Behind the Lie

by Amanda James

  Who can you trust, if you can’t trust yourself?

  Holly West has turned her life around. She’s found a successful and loving husband in Simon and is expecting twins. She is definitely a woman who has taken back control of her future.

  Until she gives birth, but for only one twin to survive. Holly can’t let it go.

  Holly’s world is in a tailspin and suddenly she can’t trust herself or anyone else. No one believes her, not her husband or her best friend. Because she thinks she knows the truth… her son is still alive and she won’t stop until she finds him.

  Behind the Lie

  Amanda James

  AMANDA JAMES

  grew up in Sheffield but her dream was to eventually live in Cornwall. Having now realised that dream, the dramatic coastline around her home inspires her writing and she has sketched out many stories in her head while walking the cliff paths.

  Known to many as Mandy, she spends far more time than is good for her on social media and has turned procrastination into a fine art. Amanda has written many short stories for anthologies and has five published novels. Two, A Stitch in Time and Cross Stitch, are about a time-travelling history teacher; three are a mixture of suspense and mystery – Somewhere Beyond the Sea, Dancing in the Rain and Summer in Tintagel.

  Amanda left school with no real qualifications of note apart from an A* in how to be a nuisance in class. Nevertheless, she returned to education when her daughter was five and eventually became a history teacher, though she never travelled through time, apart from in her head.

  When Amanda is not writing she can be found playing on the beach with her family or walking next to the ocean plotting her next book.

  Follow her on Twitter @akjames61 and on Facebook at mandy.james.33

  To Brian – my biggest champion

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank all my friends, family and readers who have encouraged me on my continued writing journey. A writer’s path is never a smooth one, unless you are very lucky! Special thanks goes to Imogen Howson, who first saw a very sketchy synopsis for Behind the Lie and told me to go for it, and to my wonderful and very hard-working editor, Victoria Oundjian. She has incredible insight and has helped me iron out some of the many creases in the plot! Thanks, of course, to my publisher HQ too.

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Prologue

  I close my eyes. I want to shut out the bright lights, to block from my ears the incessant beep of monitors, the clink of instruments on metal trays, the rustle of a plastic apron as a nurse follows hushed instructions from the surgeon. My husband, Simon, has tried to prepare me for this moment, but how can I be? Nobody could.

  Not for this.

  My heart is racing and a weight of despair crushes my chest. I can’t give up yet though. Mustn’t. Simon has told me that I can’t think the worst, must be positive. I cannot voice my fears or they could become real. I hold tight to my husband’s hand and he whispers encouraging words.

  The wail of an infant snaps my eyes open once more and I let out a moan. It’s a mixture of both hope and despair, because there should be two, you see.

  Two babies.

  Moments later, the surgeon tells us we have a little girl. I want to ask about my son, but I can’t say the words. There are too many people in the room, nurses, assistants, an anaesthetist, and God knows who else, and it sounds as if they are all talking at once. I can hear someone saying something about weight and then a nurse is rushing around; I can’t tell what she’s doing; there’s a green operating sheet hanging in front of me. Suddenly my daughter is in my arms and an overwhelming rush of love takes my breath. Before I can speak again, I realise that the surgeon has left the room and a nurse too, I think. It’s so hard to see everything that’s happening and I begin to panic again. Simon calms me, explains they are just doing my stitches.

  My husband takes my daughter’s tiny hand and says she looks just like me. He is flushed with pride and tells us both how much he loves us. I ask where our boy is and he tells me not to worry, that a nurse has just taken him to have some checks, that it will all be fine. I think he sounds less than convincing. Then a male nurse comes in, whispers in Simon’s ear. He passes my daughter back to me, asks if I will be okay for a few minutes without him. I ask why, but he doesn’t answer.

  He is gone for some time and when he returns his grey eyes are moist and he whispers in my ear that he’s so sorry but there was nothing that could be done and that our worst fears have come true; that he’s so, so sorry, but at least we have our healthy baby girl. He kisses my cheek tenderly and I want to scream, because my baby boy is gone.

  Gone for ever.

  Chapter One

  Five weeks earlier…

  The kiss of an ocean breeze wakes me from sleep. I watch the white gauze curtain’s gentle rise and fall at the open bedroom window, listen to the shush of the waves hurrying in their ceaseless journey back and forth along the sand, and take a deep breath of morning air – ozone and lilies. Wonderful.

  Waking to nature’s alarm clock in my beloved Cornwall on a sunny spring morning is infinitely preferable to the shriek of a digital one in our twelfth-floor London apartment. I reach out and caress the stems of white lilies by my bed and remind myself that I am very lucky to have both homes. In fact, I think that my life is just about perfect right now. Okay, so there are one or two shadows, I suppose that’s what you’d call them, darkening my positive thoughts some days, but nothing I can’t handle.

  A lazy smile on my lips, I stretch my limbs and run my fingers over the distended mound of my belly. My hands pause. Was that a response?

  Yes.

  One kick and… another.

