Who We Were Read online

  ‘Ber Carroll is a wonderful writer of addictive, authentic Australian stories.’

  Liane Moriarty, Sunday Times bestselling author of Nine Perfect Strangers

  ‘Who We Were has a certain scary charm which makes it different from most whodunnits. Riveting.’

  Jane Corry, Sunday Times bestselling author of My Husband’s Wife

  ‘An addictive read with characters we can all relate to, on a subject we all know something about; Who We Were is a thrilling and moving read that deserves to be a bestseller.’ Lisa Ballantyne, Richard & Judy bestselling author of The Guilty One

  ‘A perfect example of how toxic friendships can leak poison years after events. Twisty, compelling and terrifyingly realistic.’ Lisa Hall, bestselling author of Between You and Me

  ‘This bittersweet unravelling of friendships had me hooked from the start, guessing and absorbed to the end. Compulsive, riveting, a must read.’

  Caroline England, bestselling author of My Husband’s Lies

  ‘I really loved it. Complex, unsettling and hard to put down, definitely not a book to read when you’re alone.’

  Jane Holland, bestselling author of Girl Number One

  ‘An original, gripping read. A cast of well-drawn sympathetic characters lure the reader into their lives and there was a twist at the end that I did not see coming. I loved this book.’ Lesley Sanderson, author of The Orchid Girls

  ‘Ambitious and intricately crafted, with a masterful cast of characters who instantly feel like old friends (and enemies).

  A deliciously dark and relatable tale of secrets, grudges and the long shadows cast by childhood cruelties.’

  Kate Simants, author of Lock Me In

  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by

  VIPER, part of Serpent’s Tail,

  an imprint of Profile Books Ltd

  29 Cloth Fair

  London

  ECIA 7JQ

  www.serpentstail.com

  Copyright © B.M. Carroll, 2020

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788164177

  Export ISBN9781788164184

  eISBN 9781782836476

  For Rob, Conor and Ashling

  Contents

  Dedication

  Who We Were

  The lock takes less than a minute...

  1 Annabel

  2 Luke

  3 Grace

  4 Katy

  5 Robbie

  6 Melissa

  7 Zach

  8 Robbie

  9 Luke

  10 Katy

  11 Robbie

  12 Annabel

  13 Grace

  14 Melissa

  15 Zach

  16 Annabel

  17 Annabel

  18 Katy

  19 Grace

  20 Luke

  21 Robbie

  22 Melissa

  23 Grace

  24 Annabel

  25 Katy

  26 Robbie

  27 Grace

  28 Annabel

  29 Melissa

  30 Zach

  31 Katy

  32 Luke

  33 Zach

  34 Annabel

  35 Katy

  36 Robbie

  37 Grace

  38 Melissa

  39 Annabel

  40 Luke

  41 Katy

  42 Grace

  43 Zach

  44 Robbie

  45 Annabel

  46 Katy

  47 Luke

  48 Melissa

  49 Annabel

  50 Katy

  51 Melissa

  52 Zach

  53

  54 Zach

  55 Katy

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Viper

  The lock takes less than a minute, the fourth key a close enough fit, assisted with a few bumps from the handle of a screwdriver. The door pushes open into a hallway with off-white tiles laid on the diagonal. Next is an open-plan kitchen and living area, a study nook on the far side of the sofa: small desk, dated laptop, a printout of the invitation sitting atop a neat pile of paperwork.

  You are invited to the twenty-year reunion, of the Class of 2000

  Deep breath. Don’t get angry. Don’t lose focus.

  The laptop whirrs to life, its fan sounding inordinately loud in the silent apartment. No password required, stupidly trusting and naive. Insert the USB, click on install, twenty minutes to completion. Be calm. Be thorough. She won’t be home for hours yet. Plenty of time to check her browsing history, her Facebook page and the rest of the paperwork on the desk. Glimpses into the construct of her life, the friends she holds close, her most secret desires.

  Wander into the kitchen, opening and shutting cabinet doors, cataloguing the food she eats, the brand of coffee she prefers. The main bedroom is located down a short corridor. White cotton bedcovers, faux-fur cushions, the book she’s reading - a bestselling thriller - open on the bedside table. Underneath it, another book, larger, sickeningly familiar.

  Yearbook of Macquarie High, Class of 2000

  Don’t touch it, don’t look at those hateful faces, don’t fall for that fake innocence.

  Back to the antiquated laptop. Glare at the screen as it reluctantly grinds through the final stages. Pocket the USB. Switch off the machine. Pause inside the front door, key poised, cap pushed low in case there’s a security camera lurking somewhere. Listen. All clear. Bump, bump, bump goes the screwdriver.

  It’s happening. Their shallow lives will be blown apart.

  And they’ll be sorry. Finally.

  Name: Annabel Moore (School captain)

  What you will be remembered for: Not keeping a straight face when Miss Hicks fell up the stage steps on awards night.

  Best memories of high school: Year 11 snow excursion.

  Worst memories of high school: Double period maths on Fridays. Torture.

  What will you be doing ten years from now: Marine biologist.

