CAROLINE ENGLAND
My Husband’s Lies

Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Caroline England 2018

Cover photograph © Arcangel

Cover design © www.headdesign.co.uk 2018

Caroline England asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008260255

Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008215071

Version: 2018-06-13

Dedication

To Rosie, my beautiful big sister. Miss you.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Family Tree

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading…

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

The champagne cork cracks like a firework. Covering her ears, she shrinks away from the hotel bar, trying to remember why she’s there. A reception, yes a wedding reception; she went to the ladies’.

‘There you are! You disappeared. They’re taking the photographs now. Are you coming outside?’

She puts down the glass and turns. It’s him, it’s the husband she loves far too much. His jacket is missing, his aftershave’s strong.

Holding her breath, she listens. Pitter patter, pitter patter. ‘But it’s raining.’

Staring as though he knows, his eyebrows knit. ‘It stopped ages ago. Everyone else is outside. Are you coming?’

His tone is too loud, his waistcoat too bright.

He’s lying, he’s lying, she knows when he’s lying.

And the voice is still there; she can hear it quite clearly.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, listen to the rain!

Pitter patter, pitter patter, on the windowpane.

God, she hasn’t heard that rhyme for years. Not her mum, surely? Yes her mum, before she grew bad: holding her close, singing softly and stroking her hair. ‘My perfect little poppet. Such a very good girl!’

‘Hey dreamer, are you—’

She jerks at the sound. It’s her husband, still gazing, his eyes telling lies. She just needs a few moments to make herself perfect. ‘You go ahead. I need the loo. I’ll be out in a minute.’

She watches his strides, then straightens her dress. Oh God, what the hell? Marks on her skirt, splatters on the silk. Holding her breath, she crouches down to inspect them. They dilate, creep and grow as she stares. Surely not blood? It wasn’t her fault; she didn’t mean to hurt anybody.

After a moment she blinks. No, silly! Just water from the ladies’ tap. Or the spray of champagne! More likely the downfall. Pitter patter, pitter patter. She told him it was raining.

Her mind focusing, she breathes. Everything’s fine, it really is. The room key is in her handbag, she can go up and change. Not a problem, absolutely! If she hurries, she’ll be back before anyone notices. Like rabbit running! Run rabbit, run!

Removing her shoes, she darts up the stairs, counting each riser until she’s on the third floor. With a loud clatter and clang, she leaves the fire door behind, her feet smacking the carpet as she sprints to the room.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

With the swipe of a card she’s in, almost giddy with purpose.

She sits on the bed and time slows. Sees her heels in her hand and tries to focus, to think. That’s right; she came inside for the toilet. Washed her hands at the sink, watched the water drip from her fingers to avoid looking at her face. The dress, yes the dress; she needs to change it.

Her breathing shallow and fast, she brushes her hair, lines her shoes neatly, takes off her jacket, then slips off her dress. ‘So I feel the benefit,’ she remembers. Her mum’s words. Like the rhyme, the lovely rhyme, before she went bad. Pitter patter, pitter patter. Listen to the rain. She looks to the window. There it is, the windowpane! And she can hear it, it’s raining.

Striding to the window, she feels the heat rising. She knew he was lying; she always knows when he lies. She has to tell him, she has to tell him. He has to know that she knows!

The sash window protests, but she pushes and tugs and eventually it relents, yawning wide enough for her to see him and shout.

‘Stop pretending! I know the truth! I know when you’re lying!’

He doesn’t turn, he doesn’t hear, so she climbs on the ledge, swaying for a moment as she straightens her legs. Closing her eyes, she stands tall. Feels the breeze, a lovely breeze. And the refreshing splatter of rain on her bare arms and belly.

Ah, there’s the voice again, soft and reassuring.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

She leans forward to listen.

Listen to the …

But a shriek spoils the moment, too loud in her ears. She looks down and teeters.

‘Oh my God, look! There’s someone at that window. Oh my God, quick, someone help! I think she’s going to jump!’

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