  It hardly seems possible that just two years ago my belly was as flat as an African veldt and my whole career depended on my face and body. My five-feet-nine fashion-model body. I’d have been horrified to find myself pregnant back then, but now I am overjoyed. Overjoyed times two, because I am carrying twins. My laughter escapes as I stroke my tummy again.

  In the kitchen now and halfway through a bowl of cornflakes, my mobile rings from somewhere in the hall. I pull my dressing gown across my bump and hurry over – probably left it in my coat pocket again. Yes, I did…

  ‘Hi, Holly! Didn’t wake you, did I?’

  The sound of my oldest and best friend’s voice on the line warms my heart. ‘Demi! No, of course you didn’t wake me. It is,’ I glance at the kitchen clock, ‘nearly nine o’clock. Been up for hours!’

  ‘Really?’

&nbs
p; ‘Of course not. More like ten minutes.’ We laugh. I never was good at getting up early. Demi used to call for me on the way to school and always had to wait while I rushed around like a maniac.

  ‘Typical. Look, I know we said we’d meet up tomorrow, but can I pop over this morning instead? I’ve doubled booked myself.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. The sooner the better. I have bacon, but bring eggs and I’ll make us breakfast.’

  ‘Bacon and eggs? I remember a time that you’d rather die than eat that. How you survived on just coffee and… um… fags I will never know.’ Her chuckle sounds like it’s embarrassed, not amused.

  The little pause before she said fags wasn’t lost on either of us and a bit of sunshine went out of the day. We both know that her runaway tongue had been going to say drugs. All that is over now. A hundred years ago. At least that’s how it feels – my life has changed irrevocably.

  ‘Ah, yes. Dark days, Demelza. Dark days indeed. But now everything is different, thank goodness. Oh, and can you bring some fresh white bread?’

  ‘Are you sure you are Holly, the “to die for” former fashion model, or am I speaking to a charlatan?’

  ‘I am the former fashion model, but I think you’ll find my figure is no longer to die for… well, it could be. Depends how you look at it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I’ve changed in the two years since we last met. You’re going to be in for a big surprise.’

  From behind the slats at the window, I watch a battered blue VW Camper trundle along the unmade beach road and pull up outside. Bloody hell, Demi must have had that for nearly ten years. It was old when her dad gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday, but that was Demi all over. Why change it if it still worked? Besides, it fitted with her laid-back, adventurous nature and surf-dude style. I watch her get out of the van and the breeze tug at her tangle of copper curls as she turns her expectant green eyes to my beach house. Oh, it is so good to see her again. A little piece of my past right there and ready to reunite with my present. A little piece of the past that I missed more than I realised until this moment.

  Demi runs up the sandy incline, a carrier bag of groceries in her hand, and I dodge away before she sees me at the window. I don’t want to give away my secret until I open the door. I want to see the expression on her face. With a giggle in my throat I fling open the door, just as she’s raising her finger to press the bell. The wide-as-the-sky smile on her face falters, her mouth drops open, becoming just as round as her eyes.

  ‘Oh my WORD!’ Demi points at my bump in disbelief. ‘You’re… you’re… oh, my word!’

  ‘Pregnant? Is that the word your brain is scrambling for?’ I laugh and throw my arms around her. Not easy with a mountain between us.

  She hugs me as best she can and then says, ‘But why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I wanted to see your face! I couldn’t tell you before, could I, because you’ve been travelling around the world for the last hundred years, finding yourself, or whatever you young folk do.’

  Demi narrows her eyes. ‘I went to work with Save the Children in India, for six months, and that was ages ago – before your wedding. And then to Greece working in a bar. Listen to you with the young folk? There’s three months between us.’

  I do love winding her up, it’s so easy. I hold the door open and usher her in. ‘Well, I am soon to be a mother, so therefore much more mature than you, don’t you know?’

  She takes a few steps inside and shakes her head, her eyes fixed on my belly. ‘I just can’t bloody believe it. You’re the last person I thought would get pregnant. And you are SO… massive!’

  I ignore the first bit and say, ‘That’s because I’m having twins, a boy and a girl.’

  ‘Shut up! You’re not!’

  ‘Am.’

  ‘Wow! Are you happy about it all, then?’

  I grin at the little furrow in her brow. ‘Do I look happy?’

  ‘Why yes… yes, you do,’ she says with a laugh.

  ‘Then that’s your answer. Now come through and I’ll get that bacon on.’

  Soon the kitchen is full of breakfast smells and laughter. Demi is still as crazy as she ever was, and it’s a wonder I can cook at all, I’m giggling so much. Suddenly serious, she pulls herself up onto the countertop, looks round the room and spreads her arms wide.

  ‘My God, Holly, you have done incredibly well for a Cornish maid. This house is like, humongous; in fact, this kitchen is bigger than my entire flat! And the view from the living room over the ocean…’ She gives a wistful little sigh. ‘What I wouldn’t give.’

  I nod. ‘It is very lovely and I am so lucky to have such a generous husband. Simon bought this place for me when I started to get homesick last year.’

  Demi’s eyes grow round. ‘He must be a bloody millionaire then. Most guys buy their wives a bunch of flowers from the local garage.’

