About the Authors

KAREN CLARKE lives in Buckinghamshire with her husband and three grown-up children where she writes full time, recently switching from romantic comedies to psychological thrillers. As well as co-writing with Amanda Brittany, Karen has written a solo thriller Your Life for Mine and is currently working on her second.

When she’s not writing, she reads a lot, enjoys walking – which is good for plot-wrangling and ideas – photography, watching Netflix and baking (not all at the same time).

AMANDA BRITTANY lives in Hertfordshire with her husband and two dogs. As well as co-writing with Karen Clarke, Amanda is the bestselling author of Her Last Lie, Tell the Truth, and Traces of Her. Her fourth solo psychological crime thriller I Lie in Wait was published in August 2020. Amanda’s debut, Her Last Lie, has raised almost £8,500 so far for Cancer Research UK from her eBook royalties, in memory of her sister, and is under option for film.

When she’s not writing, Amanda loves reading, enjoys walking, travelling and going to the cinema and theatre.

Also by Karen Clarke & Amanda Brittany

The Secret Sister

Books by Karen Clarke

Your Life for Mine

Books by Amanda Brittany

Her Last Lie

Tell the Truth

Traces of Her

I Lie in Wait

The Perfect Nanny
KAREN CLARKE & AMANDA BRITTANY

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperCollinsPublishers

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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

Copyright © Karen Clarke & Amanda Brittany

Karen Clarke & Amanda Brittany assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work.

A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.

E-book Edition © February 2021 ISBN: 9780008378516

Version: 2021-01-29

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Also by Karen Clarke & Amanda Brittany

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1: Liv

Chapter 2: Sophy

Chapter 3: Liv

Chapter 4: Sophy

Chapter 5: Liv

Chapter 6: Sophy

Chapter 7: Liv

Chapter 8: Sophy

Chapter 9: Liv

Chapter 10: Sophy

Chapter 11: Liv

Chapter 12: Sophy

Chapter 13: Liv

Chapter 14: Sophy

Chapter 15: Liv

Chapter 16: Sophy

Chapter 17: Liv

Chapter 18: Sophy

Chapter 19: Sophy

Chapter 20: Liv

Chapter 21: Liv

Chapter 22: Sophy

Chapter 23: Sophy

Chapter 24: Sophy

Chapter 25: Liv

Chapter 26: Liv

Chapter 27: Sophy

Chapter 28: Liv

Chapter 29: Sophy

Chapter 30: Liv

Chapter 31: Sophy

Chapter 32: Liv

Chapter 33: Sophy

Chapter 34: Liv

Chapter 35: Sophy

Chapter 36: Liv

Chapter 37: Sophy

Chapter 38: Liv

Chapter 39: Sophy

Chapter 40: Sophy

Chapter 41: Liv

Epilogue: Elizabeth

Extract

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

To my wonderful husband Tim love from Karen

To my amazing husband Kev love from Amanda

Prologue

“When you’ve seen him smile, you know that the world’s not bad …”

Unknown

I think of that quote whenever I remember his smile, his shining eyes, the way they looked at me, so big and trusting. Even after all this time, I can recall how it felt to put someone else first; to want to be a better person.

When I think about how he never got to achieve his potential, snatched away too soon, how he’ll never see the world, get married, have children … it still has the power to bring me to my knees. I couldn’t save him and I’ll never forgive myself for that.

That quote is wrong. The world is bad. But maybe, now, I can do something good. It might mean someone gets hurt, but as another quote goes: That’s life.

Chapter 1
Liv

I scrolled through the photographs of Ben on my phone. Mum had uploaded them onto Facebook the night before, and now, as I lost myself in my brother’s bright, cheeky smile, tears burned. I paused on an image of the two of us. Ben aged eleven in our garden in Chells Way, me looking up at him from the swing: his adoring, grubby-kneed, tomboy sister.

‘Why, Mum?’ I whispered, a puff of mist leaving my mouth and disappearing into the chilly morning. But I knew why. It was the anniversary of his death.

Ben left us sixteen years ago, a lifetime ago, yet sometimes I imagined him turning up on Mum’s doorstep. Imagined him taking my hand and dragging me back to a time when we were happy. Because we were so happy back then, weren’t we?

‘Mum, Mum,’ Evie chirped from her pushchair beside me, her blue eyes staring up at me, as mine had looked up at my brother’s all those years ago.

‘No, sweetie, I’m Liv, remember?’ I leant forward from the bench on The Avenue, where I was waiting for ‘Mums Meet Up’ to start, and stroked the child’s white-blonde hair. She was eighteen months old and picking up a few words – an easy-going little girl, as long as she had her favourite teddy, despite having ogres for parents.

I shoved my phone into my bag, and took a swig from the mug of tea I’d picked up en route, feeling immediately revived. Today was bright, but cold. One of those days between autumn and winter, which fooled everyone with its pastel blue sky, and blinding, watery sun. I finished my tea, rose, steeling myself to face the middle-class parents with their precious children dressed in designer gear, before bending to push Evie’s cold hands into the ridiculous fluffy pink muff dangling around her neck. Her mother made her wear it. It was about as useful to a toddler as a bidet. She needed gloves. Old-fashioned. Warm. Gloves. The kind on a string my mother made me wear as a child.

