by Clare Boyd
‘Bye then,’ I said, turning on the ignition and placing my hands at ten to two on the steering wheel, steady and sure, ready to go and collect Lucas.
‘Wait,’ she said, holding onto the wheel. ‘I see you and Lucas. Last night. You are together?’
I looked her directly in the eye. ‘Yes. We are.’
She put her hand over her mouth. ‘I did not want to believe it.’
‘I know it will hurt a lot of people.’
She shook her head, as though I had misunderstood. Then she said, ‘I did not steal his Rolex. He took it off before … And then afterwards,’ she swallowed, ‘afterwards, he left it in the van.’ She touched the gold cross on a chain around her neck and looked up to the sky, and my right foot slammed on the brake as though I was driving at two hundred miles an hour.
‘Afterwards? After what?’ I asked, barely recognising my strangled voice.
‘After the sex,’ she whispered.
I clutched the steering wheel, holding on to something solid while my heart and soul shattered into tiny pieces. My fingers shook as I unclenched them to open the car door, finding this simple, familiar task almost impossible to manage.
Face to face with Agata, I touched her hand, both of us trembling, and said, quietly but urgently, ‘You and Lucas had an affair?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
A swirling feeling engulfed me. I dropped my head into my hands and breathed in, savouring the semi-darkness my fused fingers created; then I looked up again, into Agata’s blinking eyes, ready to ask the question I couldn’t bear to ask. ‘He forced himself on you?’
Her whole body twitched with a shudder. ‘Yes. I am very sorry.’ She grabbed both my hands. ‘I did not want it. I never wanted it. I’m so sorry.’ A tear rolled across her nose, blown horizontally by the wind.
‘You have no reason to apologise,’ I said, wrapping my arms around her as she cried, biting back my own tears. ‘I’m sorry I had to ask.’
Her chest expanded into my embrace and a ragged sigh followed.
Before I let her go, I saw, over her shoulder, a hooded figure under the tree on the street corner. Elizabeth’s unmistakable blue eyes shone out from the shadows. She tucked a strand of blonde hair back into her pink hoodie. Agata turned around to see what I was looking at.
‘Elizabeth,’ I said, under my breath, remembering the blue file in my rucksack. Its private contents didn’t belong to me. By giving it to me, Lucas had exploited Elizabeth’s vulnerable state, just as he had exploited Agata in the dead of night. And me, too, in the past. Elizabeth had tried to warn me against him, had even given me money to get away from him, and I had thrown it back in her face.
I ducked back into the car to get the file. But when I emerged, ready to run to her with it, she had vanished.
‘Here,’ I said, giving it to Agata. ‘Return it to her. And tell her that I’m sorry.’
‘Yes. She be happy,’ Agata said, hugging the file. ‘She said you believe me.’
I frowned. ‘She knew you were coming?’
Agata looked surprised. ‘She sent me.’
Shame ate into me. Elizabeth had sent Agata to deliver a message, knowing I would not have believed Elizabeth herself, knowing that Agata was a pure and genuine source; knowing the information would save me from Elizabeth’s fate with Lucas. ‘Tell her thank you,’ I murmured, looking over to the place where Elizabeth had stood. ‘Is she going to be okay?’
‘With this now,’ Agata said, patting the file. ‘Yes. She get lawyers. She get help. Good help. Not from Lucas and his doctors. You know?’
‘Yes.’ I thought about Copper Lodge, burnt to the ground, and I felt a flicker of admiration for Elizabeth. It seemed she had some fighting spirit. ‘And thank you too, Agata.’
‘Go,’ Agata said, pointing at my car, reminding me of the urgency of my departure.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door.
Through the open window, I said, ‘Look after yourself. Find your way home, won’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. You go, Heather.’
My forefinger was poised on the indicator. Turning left would take me to the sea. Turning right would take me to Lucas. In five minutes’ time, he would be waiting for me in the lane outside the entrance to Copper Lodge.
My foot lifted the clutch.
Agata stepped back onto the kerb. She looked young and innocent, like a teenager waiting for a mate on the street corner. I did not want it, she had said of Lucas’s advances. And neither had I wanted it. At fifteen years old, I hadn’t wanted anything more than his attention, until he had touched me and shown me what more there was to want.
