My Husband's Lies Read online

  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: 2018-01-12

  Dedication

  To Rosie, my beautiful big sister. Miss you.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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!’

  CHAPTER ONE

  Five Hours Earlier

  Dan

  Dan Maloney smiles wryly, a puff of air through his nose. ‘A church, another bloody Catholic church.’

  Unsure if the words emerge out loud, he stares at the hoary building through the spattered windscreen. Its arched windows are dark, the only sign of life a single clump of early daffodils beside its black door.

  The pelt of rain brings him back. It’s bouncing off the bonnet like crystal ball bearings. ‘Poor bastards,’ he says. ‘I thought it might ease off.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The tone of Geri’s voice makes him turn with a jolt. A small furrow mars her glowing face as she rubs her rounded belly. His baby’s in there. He’ll be a dad, a bloody dad! Six and a half months on and he’s still struggling to believe it.

  Trying to breathe away the flash of terror, he smiles. ‘Little Nutshell playing up?’ he asks lightly.

  ‘Just an angry kick,’ she replies. The usual beam replaces the frown. ‘Yeah, I know. Poor Nick and Lisa. But I guess this is what you get in mid-January. Rain and more grey rain! Aberystwyth or Manchester, same difference.’ She leans across to straighten the white rose in his buttonhole. ‘Should I change into my flats?’

  ‘Nah, I like the killer heels. We’ll walk slowly. Stay there and I’ll come round with the umbrella.’

  As he opens the door, a sleek red car hurtles towards him through the deluge, then swerves at the last moment, pulling up next to his.

  Will Taylor opens his window and grins. ‘Careful, Danny Boy, might get a few drops of rain on your head and spoil the lovely locks. Then you’ll be banned from the wedding photographs, leaving just handsome me.’

  Dan laughs. ‘Good try, William, but no contest. I’m so the best man,’ he replies.

  Inhaling the briny tang in the air, Dan links arms with Geri and they slowly negotiate the gritty puddles in the car park. They are overtaken by Will and Penny and another man in a suit, his face hidden by a black umbrella.

  Dan steps into the dimly lit porch. The fusty smell strikes like a familiar soft slap. A blend of incense and aged parchment, taking him back. ‘Reminds me of when I was an altar boy. Every bloody time.’

  Will shakes his umbrella and grins. ‘You were an altar boy? You’re joking, Dan. What about the opium of the masses? And the bloody rest. Think you owe me a few pints for all those pub rants I had to endure.’

  Dan wonders why he mentioned it. ‘Strange but true. At primary school. Before we went to St Mark’s.’

  ‘Pretty boy with dark curls in a cassock? Yup, I can picture that.’ Will stretches his wide shoulders and wipes the drops of rain from his close-cropped brown hair. ‘It’s bloody freezing in here. Think we’re the first to arrive. Where the hell is Nick? His brother’s old Merc was right behind us when we left the hotel.’

  Geri tucks a soft afro curl behind her ear and steps towards Penny. ‘Hi, Penny,’ she says, kissing her cheek. ‘You look nice; red is definitely your colour. Love the dress coat, bet it’s silk. I had intended to take off this ugly old thing, but …’

  Penny blinks and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. ‘Maybe it’ll be warmer inside.’ Then after a moment, ‘Great hat; it suits you.’

  Geri rubs her stomach. ‘Thanks, thought it would distract from, well, this,’ she replies with a happy grin.

  Penny nods but falls silent. ‘Oh, do you know …?’ she starts eventually, turning to the tall man reading desiccated messages on a cork noticeboard.

  ‘Sorry!’ Will says. He unbuttons his jacket, which looks a little too tight. ‘I forgot you two hadn’t met. This is Sebastian, my little bro. Seb, this is Geri, Dan’s much better half.’ He looks at Dan. ‘You remember Seb, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ Gazing for a moment, Dan takes in Seb’s sharp cheekbones and shock of brown hair. Bloody hell, time flies. The fair-haired slender youth’s now a broad handsome man. He shakes his hand. ‘Long time, though. The swimmer!’

  ‘Yup, that’s me. Shall we go in?’

  Though the church is dank and cold, a surge of heat sweeps Dan’s chest. The empty silence is broken by the echo of their heels and muffled barking from outside. Will strides noisily ahead, lowering his body by the knee at the altar and making the sign of the cross with a flourish. He looks back with a grin. Seb follows with Dan bringing up the rear, shaking his head, but smiling.