I straightened up. ‘Well don’t blame me if you get cold, missy,’ I said, as Evie pulled free her hands. I took off the pushchair brake, and headed up the hill towards Petra Rose’s house. Petra held ‘Mums Meet Up’ – a mother and baby group – in her annexe, which was almost the size of my mum’s house in Stevenage where I grew up. She charges a fortune for affluent mothers to join, and is fussy who she lets in. You have to fit her criteria. I don’t. But Clare was one of Petra’s elite.

‘Olivia!’

I glanced across the road to see Kim, one arm raised in a wave. I quite liked Kim. She seemed more down-to-earth than some of the other mothers.

‘Olivia,’ she called again.

It says Liv on my birth certificate, but when I applied to be Evie’s nanny two months ago, the name Olivia fell out of my mouth, along with a fake posh accent I was now struggling to keep up. Maybe a part of me wanted to be like them. Maybe I would have given anything to have what they all had: big houses, handsome husbands who surprised them with roses and took them to grotesquely priced restaurants. Maybe I envied them. After all, my life had been a train wreck up until that point. But if I dug deeper, I knew this wasn’t about any of that. This was about Sophy.

‘Hi, Kim,’ I called, crossing the quiet tree-lined road. She was heaving Dougie from the back of her car, his chubby legs kicking with excitement. He was large for nine months, and had inherited Kim’s ruddy cheeks, fair hair, and small eyes. But he was a cute enough kid, with his constant smiles – much like his mum’s.

Kim squeezed Dougie into his padded sling. ‘He refuses to go in his pram,’ she told me once. ‘Screams the place down if I even try. I should probably try a pushchair, but he does so love being close to me.’ I’d wondered how hard she’d tried, as from what I could see, it seemed it was more that she wanted him close to her.

‘We’ve got a new member joining today.’ Kim nodded towards number seven, one of the grander houses on The Avenue, and I knew exactly whose house it was. My pulse thumped in my neck. This was my moment. ‘Sophy Pemberton,’ she continued.

This was my doorway. My opening. I would finally get my chance to meet the woman who destroyed my family.

‘I’ve chatted with her mother-in-law a few times, at the park,’ Kim went on, and, dropping her voice to a whisper, she said, ‘She told me Sophy isn’t coping too well – that she has to spend a lot of time at the house helping out.’

Perfect.

‘Apparently Sophy’s husband called Petra last week to ask if his wife could join. Have you seen him?’ Kim’s eyes shone.

‘Who?’

‘The husband: Dom Pemberton.’ Her cheeks flushed as though the thought of him excited her. She locked her car, and adjusted Dougie.

I had seen him before. The first time was on the front cover of Pony and Rider magazine. I was wandering around Tesco – looking at the paperbacks – when my eyes fell, not on Dom’s face, but on Sophy – her face so solemn. I would have known her anywhere. She was on the edge of the photo next to a tall, dark-haired Dom, and her mother-in-law, Elizabeth Pemberton. Elizabeth’s hand rested on a beautiful chestnut-brown horse, who had won some kind of championship. There were other family members in the photo – Elizabeth’s daughter and son-in-law, according to the feature inside, and, of course, Sophy’s baby boy Finn.

‘I’m not normally one for judging people on appearance alone, but he is rather gorgeous,’ Kim went on.

The second time I saw Dom was in the street, chatting with Clare and Gary, Evie’s parents. They didn’t see me, but I listened to Clare saying she needed extra help with Evie. And when I saw Clare and Gary go round Dom and Sophy’s with a bottle of wine one evening, I felt sure they were close friends. That it was my way in.

It was Gary who took me on to care for Evie. I’d followed him to the park and we got chatting. I told him I was out of work, that I was a qualified nanny. I reeled him in like trout.

I put up with Gary and Clare for one reason only: to get close to Sophy Edwards. Though things hadn’t quite gone to plan. I’d thought the couple were friends of Sophy and Dom’s. That I would get close to Sophy that way. But I’d learnt from watching her, on the rare times she ventured out, or those moments I glimpsed her standing alone in her bedroom window, that Sophy had no friends, a fact that suited me. My moment would come. I would bide my time. After all, I’d been waiting sixteen years for this.

Now the door of number seven stood open, and Dom was shrugging on a black coat as he stepped out.

‘Oh my word, there he is.’ Kim’s already rosy cheeks flushed, and she breathed deeply, as though he was a celebrity. ‘Dom Pemberton.’

He turned, and lifted a small; expensive-looking pushchair down the three white steps, as a woman appeared behind him, snuggled in a knee-length green coat, her red hair tumbling to her shoulders. She was beautiful, but pale, and even from a distance I could see dark rings around her eyes. Sophy Edwards. I would never think of her as Sophy Pemberton.

As she moved across the drive, it was as though the world slowed. My heart thudded against my ribs, as I was transported back to the night when Ben’s best friend Ryan told me about her. To that moment when he showed me the photo of her standing out amongst a group of twenty of so university students, laughing, beautiful.

She’d moved to London after university – that’s all Ryan could find out about her at the time. She was impossible to find – until now.

‘Sophy Edwards,’ I whispered, my voice cracking.

‘Pemberton,’ Kim corrected. ‘Sophy Pemberton.’ I could feel Kim’s eyes boring into me, but couldn’t tear my gaze from Sophy and her husband, despite feeling foolish for muttering her maiden name aloud. ‘We should go,’ Kim said, snapping me back to the moment. ‘You know what Petra’s like if we’re late.’

