Ghostwritten

Ghostwritten
Isabel Wolff

‘A deeply moving read – I loved it’ Dinah Jeffries, author of The Tea Planter’s WifeAs a child in the Second World War, Klara was interned in a Japanese prison camp on Java during the occupation. Her childhood years became an extraordinary and harrowing story of survival, a story that few people have heard.Jenni is a ‘ghost’: she writes the lives of other people – and Klara is her latest subject. Haunted by a childhood tragedy, Jenni finds it easier to take refuge in the memories of others than to dwell on her own.But as Jenni and Klara begin to get to know each other, Jenni begins to do much more than shed light on Klara’s family and girlhood in a neglected part of Second World War history. She is forced to examine her own devastating memories, too. Perhaps, finally, the two women will be able to lay the ghosts of their pasts to rest…Gripping, poignant and beautifully researched, Ghostwritten is a story of survival and love, of memory and hope.

GHOSTWRITTEN

ISABEL WOLFF

Praise for Isabel Wolff (#ulink_40b965af-acd6-587a-a391-014729c79e9f)

‘An engaging read and an intriguing page-turner.’

Sainsbury’s Magazine

‘Deftly blends past and present, romance and mystery, and a theme of forgiveness and redemption …’

Huffington Post

‘Isabel Wolff is a wonderful writer who weaves humour and pathos to great effect.’

Wendy Holden, Daily Mail

‘Intriguing and tugs at the heartstrings.’

Katie Fforde

‘An intelligent and deeply romantic tale. I loved it.’

Lisa Jewell

Dedication (#ulink_a6ef7ba2-3e0a-5435-b9a5-a2e44e2e0eb6)

In memory of my mother

Table of Contents

Title Page (#u296341c6-bf1a-5053-aa35-c47428dca726)

Praise for Isabel Wolff (#uf72d2d6d-82f2-5b60-b4ab-ac93aedfcf89)

Dedication (#ubbcb2ad5-8506-5b9e-869c-6986573f1a01)

Epigraph (#u89720ac7-9b19-517f-b0cf-6e7c10e0d1e7)

Prologue (#uffd33590-aec3-55fa-a97a-9066c2c6891c)

Chapter One (#uaecc89f9-9614-5b8f-a7ed-786ce7be4ffa)

Chapter Two (#u8feb448e-ab92-545f-8482-ad4a47ebdf13)

Chapter Three (#ud8a041a2-66cc-566c-a999-6f299170f59e)

Chapter Four (#udfa26d68-f9b5-5916-985f-a5e49f440e41)

Chapter Five (#u289711a3-4db2-5a65-a534-19639d271ef4)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Bibliography (#litres_trial_promo)

Q&A with Isabel Wolff (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Isabel Wolff (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

The past is never dead. It isn’t even past.

William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun

PROLOGUE (#ulink_450d7d88-056a-5bbc-8e34-fc2a7cc83c71)

31 August 1987

Holidaymakers speckle the beach, reclining behind brightly striped windbreaks, hands held to eyes against the late afternoon sun as they gaze at the glittering sea. On the horizon squats a huge grey tanker; in the middle distance a scattering of white-sailed yachts, their spinnakers billowed and taut. At the shoreline a young couple in surfing gear are launching a yellow canoe. He holds it while she climbs in, then he jumps on and they paddle away, the boat rocking and bumping through the swell. Two little girls in pink swimsuits stop paddling for a moment to watch them then dash in and out of the water, shrieking with laughter. Behind them, a family is playing French cricket. The ball soars towards the rocks, pursued by a dog, barking wildly, its claws driving up a spray of wet sand.

On the cliff path behind the beach, people are queuing at the wooden hut for tea and biscuits, or an ice cream, or bucket and spade or a ready-inflated Lilo, which is what a couple of teenage boys are buying now. ‘Don’t take it in the sea,’ warns the woman behind the counter. The taller boy shakes his head then he and his friend carry the airbed down the worn granite steps to the beach.