  Thrown back to the pretty boy with dark curls in a cassock, Dan listens absently to the two brothers banter for a while. When his racing heart finally steadies, he joins Geri and Penny.

  Penny is taking off her thin coat and folding it carefully on her lap. ‘So I feel the benefit, as my mum always says,’ she says quietly. ‘And mums are generally right about everything, aren’t they?’ she adds with a small smile.

  Geri laughs brightly. ‘Heard that one too. I’ll be saying it soon! God, Penny, you’re so slim. You make me look like an elephant. It would’ve been nice to splash out on a new outfit, but there isn’t much point until this little monster makes an appearance.’ She holds out a patent-clad foot. ‘I bought shoes to die for, though. Now, they are compulsory for a wedding! Dan loves them, don’t you, Dan?’

  ‘Yup, guilty as charged.’

  The hum of conversation around them increases, but they lapse into silence, turning each time a blast of moist air alerts them to a new guest’s arrival.

  ‘He’s very dishy,’ Geri eventually comments, nodding towards Seb. ‘Your brother-in-law. Sebastian, is it? He’ll make Nick look bite-size! Surely he’s spoken for?’

  Penny doesn’t answer, her large eyes are glassy and far away. Then she turns to Geri with a small jerk. ‘Oh, sorry, no, they’ve just split up. She’s French.’

  ‘French, eh?’ Dan says with a grin. ‘I’d better find out more.’

  Shaking himself back to today, Dan returns to the chancel step. Standing next to Will, he studies the damp people slowly filling the church. His gaze catches the photographer. Almost invisible, he’s taking snaps of the guests, some standing in groups, wearing heels and hats, hushing greetings and discussing the rain, he supposes, others hitching along the wooden pews and studying the Order of Service as they wait for a familiar face. His eyes rest on Seb Taylor sitting on the front bench. His arms are folded, his long legs stretched out. He’s looking back at him through striking blue eyes.

  ‘So, you remember the swimming at St Mark’s?’ he asks.

  Dan feels himself flushing from the intensity of Seb’s gaze. ‘Not much,’ he says with a small laugh. ‘The disgusting pool mainly. Full of urine, sweat and sh—’ Bloody hell, he’s sounding like his dad. ‘Other things one doesn’t like to dwell on!’ Seb’s stare is still steady, as though reading his mind. ‘Yeah, and those grubby changing rooms; no wonder everyone dived in the showers so quickly, bloody freezing in there and—’

  But he’s saved from his blather by a slap on his shoulder and Will’s deep voice. ‘Bloody hell, look at the time. No priest! We’ll be relying on you to don your little cassock, Dan.’ He looks at the door and laughs. ‘And where’s the bloody groom? His mum isn’t here either. We’ll know who to blame if Nick’s done a runner.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nick

  Staring at the ribbon caught up in the windscreen wipers, Nick Quinn taps his foot. Patrick has decorated the vintage Mercedes; white ribbon on the bonnet and bumper, silk flowers on the dashboard. The handsome car was bought new by their father years ago and passed to Patrick on his eighteenth birthday. He frowns, sure he remembers his dad handing over the keys, though with the fifteen-year age gap, he’d have only been three.

  ‘Why don’t we hire a car for you and your family like everyone else does?’ Lisa asked when they started their w
edding plans.

  ‘Oh, it’s family tradition,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘The Merc is pristine. It’ll look great.’

  But it’s Patrick’s lore really. He doesn’t like change. ‘But we always have a turkey roast at Easter!’ he’ll say if their mum suggests something new.

  As Patrick negotiates the sodden streets of Aberystwyth, Nick glances at his brother’s greying hair, wondering how he’ll cope this Easter if he isn’t there. Christmas too. If he’s at Lisa’s family house in Wales. Or just him and Lisa at their own home. The thought of letting Patrick down makes him hot. His older brother has always been there, like a sentinel, with his peculiar and tender love.

  The traffic is thick; it’s still raining heavily. Nick goes to touch the small scar on his scalp, but stops just in time before messing his hair. He’s surprised the caught ribbon hasn’t perturbed Patrick, a lot less often does; a speck of mud on his tyres, let alone on the mats. Thank God it hasn’t; they’re already running late after a shrill spat between his parents, then turning back for his dad’s reading glasses.