We headed away, but I glanced back once more. Dom was pushing the buggy, Sophy’s arm linked through his as though he was holding her up. I was aware Kim was talking. ‘Sorry?’ I said.

‘I was just saying we’ve bought a villa in Spain as a holiday retreat. My sister’s there at the moment trying to save her marriage.’ She was rambling as usual. ‘If she can’t, she’s going move in with me at Indigo Cottage.’

Truth was, although Kim was OK in many ways, she still had everything and more, and I despised her for taking it all for granted.

‘Well here we are,’ she said, keying the code into the gate that led to the annexe, which was set apart from the main house with its own entrance. Dougie grinned my way, and I poked out my tongue.

‘Please don’t do that, Olivia,’ Kim said, as though I was six. ‘It’s not something I want to encourage.’

As I stepped through the gate, I took a long deep breath. I hated my life. I hated everything about it – but I knew, once I’d introduced myself to Sophy, everything would change. Revenge is everything.

Chapter 2
Sophy

I looked around the noisy group, already wondering how soon I could leave.

On my lap, Finn squirmed, his chubby hands reaching for my hair. I should have tied it back but it had felt like too much effort, like most things did these days.

Even so, an involuntary smile tugged at my mouth at the sight of my nine-month-old son in his corduroy trousers and checked shirt – like a tiny farmer – his feather-soft hair a crown of russet curls. His blue eyes almost disappeared as his cheeks bunched in a smile and love swelled in my chest. It was good to see him smiling instead of crying, even as my own eyes watered. His grip on my hair had tightened.

‘They’re surprisingly strong at that age, aren’t they?’

The voice belonged to a ruddy-cheeked woman who’d introduced herself as Kim when we arrived, the avid gleam in her deep-set eyes suggesting her interest extended beyond the mere presence of a new member at the gathering of mothers and babies – and a couple of toddlers – in a very grand annexe in what my mother would call ‘grounds’ as opposed to a garden. It was bigger and better landscaped than the one at the back of the house a few doors down, where Dom and I had lived for the past three months.

‘He’s just started doing this.’ I tried to release Finn’s fingers while keeping a smile in place. My face muscles already ached with the effort of being sociable after barely leaving the house in weeks. Finn began to grizzle and I stooped awkwardly to pull his blue dummy from his changing bag.

‘Oh, he doesn’t need that.’ Before I could insert the dummy into Finn’s mouth, the woman leant across, her strong perfume reminding me I’d forgotten to apply deodorant after my hasty shower that morning. ‘They’re horrible things,’ she said, causing a flush to sweep across my face. I hadn’t expected to be in favour of using a dummy to pacify my baby either, but sometimes, when all else failed, it was the only way to stop Finn crying and seemed to comfort him. ‘I’m Kim Harrison, by the way. I live round the corner, down the end of the lane, at Indigo Cottage.’ She beamed at Finn. ‘I’ve met you before, haven’t I, little fellow?’ she cooed as she deftly unlocked Finn’s grip and held him aloft like a trophy. ‘His grandmother’s Elizabeth, right?’

I nodded dumbly, wondering what my mother-in-law had told her. Elizabeth hadn’t been able to hide her displeasure at Finn having a dummy either, though she hadn’t said anything to me.

‘We’ve met at the park a few times,’ Kim said, before laying Finn on his front on a play mat, opposite a giant baby that looked like her mini-me. ‘Say hello to Dougie,’ she instructed Finn. To my surprise, he smiled and gurgled, pushing himself up on his hands and knees, eyes alight with interest as Dougie dangled a set of plastic keys in front of his face.

Maybe Dom had been right to insist I come along; to get us both out of the house where Finn seemed to cry all day and, sometimes, I did too. I loved Finn so much it hurt, but I missed my old life. Myself.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to us.’ Kim settled her broad frame back on the small wicker-backed sofa – one of several in the spacious room, which had underfloor heating to combat the chill of the autumn day – and fluttered her fingers at Dougie.

Through a wall of glass, I watched a flurry of dead leaves blowing across the neatly cut grass and imagined our host, Petra, instructing a gardener to round them up.

Petra Rose was one of those women the others probably aspired to be: a successful jewellery designer (so Kim had informed me) sleekly attractive with fine bone structure and a winning smile that revealed expensive dentistry. Her angelic daughter was interacting happily with a solemn-faced toddler I was certain had filled his nappy.

When Petra had graciously introduced us – Hey, everyone, say hi to Sophy Pemberton and Finn from number seven – there’d been a cacophony of hellos accompanied by friendly waves, but I’d instantly forgotten everyone’s name. Things were foggy at the moment and my head felt stuffed with cotton wool. I was permanently exhausted because Finn wouldn’t settle – though sometimes it felt like more than normal exhaustion. A tiredness I couldn’t seem to fight, even after sleeping for hours.

‘How are you enjoying living on The Avenue?’ Although one of Kim’s big freckled hands stroked her son’s blond hair as he chewed the plastic keys, she fixed her rather piggy dark eyes on me.

