Women's Fiction
![Heather Darwent - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_heather_darwent.jpg)
The Things We Do to Our Friends: A Novel
She's an outsider desperate to belong, but the cost of entry might be her darkest secret in this intoxicating debut about a clique of dangerously ambitious students.
"One of the best suspense debuts I've read in years . . . Heather Darwent delivers one artful tease after another until you are completely lost in this labyrinth of clever women and obsessive friendship."-Julia Heaberlin, bestselling author of We Are All the Same in the Dark
Edinburgh, Scotland: a moody city of labyrinthine alleyways, oppressive fog, and buried history; the ultimate destination for someone with something to hide. Perfect for Clare, then, who arrives utterly alone and yearning to reinvent herself. And what better place to conceal the secrets of her past than at the university in the heart of the fabled, cobblestoned Old Town?
When Clare meets Tabitha, a charismatic, beautiful, and intimidatingly rich girl from her art history class, she knows she's destined to become friends with her and her exclusive circle: raffish Samuel, shrewd Ava, and pragmatic Imogen. Clare is immediately drawn into their libertine world of sophisticated dinner parties and summers in France. The new life she always envisioned for herself has seemingly begun.
Then Tabitha reveals a little project she's been working on, one that she needs Clare's help with. Even though it goes against everything Clare has tried to repent for. Even though their intimacy begins to darken into codependence. But as Clare starts to realize just what her friends are capable of, it's already too late. Because they've taken the plunge. They're so close to attaining everything they want. And there's no going back.
Reimagining the classic themes of obsession and ambition with an original and sinister edge, The Things We Do to Our Friends is a seductive thriller about the toxic battle between those who have and those who covet-between the desire to truly belong and the danger of being truly known.
"One of the best suspense debuts I've read in years . . . Heather Darwent delivers one artful tease after another until you are completely lost in this labyrinth of clever women and obsessive friendship."-Julia Heaberlin, bestselling author of We Are All the Same in the Dark
Edinburgh, Scotland: a moody city of labyrinthine alleyways, oppressive fog, and buried history; the ultimate destination for someone with something to hide. Perfect for Clare, then, who arrives utterly alone and yearning to reinvent herself. And what better place to conceal the secrets of her past than at the university in the heart of the fabled, cobblestoned Old Town?
When Clare meets Tabitha, a charismatic, beautiful, and intimidatingly rich girl from her art history class, she knows she's destined to become friends with her and her exclusive circle: raffish Samuel, shrewd Ava, and pragmatic Imogen. Clare is immediately drawn into their libertine world of sophisticated dinner parties and summers in France. The new life she always envisioned for herself has seemingly begun.
Then Tabitha reveals a little project she's been working on, one that she needs Clare's help with. Even though it goes against everything Clare has tried to repent for. Even though their intimacy begins to darken into codependence. But as Clare starts to realize just what her friends are capable of, it's already too late. Because they've taken the plunge. They're so close to attaining everything they want. And there's no going back.
Reimagining the classic themes of obsession and ambition with an original and sinister edge, The Things We Do to Our Friends is a seductive thriller about the toxic battle between those who have and those who covet-between the desire to truly belong and the danger of being truly known.
