The Covert Memoir

A Dark and Witty Psychological Thriller

What happens when a writer discovers the perfect story—but the man telling it has his own hidden agenda?

In The Covert Memoir, a chance reunion between a novelist and his former friend Phil takes a sinister turn. Phil reveals a disturbing tale of a near-death experience, a mysterious woman, and a web of betrayal that changed his life forever. Sensing the potential for a bestseller, the writer secretly takes notes. But as the story unfolds, the line between truth and manipulation begins to blur. Who is really controlling the narrative, and who will become its next victim?

Darkly humorous and filled with unexpected twists, Andrew Komarnyckyj’s psychological thriller explores obsession, literary ambition, deception, and revenge. Perfect for readers who enjoyed The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz and Who Is Maud Dixon? by Alexandra Andrews.

Discover The Covert Memoir—a gripping psychological thriller where every story has a victim, and the final twist could change everything.

Excerpt from the book

He seemed familiar but not quite right, like a cartoonist’s drawing of a famous person. His lined face and thickened waist seemed to belong to someone other than the person I thought I knew. Still, this man had enough in common with the image of the younger one in my mind that it had to be him.

Philip Carlton Geddes. He’d always called himself Phil.

Should I run for it? Too late. Recognition was flooding his features, as it must have been flooding mine.

My last meeting with Phil hadn’t been a positive one. He had aimed any number of choice epithets at me until I was out of earshot. For all I knew, he hadn’t stopped even then. His tirade of personal insult and foul language might have continued until long after I’d got home.

How would he react to me now? It was anybody’s guess. My stomach tensed in preparation for the worst.

Without a word he extended his arm and we shook hands. All the while he held my eyes with an unflinching gaze.

‘So,’ he said, letting the syllable hang like a noose. I had no idea whether he was waiting for a response or gathering his thoughts before saying something else. I decided he was gathering his thoughts and remained silent. The silence became unbearable. It was broken by a train rolling onto an adjacent platform which seemed to act as a prompt. ‘What are the odds?’

I shrugged. They were long, I knew that. The two of us meeting by chance on a railway platform in Huddersfield, years after we had lost contact with each other, was something neither of us could have anticipated.

He pushed a lock of greying hair from his forehead.

‘How’s the writing going?’

Strictly speaking, the answer was: crap, as usual.

‘It must be going okay because in two weeks’ time I’ll be attending the Vilnius literary festival as a guest speaker, all expenses paid,’ I said.

He grinned.

‘Well done, I’m impressed.’

I gave him a rueful smile.

‘Don’t be. It sounds far more impressive than it is.’ (Laughing) ‘My book sales are pitiful.’

Phil laughed, with me not at me. As a former wannabe writer himself, he understood all too well what I was going through.

An announcement over the station Tanoy cut short our budding conversation. It told me our train had been delayed due to a problem on the line which would take at least two hours to fix.

Consulting my mobile phone I saw a twisted body on the railway track. A smartphone-wielding passer-by had videoed the aftermath of the incident. His posting on a social-media platform had already attracted 30,000 views.