I clicked the indicator left. To the sea. Away from Lucas, away from a lifetime of my delusions about him.
As I drove off, I glanced into my rear-view mirror and caught Agata’s small wave and a smile.
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I focused on navigating through the storm-beleaguered roads, bumping over loose branches, creating bow waves through floods and U-turning at fallen lamp posts.
The charred remains of Copper Lodge were etched on my mind. I grieved for it. I had believed in its prettiness and its promises of a better life. But its destruction had exposed its dark heart. The myth of Lucas now blew like a wind across its grounds, unsettling the feather-light ash in swirls, his beautiful smile having melted away in the heat, along with everything else he cared about.
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Three hours later, I climbed exhausted out of my car at Amy’s sea-view apartment block. It had fallen still outside. The wind had changed.
I took my shoes off and left them by the open door of the car and padded across the road to the water’s edge. The foamy tide rushed in and touched my toes, like a kiss hello.
I listened to the sea’s brush over the pebbles. My skin tingled. The waters were calm. And I realised that my best life was right here; right under the soles of my feet.
If My Perfect Wife had you gripped from the very first page, then you will be totally hooked by Little Liar, a heart-in-your-mouth psychological thriller about the secrets we keep behind closed doors.
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Little Liar
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The perfect family... or the perfect lie?
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To the outside world, Gemma Bradley has it all – a doting husband, high-flying career and two delightful kids – but inside the four walls of her tastefully renovated home, she is a mother at her wits’ end who has given too many last warnings and counted to ten too many times.
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When a child’s scream pierces the night, Gemma’s neighbour does what anyone would do: she calls the police. She wants to make sure that Rosie, the little girl next door, is safe.
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Gemma knows she hasn’t done anything wrong, but the more she fights to defend the family she loves, the more her flawless life begins to crumble around her. Is the carefully guarded secret she’s been keeping suddenly in danger of breaking free?
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When Rosie disappears, Gemma thinks she only has herself to blame. That is, until she discovers that Rosie has been keeping dark secrets of her own in a pink plastic diary.
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Distraught and terrified, Gemma doesn’t know where to turn. The only thing she knows is that her daughter’s life is in danger…
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Little Liar is a heart-in-your-mouth psychological thriller about the people we choose to trust and the secrets we keep behind closed doors. If you loved The Girl on the Train, Gone Girl or anything by B.A. Paris you’ll be totally and utterly gripped.
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Books by Clare Boyd
Little Liar
Three Secrets
Her Closest Friend
My Perfect Wife
Available in Audio
Little Liar (Available in the UK and the US)
Three Secrets (Available in the UK and the US)
Her Closest Friend (Available in the UK and the US)
A Letter from Clare
Dear Reader,
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Thank you so much for reading My Perfect Wife. I am always very excited at this stage of the publishing process, when I’m finishing up the last bits and bobs of editing and writing this letter to you. In a few weeks’ time, I’ll be seeing the cover design. Then there’s the prospect of the book going out into the world. In this respect, I’m a split personality. Part of me wants to delete every word I’ve written and the other part of me is desperate for readers to get stuck in. I have no idea who I am!
Whoever I am, I’m very grateful you are still reading! I’d love to hear from you. Please keep in touch by clicking on the sign-up link below, where you’ll hear what I’ll be writing next:
Sign up here!
* * *
Did any of you fall in love with Lucas, secretly, guiltily, just a little bit? I’m ashamed to say that I did, even though I knew exactly who he was and what was coming. I loved Lucas and then I hated him, and I loved him because I hated him. He wasn’t all bad. They never are.
His paternalistic promise to look after and provide for Elizabeth – his woman – was appealing to me. Perhaps this is because I am a victim of the historical repression of my sex, or because of the complex male role models in my life, or because there is an atavistic comfort in the idea of the male hunter-gatherer. I don’t know. I’m not proud of it. All I know is that, as I wrote him, I was lured in by his chivalry and charm.