  I laugh and crack an egg into the pan. ‘Perhaps not quite a millionaire,’ I say, though he probably is. I don’t know for definite as he keeps his finances close to his chest. ‘But, as you know, a London private consultant’s salary isn’t peanuts.’

  She takes a sip of her tea and rolls her eyes. I think I catch a look of disdain in that eye-roll and crack another egg more forcefully. Demi and Simon have met just the once, at our wedding two years ago, and though my best friend had been polite and pleasant, I knew she didn’t like him. When I’d asked her what she thought of my new husband, she had been non-committal, just said she was glad I was happy and then gone off to get a drink. Afterwards, despite numerous invites to spend time with us in London, Demi had always come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t make it. Then she’d gone off to Greece.

  ‘Why don’t you like Simon, Demi?’ I say as I tip the eggs onto a plate with the bacon.

  She pulls her neck in and gives me a frown. ‘Eh? Who says I don’t like him? I’ve only met the guy the once.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I put the plates on the table and Demi jumps down from the countertop. ‘You never visited us and I know you inside out – I should, shouldn’t I? We have been friends since we were nine.’

  Demi cuts the fresh white loaf and slathers thick butter across it. ‘Oh, this is still warm, Holly.’ She gives a groan of pleasure and stuffs more bread in her mouth. ‘I swear to God that Kendra’s bake the best bread in Cornwall. I bet if Terry Kendra went on Bake Off he’d win hands…’ Demi looks at my set face, swallows the bread and sighs. ‘Look, do we have to do this now, just as we’re about to enjoy this wonderful breakfast?’

  My heart sinks. How bad can it be? ‘No… not if you…’

  ‘It’s just that he’s a bit, you know, controlling…?’ Demi’s words burst out around forkfuls of breakfast shoved rapidly into her mouth and I have to concentrate really hard to hear them. ‘It’s as if you were some kind of trophy for him. He saw you, decided he wanted you, but then what man wouldn’t? A stunning, tall, blonde, blue-eyed model?’ She pauses and points an eggy fork at me. ‘And, I might add, one of the nicest people in the known universe. So he got you clean of drugs and then took you.’ Demi shakes her head in bewilderment. ‘All within three bloody months. I knew within ten minutes of talking to him that it was a case of whatever Simon wants, Simon gets.’

  I watch her push her plate away and pour more tea. A mouthful of my breakfast refuses to be swallowed, just sits in my cheek like a lump of cardboard. I hadn’t expected that… even though I might have thought along those lines myself. More than I’d like to admit.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry, but you did ask.’ Demi touches my hand briefly but her eyes dance away from the hurt in mine. ‘And we promised early on that we would be honest with each other, didn’t we? If you’re happy with him, that’s all that matters.’

  I nod briefly, swallow my food with a swig of tea, and push my barely touched plate away. ‘You don’t really know him, so I suppose he could have co
me across as a bit controlling. But I was out of my depth when I met him… had been for nearly a year. The modelling scene in London is mad… a never-ending round of parties, drugs, photo shoots… it all went to my head. I wasn’t eating properly, sleeping…’ I hear my voice catch and Demi takes my hand across the table.

  ‘Let’s stop now. I’m sorry I upset you. Let’s talk about the babies…’

  ‘No. I want you to understand.’ I take my hand back and tuck my hair behind my ears. I was on antidepressants, booze, as well as the cocaine… I wanted to come home, leave it all, but I couldn’t come home a junky, could I? Imagine what it would have done to Mum only the year after Dad died? I wanted her to be proud of me, make something of myself, but the way things were going I’d have been dead before I was twenty-five.’

  Demi puts her hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t realise it had got that bad. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.’

  I look at her shocked little face, soft green eyes as big as saucers, and want to laugh. How the hell could she have helped me? What did she know about my life at the time? Me, a girl from a Cornish village, drunk on the glamour and bright lights of London. Swayed by promises of making the big time, becoming a supermodel even… And I had done very well, very quickly. Perhaps could have gone higher in my career, but the scene began to beat me back as if I were driftwood against the returning tide. Swept me away, down and under…

  ‘You wouldn’t have been able to help me, Dem. I needed specialist help and Simon got that for me. He rescued me from drowning, saved my life…’

  ‘Well, that’s good then.’ Demi shoots me an unconvincing smile, stands and turns to the kettle. ‘Shall I make more tea?’

  What the hell is wrong with her? Doesn’t she believe me? ‘No tea for me. And Simon honestly did save me, you know?’ I stand and take the plates over to the sink.

  Demi gives me a searching look. ‘Simon might have saved you, but don’t you think he did it for himself, not for you? I had it from the horse’s mouth at the wedding. He told me he came to that fashion show with his then girlfriend, saw you on the catwalk and decided he must have you. So he gets your agent to set up a meeting, tells you he’s in love with you, sweeps you off your feet, and arranges for you to see a top drug therapist. Then you’re in rehab for a few weeks and, meanwhile, he arranges the wedding of the year. Job done.’