Editorial Reviews
"The Things We Do to Our Friends is one of the best suspense debuts I've read in years. Heather Darwent's prose is startlingly lovely, like fine, dark silk shivering on your skin. She delivers one artful tease after another until you are completely lost in this labyrinth of clever women and obsessive friendship. I'm already saying, ‘More Heather, please.'"-Julia Heaberlin, bestselling author of We Are All the Same in the Dark
"A heady, tense, intoxicating tale that lurches between the miseries of obsession and the thrills of revenge."-Elisabeth Thomas, author of Catherine House
"Compelling, twisty and surprising, with an intriguing and complex heroine."-Phoebe Wynne, author of Madam
"What a book. Power, privilege and the most toxic of friendships. All set against the stunning backdrop of Edinburgh. Stunningly written. Thriller fans, run don't walk to get this when it comes out in January. It's a must read."-Carys Jones, author of The List
"What a debut! Sinister, compelling, utterly spellbinding. I couldn't put it down!"-Vikki Paris, author of Girl, Lost
"A mesmerizing tale of obsessive friendship. Dark, twisted, and deliciously menacing. I loved everything about it."-Emma Rous, bestselling author of The Au Pair
"Like nothing I've read before! A menacing and marvelous portrayal of power, friendship, and belonging."-Lauren North, author of Safe at Home
"A stunning debut. A deliciously dark story of toxic friendship that made me gasp."-Nikki Smith, author of Look What You Made Me Do
"The Things We Do To Our Friends is such an immersive, surprising, impressive debut from Heather Darwent. Draw the curtains on the dark wet nights of January, put on a bit of Lana Del Rey or similar, and sink into the creepy-delicate-deliciousness of this novel."-Niamh Hargan, author of
"A heady, tense, intoxicating tale that lurches between the miseries of obsession and the thrills of revenge."-Elisabeth Thomas, author of Catherine House
"Compelling, twisty and surprising, with an intriguing and complex heroine."-Phoebe Wynne, author of Madam
"What a book. Power, privilege and the most toxic of friendships. All set against the stunning backdrop of Edinburgh. Stunningly written. Thriller fans, run don't walk to get this when it comes out in January. It's a must read."-Carys Jones, author of The List
"What a debut! Sinister, compelling, utterly spellbinding. I couldn't put it down!"-Vikki Paris, author of Girl, Lost
"A mesmerizing tale of obsessive friendship. Dark, twisted, and deliciously menacing. I loved everything about it."-Emma Rous, bestselling author of The Au Pair
"Like nothing I've read before! A menacing and marvelous portrayal of power, friendship, and belonging."-Lauren North, author of Safe at Home
"A stunning debut. A deliciously dark story of toxic friendship that made me gasp."-Nikki Smith, author of Look What You Made Me Do
"The Things We Do To Our Friends is such an immersive, surprising, impressive debut from Heather Darwent. Draw the curtains on the dark wet nights of January, put on a bit of Lana Del Rey or similar, and sink into the creepy-delicate-deliciousness of this novel."-Niamh Hargan, author of
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
Edinburgh
I've decided to look back and make some kind of sense of it all, and the initial idea of starting to put the pieces together in one place was because Tabitha's mother asked me to write it all down so she had something of Tabitha's-a tangible record of her life for the extended family-but I couldn't quite bring myself to cobble together a fictional account where we were normal students who did normal things, so I ended up giving her a vague excuse, and she didn't ask again. But the idea wouldn't die down once she'd brought it up, and I thought, why not? Why shouldn't I go back over what happened for my own purposes?
Then the question was, where does the tale begin, and although there are other places that may seem more logical, September 2005 feels right.
My arrival.
How very dramatic that sounds! But it felt dramatic at the time.
September is a month that has a special anticipation associated with it. As the leaves turn and the nights darken. The first time you open a book, cracking the spine and smoothing down the pages so they can't spring back up.
It's a month that means fresh beginnings, and that only happens a few times in life, when the slate is wiped clean and the story is ready for you to begin and tell it how you wish. The first day of a job when you're cautious and rule-abiding, or with a new partner when you share appealing parts of yourself to test the reaction. At university, it is even more of an opportunity. Nobody knows who you are; there are no expectations or preconceptions. How you answer each question and how you position yourself is entirely up to you. But it needs to begin somewhere, and for me it was Edinburgh, at Waverley Station.
I was ready to move, so desperate to leave Hull for good, but it was hard not to feel a little discouraged when I stepped off the train and strode out into the city. I was expecting post-summer blustery days with the warmth still in the air, but the weather was particularly bad that year. I thought of my granny and what she'd say in that scornful tone: "It's just a few hours away, Clare. I don't know why you expected it to be so different."
How gray the Old Town was. It was magnificent, but there was an underlying sense of squalor below it all. Steps led to alleys, weaving with possibility, where you could just as easily find a grand square as you could a dead end and a seagull gnawing on scraps of cold chips. I remember the magnitude of scale when I walked along to Queen Street and stared down to the New Town. The views went all the way to the Firth of Forth, a glimpse of water, but the winds were quick and soon a dampish fog obscured it all, like a bundle of laundry pulled dripping from the washing machine, then pinned up. I ignored the weather. I was determined to stay optimistic about the whole thing.
Enough wandering. I had a map printed, tucked in my bag, showing where I was staying. My new home was under a mile away, so I decided to walk. It was a battle through the streets alone with two suitcases, which contained everything I owned, and on the way I encountered a group of confused tourists. They blocked the entire road and craned their heads to take pictures of St. Giles' Cathedral with bulky cameras hanging from their necks. Then there were the other students who bumbled alongside harried commuters. What a mix of people to get lost in!
I was a bubble of nervous energy, and I could have screamed out loud, right there in the middle of the street, but I held it in.