‘Oh, it’s lovely, thank you.’ I watched Finn as I eased off the coat Dom had bought for my birthday, which no longer buttoned up. The baby weight around my middle refused to shift, even though some days I forgot to eat. ‘Dom, my husband, wanted us to get out of London and thought it would be an excellent place to raise a family,’ I added, aware Kim was waiting for more, certain Elizabeth had already told her all this. I folded my hands in my lap to hide a slight tremor. ‘His grandparents were born around here and his parents live nearby.’ I didn’t mention that The Avenue had struck me like a street from a film set – not quite real, too perfect – knowing since having Finn, my reactions were off and my instincts not to be trusted.

‘He’s very handsome.’ Kim gave what I supposed she thought was a cheeky smile that made her look slightly unhinged. ‘We saw him walking you down.’

Walking you down. Making sure we went in, more like. That I didn’t run back to the sanctuary of my bed, as I often did once he’d left for work and my mother-in-law had taken charge of Finn.

As Kim said we, a woman standing by the sofa, balancing a little blonde-haired girl on one hip, caught my eye. For a second, I felt panicky at the thought of meeting another mother. Heat pricked down my back and I felt a spinning sensation. The room was too warm, too noisy, Kim’s perfume too strong.

I stood up and looked around. Petra had asked us to remove our footwear at the door and I felt exposed, too short without my heeled black boots, but before I could move, the woman stuck out one arm.

‘Hey, I’m Liv … Olivia Granger,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you, Sophy.’

My palms felt clammy. I wiped them on my too-tight jeans before taking her hand. ‘You too.’

Her fingers were cold and gripped too tightly. She was a few inches taller than me and closer to my age – thirty-two – than most of the other mums. Strikingly pretty, with wavy dark hair cut just below her jaw. Her wide-apart grey eyes studied me with unusual intensity; she was probably wondering what someone like me had in common with the rest of them.

‘This is Evie.’ Letting go of my fingers at last, she jiggled her little girl and smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead. ‘Say hello, Evie.’

Her voice sounded stilted and I realised that she felt as out of place as I did in the overheated room. As I opened my mouth to respond, Kim broke in once more.

‘So, what does your husband do?’

Not what do you do? Maybe it was obvious I could barely look after my baby, let alone hold down a job.

‘Dom? He works for Apex TV, where I worked too.’ I bent to scoop Finn up. When I straightened, Olivia had turned and was showing a beaming Evie something through the window. ‘As an account executive,’ I clarified, seeing Kim’s eyebrows shoot up. People got excited when I mentioned working in television. Though she must know this already if she’d been talking to Elizabeth. ‘He generates revenue, develops business contacts, assists company growth – that sort of thing.’

Kim rearranged her expression. ‘It must pay well.’ It was a crass thing to say, even if it was true. And we lived in St Albans, in an area where houses were eye-wateringly expensive, so it was pointless denying it. ‘He doesn’t mind commuting every day?’

‘No,’ I said shortly. I didn’t add, He’s happy to get out of the house.

I wished I could too. Not here, though. If only Dom hadn’t paid the extortionate ‘term’ fee. Ridiculous, really. And elitist. Petra clearly didn’t need the money.

It’s worth it, Dom had said, even though he’d looked shocked by the charge. It’ll be good for you to meet other mothers and good for Finn. If you click, we can invite people round for dinner.

The first and last time we’d had guests hadn’t been a roaring success. Dom invited a couple from Lavender Drive to eat with us, not long after we moved in, after bumping into the husband at the station. I’d been too tired to cook and when I confessed we’d ordered the food in, the wife – Clare – had looked at me with disdain, even as her husband, Gary, shovelled it in.

‘I worked there too,’ I heard myself say to Kim. ‘At the TV station, I mean. I was a researcher on Back in the Day, the history series?’ I hated myself for wanting to impress her. ‘It won an award for best factual programme two years ago.’

Kim’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’ I wasn’t sure whether I felt flattered or offended by her obvious surprise. ‘Not really my thing,’ she said with a wince. ‘I prefer house makeover shows, or nature documentaries.’

I felt myself deflate and simply nodded.

After another interminable half hour, listening to Kim talk about her holiday home, followed by a boisterous sing-song that made Finn cry, I noticed Olivia manoeuvring Evie into a pushchair by the door, something pink and fluffy thrown over the shoulder of her thin coat.

As she pushed her feet into a pair of sneakers, I pressed Finn to my shoulder and grabbed our things, nodding vaguely when Kim suggested a playdate for Finn and Dougie, as I joined Olivia at the door.

‘Are you doing anything, now?’ I said, when all I’d intended was to get away.

Olivia looked startled. Close up, she seemed younger. There was something vulnerable in her face before a shutter came down. ‘Now?’ she echoed, straightening, one hand in the small of her back as though it ached.

‘I wondered whether you’d like to have lunch with us?’ I hadn’t tidied the house, but somehow knew Olivia wouldn’t mind. ‘If you’re not busy,’ I added, my cheeks exploding with heat. I was badly out of practice at making friends.

Olivia’s face was blank but I sensed her mind was working. In the pushchair, Evie wriggled and Olivia handed her a curly-eared teddy bear. Finn twisted in my arms and looked at Evie. She caught his eye and grew still, hugging her bear.

‘She loves her teddy,’ I said, to break the awkward silence. ‘Finn has a cat he loves at the moment, though it doesn’t—’

‘About lunch,’ Olivia cut in. Her eyes met mine so I felt pinned down. ‘Maybe another time.’

