by Adele Parks
Unfortunately for Kent, there were no witnesses to the incident. Only one woman came forward with anything. She said she saw a dark car leave the road at high speed at approximately the right time. She wasn’t much help in the end, her baby grandson had been crying and so she was mostly concentrating on him. She had only glanced up for a second.
‘He’s not normally a fussy baby,’ she explained.
‘Can you confirm the gender of the driver?’
‘Yes, a man,’ she nodded, confidently.
‘And can you give us a description of the man?’
The witness’s assurance immediately vanished. ‘My eyes are not as good as they once were. I keep meaning to get my prescription updated. I think he had a beard, but perhaps not. I suppose he must have, they all do nowadays, don’t they? The young men. They all like a beard.’
‘So, a beard?’
‘Probably. Not certainly.’
‘You say a young man?’
The grandma chuckled. ‘Well everyone seems young to me, love. I’m seventy-two. The grandchild I was looking after, he’s my ninth.’
‘Could you give an approximate age?’
‘Well, less than fifty.’
The police officers conducting the interview had shared a look, and the grandmother wished she hadn’t bothered coming forward. It was a waste of her time and they didn’t seem grateful. ‘Hair colour?’
‘Brown, or black. It was only a glance,’ she said huffily, punishing them for the side-eyeing.
‘Skin colour?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t really notice skin colour,’ she replied, looking affronted that they might consider her racist, the sort of person who noticed skin colour. ‘He might have been white, or brown. Or white with a tan. I suppose. I don’t think he was black.’ She looked uncomfortable.
‘The colour of the car then? Do you notice the colour of cars?’
‘It was dark. Maybe black, or navy, possibly a deep purple.’
‘And a make?’ It didn’t seem too hopeful.
‘I’m not very good with car makes. You know, it could possibly have been dark grey.’
It wasn’t much to go on. Practically nothing. The road wasn’t covered by CCTV, the police found it infuriating that half the world was protesting that their privacy was under threat, complaining that there were cameras everywhere, but law enforcers usually ran a blank when hoping to depend on footage for a case.
Sergeant Kent thoroughly pursued her hunch that Simon Barnes was the most likely suspect, but he had a rock-steady alibi in Mrs Lucy Hewitt-Jones, which was ratified by her husband Mr Peter Hewitt-Jones. Kent checked out Daisy Barnes too, but she had been at her sister’s home at the time of the incident, in Holland Park, miles away. The sister corroborated her story, as did the brother-in-law and nephews. The boys couldn’t give an exact time as to when Daisy arrived for lunch but agreed, ‘Mum will know for sure, whatever she says will be spot on. She’s a stickler for detail.’
Anyway, the case for the hit and run being premeditated, and something more than a tragic accident, was weakened when the seriousness of the relationship between Mrs Barnes and Mr Lainbridge came under question. The DNA test, that was a condition of inheritance, proved that Millie Barnes was not Daryll Lainbridge’s child. Sergeant Kent had received this information from Lainbridge’s solicitor and requested that she attend the meeting where Daisy Barnes was given this news. At this point, her Inspector had told her to give it up, let this one go, move onto something more pressing. But she was a good reader of people and she wanted to be there to see for herself how this Daisy Barnes might react to the news.
But the Barnes woman was hard to read. Cool. Collected. Sergeant Kent thought there was something in the eyes, a widening, that suggested surprise, and then a lift. She looked relieved. Pleased. But Sergeant Kent could have been imagining it. It wasn’t anything to go on. The matter was dropped. The case closed.
Daisy
I didn’t want to check Millie’s DNA. Not at all. The last thing I wanted was for her to be forever connected to Daryll Lainbridge, even if it did mean she could inherit hundreds of thousands of pounds. I didn’t want a penny of his money. Lucy, not unsurprisingly, had a very different view. She badgered me. She pointed out that the money was no use to him now, that he’d written a will and this was what he wanted.
‘I don’t care what he wanted.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do,’ she admitted. ‘I’m just saying that Simon and you are never going to be able to give Millie that sort of cash, so why shouldn’t she have it?’
‘But she doesn’t need that sort of cash,’ I argued. ‘She has everything she needs: a mum and dad, a home.’