2
Everyone was starting a new life in that first week and there were structures to help us, because we were still children, untethered from our parents with no idea of how to live. There were social activities, stilted mixers and society nights, but during those early days, I struggled to fit in with the people I met.
We'd speak. They'd ask me questions and listen to my responses intently, almost running them through a checklist in their heads to see if I was like them. State school or private? Funny, a joker? Pretty? Boyfriend (yawn) back at home? Horsey? Medic? Sporty? Then there would be a pause, and I'd see their eyes dart behind me, looking for the next person to suss out, because it was hard to place me in a category. I didn't make jokes because I don't like them, and I often laughed too late or too quickly in the group-a forced, chaotic giggle even to my own ears. The conversations always petered out.
It was a clear case of not fitting in, and I was out of practice when it came to socializing with people my own age, so I told stories alone in my room, testing them on myself in front of the mirror-light anecdotes and stilted int...
Edinburgh
I've decided to look back and make some kind of sense of it all, and the initial idea of starting to put the pieces together in one place was because Tabitha's mother asked me to write it all down so she had something of Tabitha's-a tangible record of her life for the extended family-but I couldn't quite bring myself to cobble together a fictional account where we were normal students who did normal things, so I ended up giving her a vague excuse, and she didn't ask again. But the idea wouldn't die down once she'd brought it up, and I thought, why not? Why shouldn't I go back over what happened for my own purposes?
Then the question was, where does the tale begin, and although there are other places that may seem more logical, September 2005 feels right.
My arrival.
How very dramatic that sounds! But it felt dramatic at the time.
September is a month that has a special anticipation associated with it. As the leaves turn and the nights darken. The first time you open a book, cracking the spine and smoothing down the pages so they can't spring back up.
It's a month that means fresh beginnings, and that only happens a few times in life, when the slate is wiped clean and the story is ready for you to begin and tell it how you wish. The first day of a job when you're cautious and rule-abiding, or with a new partner when you share appealing parts of yourself to test the reaction. At university, it is even more of an opportunity. Nobody knows who you are; there are no expectations or preconceptions. How you answer each question and how you position yourself is entirely up to you. But it needs to begin somewhere, and for me it was Edinburgh, at Waverley Station.
I was ready to move, so desperate to leave Hull for good, but it was hard not to feel a little discouraged when I stepped off the train and strode out into the city. I was expecting post-summer blustery days with the warmth still in the air, but the weather was particularly bad that year. I thought of my granny and what she'd say in that scornful tone: "It's just a few hours away, Clare. I don't know why you expected it to be so different."
How gray the Old Town was. It was magnificent, but there was an underlying sense of squalor below it all. Steps led to alleys, weaving with possibility, where you could just as easily find a grand square as you could a dead end and a seagull gnawing on scraps of cold chips. I remember the magnitude of scale when I walked along to Queen Street and stared down to the New Town. The views went all the way to the Firth of Forth, a glimpse of water, but the winds were quick and soon a dampish fog obscured it all, like a bundle of laundry pulled dripping from the washing machine, then pinned up. I ignored the weather. I was determined to stay optimistic about the whole thing.
Enough wandering. I had a map printed, tucked in my bag, showing where I was staying. My new home was under a mile away, so I decided to walk. It was a battle through the streets alone with two suitcases, which contained everything I owned, and on the way I encountered a group of confused tourists. They blocked the entire road and craned their heads to take pictures of St. Giles' Cathedral with bulky cameras hanging from their necks. Then there were the other students who bumbled alongside harried commuters. What a mix of people to get lost in!
I was a bubble of nervous energy, and I could have screamed out loud, right there in the middle of the street, but I held it in.
2
Everyone was starting a new life in that first week and there were structures to help us, because we were still children, untethered from our parents with no idea of how to live. There were social activities, stilted mixers and society nights, but during those early days, I struggled to fit in with the people I met.
We'd speak. They'd ask me questions and listen to my responses intently, almost running them through a checklist in their heads to see if I was like them. State school or private? Funny, a joker? Pretty? Boyfriend (yawn) back at home? Horsey? Medic? Sporty? Then there would be a pause, and I'd see their eyes dart behind me, looking for the next person to suss out, because it was hard to place me in a category. I didn't make jokes because I don't like them, and I often laughed too late or too quickly in the group-a forced, chaotic giggle even to my own ears. The conversations always petered out.
It was a clear case of not fitting in, and I was out of practice when it came to socializing with people my own age, so I told stories alone in my room, testing them on myself in front of the mirror-light anecdotes and stilted int...