Chapter 3
Liv

Sophy certainly didn’t fit in with the rest of the mums, and seemed to see me as some kind of ally, a possible friend. I wanted to laugh. She’d picked the wrong person. We could never be friends. But I was so glad she’d approached me – she’d saved me no end of work.

‘In fact,’ I said, throwing her my best smile. ‘How about Friday? Say one o’clock at The Busy Bean.’ It was a café on the High Street.

‘I’d like that,’ she said, far too grateful – but there was something else. Fear? Doubt? Anxiety? ‘Or maybe you could come to mine for lunch?’

She didn’t like going out. Kim had said she wasn’t coping. This was even more perfect.

‘I live at number seven.’ She nodded down the road.

I know. ‘Sounds great,’ I said – a chance to get inside your house.

‘Lovely,’ she called, as I headed away.

As the other mums started to come out of Petra’s gate, clustering together, gossiping, I melted into a crop of trees nearby and watched Sophy make her way down The Avenue. Eventually, I moved out and followed.

She didn’t see me behind her, seemed keen to get home. Taking quick strides; her boots clipping the pavement. I’d always found The Avenue claustrophobic, with its trees uniform in size and shape, equally spaced, its houses tall and oppressive, most half-hidden from view behind walls and immaculate hedges.

By the time I reached Sophy’s house, she was slamming the heavy oak door. My eyes skittered across the bay-fronted window, the ivy climbing the walls. You don’t deserve this, Sophy Edwards. I will take it all from you, like you took my brother from me.

By the time I reached Lavender Drive with its six double-fronted detached houses, Evie was sleeping.

Gary’s white BMW saloon was parked on the drive next to my Mini, but there was no sign of Clare’s Audi TT. I hated it when Gary was home alone. He may have been Evie’s father, but he was a total creep. Only last week he brushed his hand against my thigh. It was no accident. He even called me a tease, when I shoved him away. Said I’d led him on in the park. It was true that I may have flirted a tiny bit to get the position, but I was broke, and needed a job as much as I needed to get close to Sophy.

I pushed the buggy around the curve in the pavement and onto the path. Gary was standing in the window, as though waiting for me. He raised his hand in a wave, but I ignored him and picked up speed, heading towards the front door.

Once inside, I took off my jacket and trainers, and bent to wrestle a waking Evie from the pushchair.

‘How’s my little angel?’ Gary said, coming up behind me. He was shorter than me, with cropped white-blond hair, and a round, pale face; piercing blue eyes his only attractive feature. ‘Here, let me take her.’ He held out his arms.

‘Go to your daddy, sweetie,’ I said, handing her to him.

‘This thing is hardly suitable,’ he said, shuffling her from the coat I’d put on her that morning. ‘Her pink duffel would have been better.’

‘I hadn’t realised it would turn chilly. It looked bright first thing.’ I went to move past him, and he leant forward and touched my cheek. I startled.

‘It’s OK, Liv. I don’t bite.’ I hated that he called me Liv, when I’d introduced myself as Olivia. It was as though he could see right through me. Knew who I really was. He adjusted Evie in his arms. I couldn’t believe he would make a pass in front of his daughter. ‘Your cheeks look pink, that’s all.’

I felt a familiar surge of panic as I wondered what was going through his mind. ‘I hadn’t realised you were working from home today.’

He smiled. ‘Any chance I can get these days.’ He’d started a social media company ten years ago, which was bought out by one of the giants five years later for a stupid amount of money. Now he owned IT companies in London and Italy, and spent much of his time travelling between both, unless he was working from home. I hated that he was there.

I moved past him and into the kitchen. And trying to keep things civil, said, ‘Coffee?’

‘Sounds good.’ He followed me and slipped his daughter into her highchair. We both reached for the kettle, and he pressed his body against mine.

‘Where’s Clare?’ I said, wiggling free.

‘Shopping.’ He moved closer. ‘She’s always shopping. You know that, Liv.’

‘You have to stop this, Gary. I will tell her.’ I hated the tremble in my voice.

He laughed. ‘You need the money, Liv. Even I can see that.’ He eyed me up and down, focused on the hole in my sock. ‘And you’re a crap nanny – you’d never get a job anywhere else.’

Anger bubbled. I was a good nanny. Evie loved me.

Gary stared, as though waiting for me to respond. His breath reeked of coffee and cigarettes. Though he never smoked in the house – Clare wouldn’t allow it.

The front door opened, and the tension in my shoulders lifted. Clare. Thank God. She bustled into the kitchen with three expensive-looking carrier bags, dropping them on the kitchen table. She hurried to Evie, planted a lipstick kiss on her cheek. ‘So how was Mums Meet Up?’ she said, aiming the question at me, as she took off her tartan coat.

‘Fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Yes.’ I grabbed the kettle and began filling it. ‘Would you like some coffee? I was about to make some.’

‘Please. So did you see Petra?’

‘Mmm.’ I flicked on the kettle, and pulled out three mugs, and Gary took two steps back and leant against the worktop.

‘How is she?’ Clare flicked her hair behind her ears. ‘I really must catch up with her soon.’

‘She seemed OK.’ Truth was I hadn’t spoken to the woman. ‘Sophy Ed … Pemberton was there.’

‘Well that’s a turn-up.’ Clare widened her hazel eyes. ‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Yes, I’m going to meet up with her on Friday.’