‘You are a very romantic person, Daisy, but people do need money. When she grows up, this sort of money would make a huge difference to her life.’
‘She can earn it, like everyone else. I don’t want anything from him. I don’t want to have to tell her she came from that monster, and I will have to tell her if she inherits his estate.’
Lucy paused and considered. ‘You don’t have to tell her he’s her father, just make something up.’
‘No, never again,’ I said firmly. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all of this, it’s that lies and cover-ups only muddy already murky waters.’
I don’t want there to be any more lies in our home. Only truths.
Simon and I are doing so well. One day at a time. He’s still dry and we’re both still honest. I want our home to stay honest.
But then, the months passed and I started to wonder, was I being honest? Which is why I told Simon the whole truth. As hard as it was for me to do so, as hard as it was for him to hear.
We sat in the kitchen, a large jug of iced tea on the breakfast bar between us and I began. It was hard to find the words, harder even than speaking to Lucy about it. The words caught like splinters in my mouth. But then he took my hand, ran his fingers over mine.
‘Take your time,’ he murmured. ‘We have all the time you need.’ So I reminded him that Connie and Luke once threw a circus-themed party. ‘There was a magician and clowns. Right?’
‘Yes,’ I confirm. It’s surprises me that he remembers that detail. I tell him everything I told Lucy, about Daryll cornering me, insisting on talking to me about his love life. ‘There was a queue for the downstairs cloakroom and for the loo in the family bathroom, you know how it is at their parties, so many people. But do you remember Connie and Luke had only just converted their attic into a big bedroom with an en suite? I knew few people would be aware of the spare bathroom at the top and so I took myself away from the crowds. As I climbed up to the third floor, I passed Connie and Luke on the stairway, coming out of their bedroom.’
‘Up to their usual, were they?’ Simon asked, with a knowing grin.
They are rarely together at a party, normally such great hosts, always looking after their guests, except they have a tradition.
‘They were grinning at one another, giddy. So yes, I guessed they were just returning to the throng after secreting themselves away for party sex.’
It was their thing. Always has been. A quickie in the middle of the celebrations. Originally, when they first met, they did this because they couldn’t keep their hands off one another, then as time went by, they did it for thrills, because it’s daring and sexy, because it’s a way to put two fingers up to the conventions expected of parents. I briefly considered pausing to chat, take the opportunity to tease them. We were good enough friends that I could have done that.
‘I always wonder how differently everything would have turned out if I had stopped to chat to them. To tease them. But I was hot, the place was noisy, Daryll’s conversation had been draining. I just wanted a few moments alone to collect myself. So I just apologised to Connie for using her private loo, explained I couldn’t be bothered with the queue. Of course, she urged me to go ahead. Luke barely looked at me, he was kissing her neck.
‘I peed, and that’s whe
n I saw it. The condom full of sperm, neatly knotted, just lying on the sink unit. Obviously, it was destined for the bin but somehow Luke had just left it lying about. My first thought was yuk, icky, eye roll. I gingerly picked up the condom, ready to throw it in the bin so that no one else would encounter it. But then I thought about our situation.’ The failed IVF. The heartbreaking, relentless longing. Simon’s drinking. ‘And I thought this could be the answer. This is all we need. Just something someone threw away.’
I dared to look at Simon at this point and he nodded, he understood. He squeezed my fingers gently. ‘The answer to our prayers.’
‘The answer to everything. So, I inseminated myself.’ I didn’t think it would work. Not really. But I hoped it might. I lay on the cold bathroom floor with my feet in the air for five minutes. ‘Then washed my hands, checked my make-up. I unlocked the bathroom door, planning to return to the party to find you, maybe persuade you to dance with me. And there was Daryll, waiting for me.’
Simon stood up, walked around the breakfast bar and took me into his arms. He tenderly kissed my head and then, without any malice, any pain, just as a matter of observation, he murmured, ‘So she’s Luke’s, after all. I was right.’
‘No, Simon, you’re wrong. She’s yours. She’s ours.’
Acknowledgements
I have so many incredible people to thank.
Firstly, thank you Jonny Geller, the dream-maker, for twenty stupendous years of continual support, advice and true friendship. I couldn’t have had the career I’ve had without you, and you know what? I just wouldn’t have wanted to. I love it that we’ve been together every step of the way.