  1

  ANNABEL

  The phone rings on the way to school pick-up. Annabel takes the call, even though she’s almost outside the school and the conversation will have to be a short one.

  ‘What happened to marine biology?’ Grace’s voice fills the car.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Our school yearbook. Apparently, you were going to be a marine biologist!’

  ‘I was?’ Annabel is astounded. She has no recollection of this.

  ‘It’s here in black and white.’

  ‘What else does it say?’

  ‘That you’ll be remembered for not keeping a straight face at awards night!’

  This she does remember. Miss Hicks catching the toe of her shoe on the second step. Face-planting on the stage. Annabel trying, unsuccessfully, to quell the urge to laugh. Death stares from the principal, Mr Rowland.

  She snorts. ‘Well, they could hardly put in what I was really remembered for, could they?’

  ‘No,’ Grace agrees. ‘That wouldn’t have come across as well.’

  Annabel Moore: the girl who was pregnant during the HSC. Her enlarged belly jutting against the exam desk. Her ankles swollen in her school shoes. No surprise that she and Jarrod got disappointing results. How could they study, concentrate, pretend that the Higher School Certificate matter
ed while their lives were imploding?

  She flicks on her indicator and pulls into a space that isn’t quite big enough. The rear end of her Ford Territory juts into a residential driveway. It’s okay, she tells herself. It’s only for a few minutes.

  ‘Why are you looking at that stupid old thing anyway? Aren’t your kids keeping you busy enough?’

  Grace, like Annabel, is a stay-at-home mum. She has four children, all quite close in age. The strange thing is, she was never the maternal type.

  ‘Katy Buckley wants to do an updated yearbook,’ Grace explains. ‘For the reunion.’

  Katy Buckley. Plain and studious. Perennially mocked for being such a try-hard. Annabel feels a rush of that old derision, its resurgence taking her by surprise.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. What’s wrong with just rocking up on the night, getting drunk and making fools of ourselves on the dance floor? Who the fuck cares about yearbooks?’

  ‘It’s because Katy’s a teacher. She’s still caught up in that world. Where things like yearbooks actually matter ... Having said that, I think it’s a rather good idea ...’

  ‘And what did Katy Buckley want to be when she left school?’

  Annabel can hear Grace turn the pages of the book.

  ‘President of the Wilderness Society.’

  Both women burst into laughter. Explosive, unstoppable laughter that reminds Annabel of when they were younger, and half the time didn’t even know what they were laughing about. The school bell rings, the sound carrying through the open windows of Annabel’s car, bringing a distinct feeling of nostalgia.

  Some children, the quick ones, are already flying through the gates. The ones to whom being first means everything. First to get to school in the morning. First out the door to lunch. Their darting eyes able to establish where queues will be formed and their agile bodies manoeuvring so they’re always at the front. Annabel used to be one of those kids.

  ‘Gotta go,’ she tells Grace. ‘Mia will be out any second now.’

  Mia is towards the back, a dreamy smile on her face. Dearest Mia. Such a gentle soul. Such a joy. If only her brother had a fraction of her affable nature.

  ‘Hi, darling. Hop in quickly. We’re going straight to the mall. We’re going to buy the most perfect pair of communion shoes.’

  Annabel sees him in the food court, pushing up against some other boy with his shoulder. Guffawing in that annoying horsey way that teenage boys laugh.

  ‘What the fuck?’ It’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself.

  Mia’s eyes widen in shock. ‘You swore, Mummy. You said the F word.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ she counters weakly. ‘Wait here, Mia. Don’t move till I get back.’

  Mia stands uncertainly, clutching the bag that contains her communion shoes in one hand, and her milkshake – the reason they are in the food court – in the other. Annabel marches towards Daniel, who is so absorbed in his friends he hasn’t noticed her approach. It’s a mistake, she knows, to confront him like this, to publicly humiliate him, but he has obviously dodged school – again! – and if he’s not going to keep to the rules, then neither is she.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  His head jerks up at the sound of her voice. Surprise registers before he holds up a McDonald’s bag as though it’s vital evidence. ‘Just having a burger ... What’s the problem?’

  ‘You should be at school. That’s the problem.’

  ‘We had a free period for our last lesson.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’

  ‘Ask anyone.’ He looks carefully at his friends, as though she can’t interpret what that silent look is really saying. ‘Tell her, Jez. She’ll believe you.’

  Jez is the most sensible of a bad lot. His face reddens till it blends into his strawberry-blond hair.

  ‘It’s true ... We were meant to have ... maths ..

  ‘You’re a terrible liar, Jeremy Hughes.’

  Daniel quickly resorts to anger. ‘Just go away, Mum. Leave us alone.’

  ‘You’re coming with me.’ She grabs his arm.

  He shrugs her off. ‘Go away. You’re embarrassing yourself.’

  ‘Do you think I care? You’re coming home with me and Mia. Right now.’

  ‘You can’t make me!’ He’s shouting at her. In the middle of the food court. For everyone to see and hear.

  ‘I can make you. Have some respect, for God’s sake!’

