, we can hardly see that pretty little face of yours, you’re all bandaged up for the time being, superficial though, love. Hopefully. Nothing more.’

Hardly see that pretty little face. I can do this.

Get it over and done with, talk to the police. Then I needn’t talk to anyone, not ever, not about this. Ever. A fresh start. One day at a time, small delicate steps. I can make it happen.

‘Natasha,’ she squeezes my hand again, ‘what shall I tell the police? Shall I fetch you a warm drink first, then maybe you’ll be up to it, lovely? Or would you like more time? It’s your call. From what you say, I suspect, you’ll not be able to help them anyway.’

‘Okay,’ I hear myself say, eyes clinging to the palm tree, ‘I’ll see them. Now, best I do it now.’ After all, I’ve nothing to tell them, not really. They probably understand more than I do. Wrong place at the wrong time? Misled by someone I thought to be so genuine? Either way, I’m unable to help them. I haven’t had the chance to run it through my own mind yet, never mind provide answers for anyone else. How did I not see it coming? How did I not see her? Who she really was? If I can get the questions over and done with, while shock still has a firm grip, before this stage of severance falls away, I may stand a chance.

‘If you’re absolutely sure you’re up to it? Don’t feel pressured, love. They’ve waited this long, it won’t hurt them to wait a little longer. Perhaps have that drink first, eh?’

I turn my face further into the pillow, ‘Thanks, but I’d rather get it over and done with. Then, I’ll be ready to leave, please. I’m feeling much better already.’

I sense her eyes softening on me, I daren’t look.

‘Hey, slow down there!’ She chuckles, ‘One step at a time – it’s far too soon for you to be leaving. You’ve not long opened your eyes. We’ll need to keep you in for the night at least for observation. You need some looking after, bless you. You’ve no-one to go to either, from what you’ve said,’ I shouldn’t have told her I’m alone. She moves closer still, ‘We’ll take good care of you, promise,’ she whispers.

Seconds later, her rubber mules creep away from the room. To inform the police – she’s as ready as she’ll ever be, no doubt. Go carefully, she’s extremely fragile. Not thinking straight either. It will be the bump to the head, probably.

I am leaving. As soon as I’ve satisfied the police, I’m leaving. To be away from Cornwall before the tide turns. Before they find out. Before I change my mind I roll my head to face the opposite wall, towards the sound of a disapproving clock, tick, ticking at me. A train will be leaving platform two from Truro Station at precisely 16.12. If I’m to get away with this – I need to be on it.

I’ve a very long journey ahead of me.