Thank you, Kate Mills, you are everything I could have ever hoped for in an editor and publisher: you are simply brilliant. Thank you for being a unique combination of determination, dedication, honesty and creativity. I’m so incredibly lucky to have you. The same goes for Lisa Milton: you tremendous women! You are the lynchpin of the powerhouse that is HQ, HarperCollins. I have such respect for you both.
Thank you to Charlie Redmayne for being an involved, supportive and astute CEO.
I’m so delighted to be working with such fantastic teams in the UK and across the globe. I am thoroughly grateful for, and appreciative of, the talent and commitment of every single person involved in this book’s existence. I’ve always believed that if a book is lucky enough to be successful, then that’s because there’s an enormous team of people doing their jobs incredibly well. That’s so true of Sophie Calder, Anna Derkacz, Georgina Green, Eleanor Goymer, Darren Shoffren, Claire Brett, Victoria Moynes, Jack Chalmers and Louise McGrory. Thank you all very much for your supreme professionalism and commitment.
I want to send another massive thank you across the seas to the amazing James Kellow, Loriana Sacilotto, Margaret Marbury, Leo McDonald, Carina Nunstedt, Celine Hamilton, Pauline Riccius, Anna Hoffmann, Birgit Salzmann, Eugene Ashton, Olinka Nell and Rahul Dixit. There are many others who I have yet to meet, but I know I’m so lucky that incredible professionals worldwide are giving my books their love and attention. It’s so ridiculously exciting. Thank you.
Thank you to all my readers, bloggers, reviewers, retailers, librarians and fellow authors who have supported this book. I’m so glad you continue to get passionate about reading because, without you, there would be little point in me sitting in my office every day making stuff up!
Thank you to my mum, dad, sister, nieces and nephew, who are continually supportive of everything I do, who love me and my books whether the sales are good, bad or indifferent!
Thank you, Jimmy and Conrad, no woman could ever hope for more support from a husband or son. I am utterly and completely grateful for you both.
Finally, I’d like to warmly thank all the people who gave me an understanding of police procedure and prison life. Clare Henson, Adam Gale, Louise Daniels and Zoe, the prison librarian known to me as ZoeFruitcake. You were so incredibly generous with your time and knowledge. I’m in awe of the incredible work you do and am so grateful that you found the space to help me. If I’ve made any mistakes in presenting or recording the reality of what you do, I apologise in advance. They are entirely mine! Thank you to Michelle Harries, Leigh Fleeman, and Michelle Ratcliffe who also offered advice, or their spouse’s time! I couldn’t have written this book without you.
Questions for Discussion
‘I think contentment is an extremely underrated life goal.’ Do you agree? Is it better to be content rather than always striving for more?
‘I know him better than he knows himself.’ Can you ever really know someone?
‘When we were at university together and when we shared a flat after that, we saw each other every day of our lives, but that intimacy has been neglected. I can no longer open up to her without reserve.’ When friendships evolve like this over time, does this mean they are less strong? Or just different?
Does the inability to remember an act remove the blame from that person?
‘There has to be a place for the second chance – I honestly do believe that. But Lucy ate Christmas lunch at my sister’s house whilst she was screwing my sister’s husband, and now we are all supposed to pretend none of it matters, that we’re all still great friends.’ Is Daisy too harsh in her judgement of Lucy here, and later Simon? Could you ever forgive those characters for their misdemeanours if you were in Daisy’s shoes?
When Millie can no longer do ballet, who do you think is more heartbroken, Daisy or Millie? Does Daisy pin too much hope and expectation on Millie?
Do you think Connie is betraying Daisy in visiting Simon? Or is she just being a good friend to Simon, so it shouldn’t matter what Daisy feels about it? Alternatively, is she doing it for her own selfish reasons?
‘If you love your wife then you should divorce her, let her get on with her life. You owe her that.’ At the end of the book do you think Simon still owes Daisy? Or has he paid his dues?
Who is a better friend: Daisy, Lucy or Connie? Why?
Is it ever right to tell a lie? Are there any lies in the book which you think the character was right to tell? Which lie shocked you the most?
About the Publisher
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