  Now she’s being no better, shouting back at him. But she’s so angry, and he does this to her, turns her into this demented stranger who people are staring at and will talk about when they get home from the mall. Remember that woman screaming at her son? If he would only listen. If he would only do what he’s told. When she thinks of all the things she has sacrificed for him, for all three of them. She might have laughed about it with Grace earlier, but she will never forget the humiliation of sitting in that exam hall, her ballooned belly the talk of the school, the grave disappointment of the teachers, the disgust of the other parents, the shocked fascination of the students who once looked up to her. She didn’t go to university because of the baby, because of Jemma. She never had a proper career. She got married too young – eighteen, for God’s sake! – and while her friends were partying and travelling, she was stuck at home, lost in a haze of nappies, feeding and constant crying. Jemma is at college now and doing all the things Annabel herself missed out on: getting a degree, going to wild parties and travelling during the holidays. But Annabel’s work is far from done. She still has Daniel and Mia to see through, and Daniel is proving to be the toughest.

  ‘You come with me right now or I’ll drag you all the way to the car, and then we’ll see what’s embarrassing!’

  The email arrives a couple of days later.

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Updated Yearbook

  Annabel clicks on it without much thought. That is not strictly true. If she is honest, there is a brief, quite vicious desire to topple Katy Buckley from her self-appointed role as reunion organiser.

  The first thing Annabel sees is a grainy, unflattering photo of herself. Directly below there’s text typed in an old-fashioned font.

  Name: Annabel Harris (Nee Moore)

  Highest achievement at school: School captain.

  What you do now: Stay-at-home mother.

  Highlights of last twenty years: Nothing remarkable. Peaked at school.

  Lowlights: Finding out your son smokes dope. Initially not telling your husband.

  Deepest fears: That weed is a gateway drug for Daniel.

  Her first reaction is horror, to the point where she actually feels sick. Then she recovers herself. This is someone’s idea of a joke. The cruellest, most despicable joke. The kind of thing they’d have done twenty years ago, back when they’d time to waste, unlimited imagination, and the lines between humour and outright nastiness were blurred.

  So, who sent this? Someone who knows about their struggles with Daniel, even though Annabel and Jarrod resolved to keep it within the family. Someone who wants the upcoming reunion to have a hint of mystery, and perhaps shock factor?

  The photo – one she’s never seen before – is fairly recent. Her hair is in its usual style – layered, blonde, shoulder-length. There are tell-tale lines around her mouth and purple shadows under her eyes: was it taken the morning after a night when she’d lain awake, listening hard to see if Daniel was moving around, sneaking out of the house? There are so many Facebook photos she’s been ‘tagged’ in, so many casual shots in restaurants and other gatherings, who knows where this one came from.

  Will everyone else get one of these ‘updates’ in their inbox? Yes, that must be the plan, otherwise there’d be no joke. Annabel can’t fathom who would have the time or energy for something this elaborate. Hardly Katy Buckley. Not imaginative enough. Not cruel enough. Definitely not ballsy enough. Besides, Katy would be up to her eyes compiling the real updated yearbook.

  Melissa Andr
ews? Co-editor of the original yearbook, so maybe possessing a vested interest in the revised one? Melissa and Annabel used to be friends, before everything turned toxic during those last few months of school. Now, as Annabel allows herself to think about Melissa, the jealousy returns. It was never an ordinary jealousy; it was obsessive, powerful, insanely out of proportion. But regardless of how Annabel might feel, then or now, she knows that Melissa wouldn’t be so juvenile as to do something like this. Too busy with her high-flying career.

  Zach Latham? Another co-editor. Zach would do anything for a laugh and did have the propensity for cruelty. Is he still the same today?

  Luke Willis? God, she hasn’t thought about him in years. Whatever became of Luke Willis?

  Annabel is shutting the upstairs curtains when Jarrod’s van pulls into the driveway. COASTAL CURRENTS is painted on the sides and rear of the van: they came up with the business name together. Annabel watches him sit there, probably listening to the end of something interesting on the radio. The fact that he clearly isn’t in a rush to get inside to see his family bothers her.

  A few minutes later, as Annabel is coming down the stairs, the front door swings open.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy!’

  Jarrod picks Mia up, hoisting her on to his hip like a much younger child. Mia loves it. This is the first time she has seen her father today; he was gone when she got up for school this morning.

  Annabel notices two things in quick succession: at the end of Mia’s dangling legs are her brand-new communion shoes; and one of them looks like it is already scuffed.

  ‘Mia, why have you got those shoes on?’

  ‘I’m getting used to them, Mummy.’

  ‘You’ve already marked them! Take them off this instant.’

  Jarrod gives Annabel a look that says he thinks she’s being too harsh but he would never contradict her in front of the children. United front: that’s been their parenting motto. It feels like a long time since they’ve put their heads together to come up with parenting mottos, business names or anything else. The last time she remembers genuine collaboration was when they built this house, four years ago, but even that was more Annabel’s project than Jarrod’s. Tweaking the architect’s plans. Visiting the site to check progress. Making decisions about door handles, skirting boards, wall colours.