When I think back to my teenage years, I am staggered by what I put up with in the dating game. If I’d put my younger self into a book, all you readers would be crying, ‘She’d never go back to him if he did that!’ But there were so many times when I went back again and again to be used and thrown away. The worse they behaved, the more obsessed I became – which I imagine, for the men I lusted after, was a complete power trip. You’re probably now thinking: you need therapy! This is definitely true. As it was true for poor Elizabeth. Being maltreated was the norm in her childhood, and so she normalised Lucas’s abusive treatment of her. Sadly, those feelings of shame and worthlessness sat more comfortably inside her than love and respect did. The default position of childhood has a powerful continuation into adulthood until you break the cycle (as explored in my second book, Three Secrets). For a vulnerable woman, Lucas’s wealth was the perfect tool for manipulation and corruption. The world today is perhaps a macro example of that.
My Perfect Wife was a personal vent for me to express how upset I get about the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. In this book, I wanted to tell a simple tale about how money can corrupt morality; how the motivation to gather more and more wealth at the expense of the vulnerable in the name of choice feels like upside-down logic to me. I’m certainly not dying to up sticks and leg it over to communist China, but I do feel shocked by how much money there is out there in the UK and how appallingly it is distributed. Obviously, I have zero clue about how to address the problem – and little faith that our politicians will sort it out any time soon – but perhaps Lucas can be my tiny contribution to disincentivising gratuitous greed!
At the very least, I hope it’s a good story that will keep you turning the pages. For those of you who have enjoyed My Perfect Wife, please do write a review, and follow me on social media. See below for details.
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With very best wishes,
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Clare
Three Secrets
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A terrible secret killed your husband… But which one?
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Robert kisses his wife on the head before heading out to the shop for more wine; he walks up the hill, takes a left across the footbridge and jumps to his death on the busy motorway below.
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Two years later, Francesca and her young daughter are leaving London for a fresh start, money is tight and Robert’s mother has found them a little cottage in her village. Francesca is grateful for the help, but why does Robert’s mother want to keep them so close? Does she know about what Francesca did in the hour before Robert’s death?
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Soon Francesca begins to suspect there was more to her husband’s death than she realised, that there might be even darker secrets hiding in his past than her own…
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The closer she gets to uncovering the truth, the more she asks: is her own life in danger now too?
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If you couldn’t put down The Girl on the Train or The Couple Next Door, then you will absolutely love this gripping and twisty psychological thriller.
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Her Closest Friend
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Pop music blares from the radio. She sings drunkenly from the backseat. The thrash of windscreen wipers against the driving rain. The screech of tyres. A thud.
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Naomi and I are best friends.
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School runs, dog walks, a shoulder to cry on over a glass of wine, we’re inseparable.
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But now my husband has walked out, I need her more than ever.
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I know she will help me pick up the pieces.
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Because she knows about the lie I told to protect her.
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She knows how much I’ve sacrificed for this friendship.
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And she’d never let anyone hurt me.
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Would she?
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This extraordinary page-turner will suck you in from the very first page and keep you gripped until the breathtaking finale. Fans of The Wife Between Us, The Girl Before and Gone Girl will adore this twisted tale of toxic female friendship.
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Acknowledgements
What a journey this book has been for all those involved! There have been highs and lows, and I’m seriously appreciative of those people whose good hearts and professionalism got me through. Jessie Botterill and Broo Doherty, my dream team, thank you.
I’m also filled with gratitude for everyone at Bookouture who was able to offer me flexibility and faith, allowing me precious time to turn this book around.
There are a few other people who offered me some major help on the fact side of this fiction.
Firstly, a huge thank you goes to my wonderful brother-in-law, Julian Clark, who talked me through the basics of the finance world and didn’t laugh at me when I asked him stupid questions. Any mistakes I have made are mine alone.
The same thanks and caveats go to Lucy-Anne Garnett, whose expertise in the art world helped me to build the storyline of Jude’s paintings. Thanks, Luce!
And many thanks to Nick and Jane Davies whose story of a pawned Rolex made me laugh on holiday and enabled me to build a true-to-life account of Elizabeth’s trip to Mayfair with her diamond necklace.
Always and forever, I thank my family for their endless wraparound love and support.
Published by Bookouture in 2020
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An imprint of Storyfire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
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www.bookouture.com
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Copyright © Clare Boyd, 2020
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Clare Boyd has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.