‘Well good luck with that. She’s a bit of a strange one, isn’t she, Gary?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, simply turned her attention once again to Evie. ‘So did you enjoy it, my little cutie-pie?’ Evie’s chin crinkled and she burst into tears. Clare turned back to me. ‘Whatever’s the matter with her, Olivia?’

I looked around, spotted her teddy bear. ‘Here you go, sweetie,’ I said, picking it up and handing it to the child, who, at the sight of her favourite bear stopped crying.

I spooned coffee into the mugs. ‘Listen, I’ll make these, and take her up to the nursery. Read her a story. She might be tired after a busy morning.’

I filled Evie’s cup with juice. ‘Here you go, little one,’ I said, and she took the mug and guzzled back the juice, her bear snuggled against her ear. I stood between Gary and Clare, waiting for the water in the kettle to reach a crescendo, while they conducted a terse conversation over my head about their plans that evening.

Once I’d made the drinks, I tugged Evie from the highchair and made my way upstairs. I would be OK now Clare was home. Gary kept his distance when she was around.

Once in the nursery – a stunning room with three lemon-painted walls, and a mural of an enchanted forest on the far wall – I set Evie’s musical box going, changed her nappy, and lowered myself into the white rocking chair, with Evie in my arms. As I began reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar, her eyelids grew heavy. Once she’d dropped off to sleep, I placed her gently in her cot, and covered her with a blanket.

From the window, I took in the long, rambling garden, eyes falling on my nanny pad tucked away at the bottom, almost out of sight, as though Gary and Clare didn’t want a reminder that someone else cared for their daughter. The sky had clouded over, and light rain speckled the window, and my thoughts drifted to my mother. Should I tell her I was going out to lunch with Ben’s ex-girlfriend? Should I tell her I was about to get revenge for all of us?

Chapter 4
Sophy

As I settled Finn into his highchair ready for lunch, I allowed myself a glimmer of positivity. I’d got out of the house, spoken to people – listened, at least – and even extended an invitation to lunch without so much as a yawn. It was more than I’d managed in ages. I imagined telling Dom about it later, over dinner. Maybe I’d cook this evening.

I recalled the look on Olivia’s face when she accepted my invitation. An initial moment of doubt had been banished by a friendly smile that lifted her face, transforming her into someone beautiful. But as I imagined her in the house, flatness descended, as if my batteries had drained. It was often like this: a surge of optimism, before reality hit and I realised I wasn’t quite ready to change my life.

Finn smacked his pudgy fists on the tray of his highchair, his eyebrows raised as if curious about why I was standing in the middle of our high-ceilinged living room, staring unseeingly in the gilt-framed mirror above the stone fireplace where the log burner squatted. I should get the fire going but the central heating was on and the house felt warm and cosy. Our dream house, with Farrow and Ball paint on the walls and contemporary, co-ordinating furnishings. Dom’s sister Natasha was an interior designer who’d relished the opportunity to turn our four-bedroomed Victorian house into a stylish home, though it didn’t look particularly stylish with Finn’s toys scattered around and a heap of laundry in the armchair by the window. At least the laundry was clean.

I turned away from a framed picture hanging by the window – a professional family portrait taken at Dom’s parents’ home at Elizabeth’s insistence when Finn was twelve weeks old, and I was still sleep-deprived and weepy – and I looked at my wedding photo instead. My red hair had been pulled back in a chignon, revealing my narrow nose, freckled cheeks and pale green eyes. I looked solemn, as I tended to in photos, but relaxed, certain of my place in the world. Beside me, Dom was tall and handsome, a softness to his smile, a summer tan emphasising his blue eyes and long, dark lashes.

We’d been set up by a friend of his who used to work in production at Apex TV and thought I’d be a good match for Dom – the sort of person he’d described wanting to settle down with, but never seemed to meet – and after a dry spell, where I’d focused on work instead of men, Dom had seemed perfect. I’d seen him around at work, and my heart flipped when he waited for me to leave the building one day and suggested a drink. He was attractive but unassuming, unaware of the effect he was having, and I’d liked that. I also liked that, despite his family background, he wasn’t too interested in material things, happy living in the same exposed-brick-and-beam warehouse apartment he’d rented for years, overlooking the Tower of London and close to his favourite pub, The Dickens Inn, though he told me his mother disapproved and thought he should ‘upgrade’.

That was four years ago. He’d certainly upgraded now. Shame he wasn’t happier, but that was my fault. He loved his son with all his heart, but I wasn’t the same person I’d been before having Finn. Maybe I never would be.

Another bash of the highchair tray, followed by a sound that might be Mumma, brought me back to the moment. ‘What do you fancy for lunch today, sir?’ I adopted a cheery tone because my biggest fear was infecting Finn with whatever had me in its grip. Not depression exactly – not anymore – but a bone-deep exhaustion and occasional forgetfulness that I couldn’t seem to shake. ‘Maybe a nice lamb casserole?’ I felt guilty Finn’s lunch would be out of a jar, albeit organic, and resolved yet again to start cooking from scratch, like my mother-in-law had for her children when they were babies. She’d offered to help but I knew if I let her, I’d never get around to doing it myself. ‘Macaroni cheese?’

