The Dead Lie Down

Table of Contents

 

 

PENGUIN BOOKS

 

SOPHIE HANNAH is a bestselling crime fiction writer and poet. Her psychological thrillers, including
Little Face
and
The Wrong Mother
, have been published in ten countries. Sophie lives in Yorkshire, England, with her husband and two children.

 

 

‘Paced like a ticking time bomb with flawlessly distinct characterization, this is a fiercely fresh and un-put-downable read.’

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

 

‘
The Wrong Mother
is an un-put-downable read, and as a $15 paperback, the bargain mystery of the year!’

—
BookPage

 

‘Sophie Hannah just gets better and better. Her plots are brilliantly cunning and entirely unpredictable. The writing is brilliant and brings us uncomfortably close to the dark, ambivalent impulses experienced by the parents of difficult, demanding children.’

—
The Guardian
(London)

 

‘Sophie Hannah’s ingenious, almost surreal mysteries are so intricately constructed that it’s impossible to guess how they will end.
The Wrong Mother
is a compelling and disquieting story, told with the author’s usual panache.’

—
Daily Telegraph
(U.K.)

 

‘The fresh and the original have been Hannah’s hallmark since her debut
Little Face
.
The Wrong Mother
is her most accomplished novel yet. As the revelations tumble forth, the tension is screwed ever tighter until the final shocking outcome. Exemplary.’

—
Daily Express
(U.K.)

 

‘Sophie Hannah’s third psychological suspense novel is a creepy thriller with an unsettling side-story concerning “family annihilation”—the murder of a child by a parent. . . . This is a superior exercise in storytelling that takes time away from the killer-on-the-loose cop chase to reflect on the chillingly plausible thin line between parenting and psychosis.’

—
Financial Times

‘Hannah reinforces her reputation as a great new thriller writer. Chilling, compulsive and with a genius twist.’

—
Elle
(U.K.)

 

 

 

 

‘She’s a writer to watch.’

—
Bloomberg News

 

‘It is not every day that a writer makes the move from best-selling poetry to suspense fiction, and I suspect it’s rarer still for the transition to be as successful as that of British author Sophie Hannah, who has penned a clever and original debut in
Little Face
. . . . Judging from her excellent debut, she has a brilliant new career ahead of her.’

—
BookPage

 

‘An unsettling psychological thriller.’

—
L.A. Weekly

‘Few authors play with reality and perception as skillfully as Hannah does . . . riveting reading.’

—
Mystery Scene

 

‘A great premise for a mystery . . . intriguing.’

—
New York Daily News

 

‘Engrossing.’

—
Publishers Weekly

 

‘The British edition of Sophie Hannah’s
Little Face
shot up the best-seller list, and no wonder. It’s a splendid crime-psychological thriller. Men who read the book will be riveted by the crime part, while women will grab onto the psychology part.’

—
St. Louis Post-Dispatch

 

‘Hannah has a keen ear for her characters’ foibles, snobberies and hypocrisies, and the observation remains acute throughout.’

—
The Observer
(London)

 

‘Echoes of [Hitchcock’s]
Gaslight
and
Rebecca
. . . A tautly claustrophobic spiral of a story delivered with self-belief.’

—
Kirkus Review

 

‘This may well turn out to be the detective novel of the year. . . . So develops a terrifying mystery of manipulation, counter-manipulation and, finally, astounding revelation—it’s a haunting story told with bewitching skill.’

—
Scotsman

 

‘The author is a poet by trade and she brings a wealth of psychological and literary subtlety to bear in this impressive novel. Smart and disarmingly unnerving.’

—
Daily Mail
(U.K.)

 

‘Hannah adapts to crime fiction with arresting aplomb: her characters are vivid, the novel’s challenging double narrative is handled with flair, and its denouement is ingenious.’

