You Let Me In by Lucy Clarke | Blog Tour Extract #YouLetMeIn

 

Published by Harper Collins (16 August 2018)

Available in Ebook and Hardback (6 September 2018) | Paperback 7 February 2019

417 pages



My thanks to Jaime Frost of Harper Collins for the tour invitation and extract.  You Let Me In is currently available to download from Amazon UK for 99p – I’ve bought my copy and very much look forward to reading this.

 

|   About the Book   |

 

Nothing has felt right since Elle rented out her house . . .

I’M IN YOUR HOUSE

There’s a new coldness. A shift in the atmosphere. The prickling feeling that someone is watching her every move from the shadows.

I’M IN YOUR HEAD

Maybe it’s all in Elle’s mind? She’s a writer – her imagination, after all, is her strength. And yet every threat seems personal. As if someone has discovered the secrets that keep her awake at night.

AND NOW I KNOW YOUR SECRET

As fear and paranoia close in, Elle’s own home becomes a prison. Someone is unlocking her past – and she’s given them the key…

 

EXTRACT

 

I turn back towards the house just in time to see my front door catching in a gust of wind, slamming shut.

‘No!’ I hurry across the driveway and grab the handle, yanking at it fruitlessly. My palms slam against the door; I’m furious with myself.

My handbag is on the settle, my keys and mobile zipped within it, my jacket hanging from its hook. Idiot!

Fiona is my spare key holder, but her house is a good half-hour walk away. I can’t do it barefoot and coatless in November – I’ll probably freeze to death before I get there.

I look over my shoulder towards the bungalow that crouches beyond my house. It is the only other property on the cliff top and belongs to Frank and Enid, a retired couple who’ve lived there for thirty years.

I remember walking to their door that first time, my hand pressed in Flynn’s, filled with an excited anticipation that we were homeowners, that we were meeting neighbours. It all felt so impossibly grown up, as if we were play-acting. Frank had a brusque manner and looked at us through the corners of his eyes, as if trying to get the full measure of us. Enid fretted over the strength of the tea and that there were dishes in the sink from breakfast. But Flynn always had an easy, relaxed way with people and by the end of the visit a friend¬ship had been made.

Now those visits are over. I haven’t been inside their home in months. If we pass on the single-lane road, Frank ensures it is me who reverses to a pull-in, or if he catches sight of me while putting the bins out, he looks determinedly away.

With a sinking feeling, I cross the driveway, framing my request for help.

My hair whips around my face, and I gather the long twist of it in one hand. I’m about to press the bell when the door swings open and a man steps out, shrugging on a black leather jacket.

He stops abruptly, hooded eyes fixed on mine.

‘Oh. Hi,’ I say, taken aback. ‘I’m Elle. I live next door.’

Through a curtain of thick, dark hair, his gaze flicks towards my house. The set of his features shifts, tightens. He looks to be a few years younger than me – in his late twen¬ties, perhaps – the first scribblings of lines settling around his eyes, his jaw grazed with stubble.

‘The author.’ There’s something about his intonation that makes it sound like an insult.

‘That’s right. You must be Enid and Frank’s son?’

‘Mark.’

That is it. They’d mentioned a son some time ago – when we were all still on good terms. I think Enid had said he’d left Cornwall for work, but I can’t recall the rest of the details.

‘Here’s the thing, Mark. There was an incident with a spider . . . I was evicting it from the premises, when the wind caught me unawares and the door slammed shut. Stupidly, my keys and phone are inside.’

His gaze travels down my body, over the pale blue summer dress, down my tanned legs, settling on my bare feet, which are set together, my toenails painted a shimmering pearl. I want to explain, I don’t usually dress like this in November. I’ve come from the airport. I—

‘Shoes.’

I blink.

‘Your shoes are locked inside, too.’

‘Oh. Yes. They are.’ I hug my arms to my chest. ‘Would you mind if I used your phone to call my sister? She has the spare key.’

He waits a beat, then steps aside, holding the front door open. I move past him into the narrow hallway.

 

 

|  About the Author   |

 

You Let Me In is Lucy Clarke’s fifth novel. She has a first class degree in English Literature and her debut novel, The Sea Sisters, was a Richard and Judy Book Club choice. Lucy lives with her husband and two young children and she writes from a beach hut, using the inspiration from the wild south coast to craft her stories.

 

 

 

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