Seven Lies (ARC)
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simply to satisfy Marnie’s complaints— and the officers had been almost
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apologetic as they went through their questions again. At the end of the
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interview, they talked about loss and heartbreak and how the mind was
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a powerful thing. And Jane had nodded, and she hadn’t needed to con-
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tort her face into one of sorrow, because her grief was genuine.
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There is tea in a thermos in the footwell, and she takes a sip. It is
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still warm. She watches as a man in a thick woolen coat drives past,
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signals, and stops at the gates to the school. He winds down his win-
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dow, holds out a small fob, and the metal gates crank apart. After that,
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the roads become much busier. Commuters march past on their way
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to the station. Teachers park their cars and heave piles of paperwork
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from their passenger seats, scurrying inside to the warmth of their
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classrooms. It is the first day of school and there is a freshness to these 22
proceedings.
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Jane is always looking for auburn hair, twisted into spirals of red and
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gold, the curls that fall loose at the front. Jane is never looking for
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cropped black hair and yet she sees it everywhere, but never dark
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enough, and never that tattoo. She scans the crowd as the children
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begin to arrive, but they are all slightly older, accompanied by their
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parents, who wave rushed goodbyes at the gate. Jane sinks a little lower
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in her front seat, bending her legs, aware of people passing too close to 30
her car: the children on scooters, the parents juggling bags and babies.
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Jane looks up and there she is: Marnie approaching the school from
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the other side of the gates. She is wearing loose black trousers cropped
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at the ankles and bright white trainers. She is holding her blue coat
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closed at the collar and she walks as she has always walked: purposeful,
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confident, unafraid. She is talking, and Jane feels a sudden surge of
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envy, because she is so familiar with the movement of those lips, the
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rise and fall of those cheeks, the spirited shifting of that jaw.
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Audrey is walking beside Marnie wearing a red duffel coat and shiny
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black shoes. Jane thinks that Audrey’s hair, auburn, has been newly cut;
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it is cropped neatly around her chin. She has a small red satchel swing-
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ing from her hand and a red hat on her head.
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Jane owns that hat, too. A few weeks earlier, she’d followed Marnie
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and Audrey to The School Shop on the high street. Marnie came out
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carrying bags of uniform, and Audrey was skipping ahead excitedly
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wearing that hat. And so Jane went in and bought one, too, with a story
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of her daughter whose hat had gone missing the previous year. She had
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wanted to feel the fabric— a rough felt— between her fingers.
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At the front gate, Marnie bends down and says something to Au-
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drey. They look up at the teacher, who is smiling, welcoming the new
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students and reassuring the parents. Marnie is nervous. Jane recognizes
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her pursed lips, the way she is holding her hands on her hips. She wants
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to be standing beside her best friend, because she knows she is needed
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in moments like this.
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Audrey doesn’t seem worried at all. The teacher urges Marnie to
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leave— gesturing for her to go— so that Audrey will come inside, and
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reluctantly Marnie walks away. She turns and waves several times be-
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fore she reaches the corner at the end of the road and disappears.
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It is then that Audrey begins to look a little lost. She looks around.
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Jane cannot remember her first day at primary school. She is fairly
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confident that Audrey won’t remember this day in twenty years’ time.
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But, if she does, it seems unlikely that she’ll recall looking up and see-29
ing a woman sitting in a red car watching her. She won’t remember that
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this woman smiled and waved.
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That she always smiles. That she always waves.
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01
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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T
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here are many people without whom this story would not exist.
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The first is my husband, Malcolm Kay. You are owed so
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many thanks that it is impossible to represent your contribution in just
13
a few words, but I shall try my best. Thank you for the many long walks
14
in which you encouraged me to unravel and rebuild this narrative aloud;
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for your smart, insightful input; for taking care of our lives, and of me, 16
as I lost myself in this story; for your endless confidence, your constant 17
support, and for urging me to persevere.
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Thank you to my parents, Anne and Bob Goudsmit. Mum: you have
19
been my cheerleader, champion, and counselor. Thank you for my love
20
of books, for reading and writing and stories. Dad: thank you for chal-
21
lenging me, for your never- ending generosity, and for encouraging me
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to find something I really loved and to pursue it relentlessly. To my
23
sister, Kate Goudsmit, I am endlessly grateful for your fervent encour-
24
agement and honesty. There is no one else in my life who tells it as it is.
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To the Goudsmits, Dundases, and Kays, who have been so incredibly
26
generous with their support.
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This book is in many ways about female friendship, and I am fortu-
28
nate enough to be surrounded by brilliant, intelligent, formidable
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women. Thank you to Eleanor Thomas and India Merrony, who mock
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me mercilessly but are the kindest, most loyal friends one could hope
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for. To Bethany Hadrill, Charlotte Piazza, Frances Johnson, Florence
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AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S
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Peterson, Freya Hadrill, Lois Parmenter, Lucy Gilham and Sarah
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Cawthron.
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I owe an incredible debt of gratitude to those who have worked tire-
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lessly to turn this story into a book. Thank you to my agent, Madeline
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Milburn, who had faith in it long before I did. She is the very best an
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author could hope for and without her guidance, determination, and
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support this book would not exist. To her outstanding team: Alice
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Sutherland- Hawes, Anna Hogarty, Georgia McVeigh, Giles Milburn,
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Hayley Steed, Liane- Louise Smith, and Rachel Yeoh. To my UK editor,
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Lucy Malagoni, who is so wonderfully perceptive, patient, creative, and
11
calm: I am so grateful to be working with you. And to the team at
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Little, Brown: Abby Parsons, Gemma Shelley, Stephanie- Elise Mel-
13
rose, Rosanna Forte, all of whom have been instrumental in bringing
14
this book to life. To my US editor, Pamela Dorman, whose wisdom,
15
vision, and ability to identify the problem with a chapter and then—
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thankfully!— provide the solution are unparalleled. And to her team:
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Jeramie Orton, Brian Tart, Andrea Schulz, Lindsay Prevette, Kate
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Stark, Roseanne Serra, and the rest at Pamela Dorman Books and Pen-
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guin. A huge thank you, too, to the teams who are publishing this book
20
in other countries across the world. I am so grateful to all of you.
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Thank you to everyone at Transworld Publishers, where I wear my
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“editor” hat and where I have received the most incredible mentorship
23
and made the most wonderful friends. A special mention must go to
24
Sophie Christopher, who was a dear colleague and friend, and who,
25
without having read a word of it, was one of this book’s very first cham-
26
pions. You are so missed by us all.
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And, finally, to the readers of this world. If you have picked up this
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book and reached the end, then thanks to you above all for spending
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your time in these pages. I hope you enjoyed it.
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