by Karen Clarke
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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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, an
d 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 chan
ging 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.