—
The Sunday Times
(London)

 

‘
Little Face
is that most fascinating and intelligent of modern crime novels: rather than a whodunit, it escalates from a how-andwhydunit to a point where the reader is unsure if a crime has been committed at all. . . . Hannah never deviates from her intention: to deliver a gripping crime story of the first order, loaded with subtext and meaning.’

—
Leeds Guide

 

‘Hannah’s whodunit milks a classic formula with subversive results. This missing-baby tale chimes with very modern anxieties. Custody issues lie at the heart of the resolution, and the increasingly perverse relationship between Alice and David is grounded in recognisable reality that serves only to make our flesh crawl more.’

—
The Independent

 

‘I do not really want to discuss this thriller. I do not want to give away any of the quite brilliant twists to those who may not have read
Little Face
or have not yet finished it. So, you will just have to take my word, and that of those who mailed the Books group, that Sophie Hannah delivers as good a finale as any crime writer. I was extremely impressed.’

—
The Times
(London)

 

‘This taut psychological thriller is full of heart-thumping suspense.’

—
Sainsbury’s Magazine

 

‘Sophie Hannah is a real star.’

—
Daily Telegraph
(U.K.)

‘A chilling thriller. I was left thinking about the book for days, and that’s usually a good sign.’

—
The Guardian
(London)

 

‘Women in peril flit through the pages of traditional Gothic fiction, murmuring “Had I but known!” as they fall for the wrong man, open the wrong door or apply for the wrong job. Sophie Hannah takes the trusty formula in both hands, gives it a vigorous shake and uses it to produce something fascinating and original in her novel. Beautifully written the novel is outstandingly chilling—terror lurks in the half understood and in anticipation.
Little Face
is a hugely promising debut. Sophie Hannah is an author to watch.’

—
The Spectator

 

‘I could barely put this book down . . . definitely worth a read.’

—
Birmingham Post

 

‘The language and atmosphere are high-quality stuff, and the portrait of a woman in the throes of postnatal depression will be a revelation to some, to others a reminder.’

—
The Literary Review

 

‘The phrase “psychological thriller” could have been invented for this gripping novel. . . .
Little Face
is not simply a crime novel. It is a thorough and deep exploration of the dynamics of an on-the-surface happy family, revealing the seething secrets beneath. . . . An accomplished thriller that will appeal to anyone who enjoys a rattling good read but will send especially shiversome chills down the spine of any parent.’

—
Bradford Telegraph

PENGUIN BOOKS

 

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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

First published in Great Britain under the title The Other Half Lives
by Hodder & Stoughton 2009
Published in Penguin Books 2010

 

Copyright © Sophie Hannah, 2009 All rights reserved

 

PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Hannah, Sophie, 1971-
The dead lie down / Sophie Hannah.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-43466-6

1. Psychological fiction. I. Title.
PR6058.A5928D43 2010
823’.914—dc22 2009050146

 

 

 

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For Jane Fielder

I didn’t want to go first.

Three seconds ago—four—I had said, ‘All right.’ Now Aidan was watching me. Waiting. I bit back the words
Why me? You suggested it
—
why don’t you start?
To ask would have made him think I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t want to sully the moment by saying something petty.

The air around us felt charged, taut with anticipation. Energy radiated from our clammy, clasped hands. ‘It doesn’t have to be everything,’ Aidan whispered. ‘Just . . . as much as we can . . .’ Unable to finish the sentence, he decided he already had. ‘As much as we can,’ he said again, stressing the last word. His warm breath settled on my skin every few seconds, like a tide of air that kept sucking out, then blowing back in. We hadn’t moved from our spot at the foot of the bed, in front of the mirror, but it seemed, suddenly, as though everything was speeding up. Our faces gleamed with sweat, as if we’d run for miles, when in fact all our movements—through the hotel’s revolving glass door, towards reception, into and out of the lift, along the narrow spotlit corridor to the closed door with a gold ‘436’ on it—had been slow and deliberate, a thousand heartbeats to the footstep. We both knew something was waiting for us inside the room, something that could only be put off for so long.