As Finn’s face split into a grin that showed his dimples, I experienced a familiar burst of love mingled with fear. What if I wasn’t good enough for him? ‘Play with Jiggles while I heat it up.’ I plucked his favourite toy off the sofa, a faded and matted blue and white cat that used to belong to Dom, and presented it to Finn.

‘Dadda,’ he chortled, grabbing the cat and clutching it under his chin.

‘Dadda will be home soon.’

I moved through the hallway on autopilot and into the country-style kitchen I’d hoped would inspire me to start baking. I took a jar from one of the glossy white cupboards and decanted it into a bowl before placing it in the microwave, eyeing the half-empty bottle of red wine on the worktop. Dom had urged me to have a glass the evening before to relax me. It had knocked me out. I couldn’t even remember climbing the stairs to bed. That happened sometimes; losing time. It was as though I’d gone somewhere in my head, coming to a while later with no recollection of what I’d been doing. I hadn’t told Dom. He was worried enough about me as it was and he had a lot on at work, the details of which eluded me – something about a merger, and an ex-employee suing for unfair dismissal. I often zoned out when he was talking, though I’d once loved sharing details of our days, working in different areas of the same company.

I opened the dishwasher. There were two glasses inside, along with our clean dinner plates, a pair of mugs and gleaming crockery. Dom must have loaded it and set it going before he left for work. Guilt curled through me, imagining him with his shirt sleeves rolled up while I slept on as though I’d completed a marathon, or a full week’s work plus overtime.

I jumped when the microwave pinged, and again when the landline started ringing in the living room. Dom had taken to calling me on it during the day, as I often forgot to switch on my mobile or charge it up. He’d worry if I didn’t answer, but I let it ring out while I checked the temperature in Finn’s Peter Rabbit bowl before hurrying through, worried that I’d left him alone, even though I could hear him babbling to himself.

‘Here we are!’ He was keen to hold his little plastic spoon and dug it into his bowl while smacking his lips together. ‘Good boy!’

I’d thought mothering would come easily, but I tiptoed around my son like he was a priceless object I was terrified of breaking.

‘Let Mummy help.’

Finn waved the spoon, splattering yellow blobs everywhere. Thank God we didn’t have carpet, the wide oak floorboards forgiving of crumbs and stains.

Why not put his highchair in the kitchen? Dom had asked, but I liked it where it was, by the patio doors, overlooking the garden where a swing left by the previous owners hung from the branches of the apple tree.

A jaunty piano tune erupted from my bag on the floor. I dipped my hand in and pulled my phone out, keeping my eyes on Finn as he scooped a fistful of food out of his bowl and mashed it around his face.

‘Hi,’ I said brightly.

‘Sophy, I called the landline, you didn’t pick up.’ Dom’s voice was full of apprehension. ‘How did it go at the baby group?’ he said, as if deciding to skate over why I hadn’t answered.

‘Fine.’ I perched on the edge of a dining chair, reaching to take the spoon from Finn, so I could feed him what was left in his bowl.

‘Did you meet anyone nice?’

The question reminded me of Mum, before Dom and I got together, desperate to pair me off so she’d feel less guilty about having a boyfriend.

‘Yes,’ I said, with sudden conviction. ‘Actually, I did. A woman called Olivia.’ A movement caught my eye through the window, to the side of the garden. There was a gap in the flint and stone wall where a gate had once been, leading to an access lane at the side of the house. For a split second, I thought I glimpsed a pale face peering round, a whisk of pink. Hadn’t Olivia been wearing something that colour?

‘Sophy, that’s great.’ The relief in Dom’s voice was hard to bear. ‘You should invite her round.’

‘I already did.’ I glanced again at the window, but there was no one there, just a flutter of gold as the apple tree shed the last of its leaves. ‘She’s coming for lunch on Friday.’

Chapter 5
Liv

I put Evie to bed around six-thirty, and made my way to my nanny pad, away from Gary’s roaming eyes and grabbing hands, and Clare’s shrill excitement about what she’d bought in town. I was relieved to turn the key in the door, and be alone with my thoughts.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, taking deep breaths.

It had a small shower room, and a lounge area with a bright yellow sofa, a coffee table, and TV. My double bed, suspended above a row of cupboards with a stepladder to reach it, made perfect use of the limited space – though sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night feeling panicked by how close the ceiling was. Feeling as though I was trapped in a coffin.

I flopped on the sofa. Not feeling myself. Seeing Sophy had messed with my head, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

I thought about how Mum had closed herself off from Dad and me when Ben died. She went from a bright fun-loving person, to a woman who barely spoke. Dad had tried to bring her out of it, but he was grieving too, and five years after Ben’s death he’d left – moved to New Zealand.

It was a year after that Mum crashed her car. She was on her way to the supermarket, when she thought she saw Ben sitting on a bench in the park, a place he’d taken to going alone in the weeks before he died. It wasn’t him of course; Ben had been gone six years by then. But she lost concentration, skidded off the road, her injuries making her permanently paralysed from the waist down.

If it wasn’t for Sophy Mum wouldn’t be in a wheelchair, Ben would be here now, Dad wouldn’t have left us, and Ryan wouldn’t be a complete mess.

I picked up my phone, deciding to FaceTime Mum. Tell her I’d seen her. I clicked on her details.

A lump rose in my throat, as it always did when I saw Mum’s face appear on the screen, and heard her say, ‘Hello, love.’ She always smiled, though I was never quite sure how genuine it was.

She’d blamed herself for so many years, saying she should have seen the signs, claiming she was a terrible mother. Spending hours analysing the way she’d brought Ben up – Had she been overprotective? Pushed him too hard with his studies? Given him too much attention? Not enough attention? Should she have listened more?

But when Freya became her carer nine years ago, her spirits lifted gradually. Somehow Freya managed to do what Dad and I never could. She got Mum interested in life again. Perhaps because she was separate from the family, allowing Mum to reflect without getting upset herself. She knew the right things to say.

Mum fumbled for her glasses, and slipped them on.

‘Loving the new haircut,’ I said. It was shorter than usual, neat, grey layers close to her head. She was seventy-three, but looked older. She’d met my dad in her mid-thirties, had Ben a few years later and me in her early forties.

‘Nice, isn’t it?’ She touched it gently. ‘Freya trimmed it earlier. Have you had a good day?’

She always asked that when I called her, most evenings. I worried about her, feared the past would creep up on her again, and take her back to the dark place that had swallowed her for so long after Ben’s death. I tried to get to see her as much as I could too. In fact I was going over at the weekend.

‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘I took Evie to a baby group this morning.’

‘Oh that’s nice,’ she said, her voice brightening at the mention of Evie. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Well that’s why I’m calling.’ Mum suddenly bobbed out of sight, and all I could see was the lounge where I’d spent a lot of happy years as a child. ‘Mum?’

She appeared again with Sparky, her Yorkshire terrier, in her arms. ‘Say hello to Livy,’ she said to the dog, who looked content in her arms.

‘Hello, Sparky,’ I said, with a quirky wave.

Mum sniffed the dog’s head. ‘He keeps rolling in bird droppings,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to ask Freya to give him a bath.’

I smiled. ‘Mum, I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘OK,’ she said, still sniffing the dog. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Are you? Because this is really important.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She stared at the screen, as if to prove she was concentrating.

‘The thing is, I’ve found Sophy Edwards.’

‘Oh, Liv. Not this again.’ Mum’s smile disappeared. ‘I thought you’d let that go. Moved on.’

‘Only because I couldn’t find her.’ I took a deep breath. Mum knew how Sophy Edwards had played on my mind for years. ‘Her life’s perfect, Mum.’ I could hear the tears in my voice, anger surging. ‘She’s married to this bloke who looks like he’s jumped out of a magazine, and they live in a massive house in St Albans.’

‘None of that means she’s happy.’

‘She’s got a little boy. A perfect little boy.’

Mum was crying suddenly.

‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

She blotted her cheek with a tissue. ‘It just brings back memories, that’s all.’ Her eyes met mine through the screen. ‘I’ve told you before, Liv. Ben wouldn’t have wanted you to be so full of hate.’

I bit down hard on my lip. It was OK for her. She’d managed to accept things now.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. But Ben would still be here if it wasn’t for Sophy.’

‘Oh, Liv, please let it go.’

‘I can’t.’ Bitterness surged through my veins, and my eyes stung with tears. I hadn’t realised just how angry I was.

She stroked the dog’s head, the screwed-up tissue in her fist. ‘We all miss him, love—’

‘But she’s the reason Dad left, the reason you’re in that wheelchair.’

‘Sweetheart, please.’

I thought back to Ben’s friend Ryan searching for Sophy just after my brother’s death, unable to track her down. How devastated Mum had been when he couldn’t find her. At that time Mum was as angry as I was, to the point she’d stopped eating, couldn’t sleep. She even started drinking for a while and stopped seeing friends.

‘Sophy never came to Ben’s funeral, Mum. She didn’t care about him enough to call us when he died. That’s why I can’t let this go.’ I gulped. This was sixteen years of pent-up rage prickling my skin.

A dark shadow appeared behind Mum, and a face bobbed into view. ‘Hello, Liv.’

‘Oh, Freya.’ I dashed my hand across my cheeks and sniffed. ‘You freaked me out for a minute. I hadn’t realised you were there.’

‘I was in the kitchen, making a cuppa.’

I tried to get my act together, calm down. ‘I love Mum’s hair; you’ve done a great job. Is there nothing you can’t turn your hand to?’

‘Missed my vocation, clearly,’ she said with a smile, as she leant onto Mum’s wheelchair, her small pale grey eyes studying me. Freya was around fifty. Her fair hair was a mass of frizzy curls, and her skin was pale, and almost line-free. ‘It was only a little trim,’ she continued, her voice soft and musical. ‘Just to keep it neat and tidy, aye, Martha?’

‘Oh it is that,’ Mum said, stroking her hair. ‘Nice and tidy, just how I like it.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, knowing how good Freya was to Mum. Always popping round to see her even when she wasn’t getting paid. Taking Mum shopping, or for a coffee at the nearby café. She was a good friend to her.

‘My pleasure,’ she said, bobbing out of view. ‘We have great fun together, don’t we, Martha?’

‘We do indeed,’ Mum said, looking up. ‘Freya knows how to cheer me up.’

I felt a pang of guilt. I wasn’t good at cheering Mum up, and had just managed to make her cry. ‘Mum,’ I said, wanting to say sorry.

‘You’re breaking up, love. I can’t—’

And then she was gone, and I realised my fists were clenched into hard balls, my nails embedded into my flesh.

Why couldn’t Mum understand that Sophy had to pay for what she did?

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