Sue Watson - Our Little Lies

Psychological Thrillers

Our Little Lies

Romantic Comedies

The Love and Lies Series:

Love, Lies and Lemon Cake

Love, Lies and Wedding Cake

The Ice-Cream Cafe Series:

Curves, Kisses and Chocolate Ice-Cream

Ellas Ice Cream Summer

Bellas Christmas Bake Off

Snowflakes, Iced Cakes and Second Chances

Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake

Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams

The Christmas Cake Cafe

Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes

Younger Thinner Blonder

This book is dedicated to Eve Watson, my partner in crime.

We watch the news coverage, horrified yet mesmerised. As if the body theyre putting in the ambulance now isnt someone we know. But it is its someone we know very well.

Its the way he says her name that first alerts me. Im buttering toast for the children when he says Caroline I dont hear the rest, just the way his mouth caresses Caroline.

Its hard to explain, but something tells me shes more than a colleague. Perhaps its the way his tongue rolls languorously over the r, ending with a contented sigh on the ine.

I run the knife slowly along the butter as I look up and see her in his eyes. I know, I know, I havent a clue who this woman is and its stupid of me to jump to conclusions. I need more evidence than the sound of his bloody voice. But then again I know. I just know. Ive known for some time; shes been with us with me for a while. As yet undiagnosed, experience tells me these symptoms cant be ignored. I cant leave them to fester and bloom like cancer in my marriage. Picking up a fresh knife, I open the jar of marmalade and dig into the viscous amber stickiness. Caroline.

Is she new? I ask.

What? He feigns vagueness. Oh, Caroline Harker? There it is again, the roll of the r, the sigh of the ine. Err no she started in surgical before me.

Wheres she from? Im now cracking an egg on the side of the bowl, trying not to imagine its her head.

Edinburgh. Very talented, only thirty-two

Im overcome by a sharp wave of nausea and move away from the eggs, opaque and sickly yellow. Pulling my bathrobe around me to ward off the chill, I quickly jam the lid back on the marmalade jar, like something might escape. But it might already be too late. Wobbly and disorientated, I spritz the kitchen counter, covering any lingering odour with the zing of fresh lemons.

I move around briskly now, wiping all the surfaces. I dont stop at one, I cant I must clean them all.

I was thinking Elephants Breath?

He looks up from his phone, puzzled, an undertow of irritation on his face.

The paint shade for the sitting room its a sort of grey? I explain.

He nods, absently. Im talking about wall colours to remove Caroline from the kitchen, my kitchen, where my children are about to eat breakfast. I wipe harder at the kitchen surfaces, wishing it was as easy to wipe her away. I throw the cloth into the sink with unnecessary force and turn back to the task in hand. Breakfast.

Slicing the home-made wholemeal I baked at three this morning, I whip the raw eggs vigorously and pour freshly squeezed orange juice into three glasses. Thats better.

The twins are yelling and thundering around upstairs and I glance at Simon, who rolls his eyes.

Do they ever do anything quietly without trying to kill each other?

That would be boring. I laugh, pulled out of my abyss as Sophie wafts in, a faraway look in her seventeen-year-old eyes.

I look at her and am filled with maternal love. I fell for her when I fell for Simon. Hed lost his wife, Sophie her mother. She was only seven and so lost and bewildered. Ill never forget the first time we met and she looked up at me and asked are you going to be my mummy now? And in that moment I melted and knew I could love this child like my own. She needed me and I like to think that once I was in her life I made the world okay for her again. I can never replace her mother, but were close its just been difficult since I had the boys to give her the time and attention she needs. I feel guilty about that. She adores her half-brothers, but they fill our lives with their boisterousness and noisy demands and I worry Sophie may feel a little pushed out sometimes. I try and snatch half an hour here and there with her, a bit of shopping, some lunch, and we laugh together like we used to, but its rare, and recently she seems to have withdrawn again. I presume its the sudden move here, or perhaps its got nothing to do with home life and shes fallen in love? Dont do it Sophie. Dont fall, youll never get up again.

Can you shout the boys for me, darling? I smile at her, using this as a chance to look into her face, to try and gauge the level of teenage hormones and happiness.

Alfieeee, Charlieeee, she yells loudly, virtually standing next to me.

I cover my ears playfully. I could have done that, I say. What I meant was go to the bottom of the stairs and call them. Im now lifting a pile of wobbly golden eggs onto plates and putting them neatly down at each place. I smile indulgently at her through the steam.

Sophie, do you have to yell like that? Youre seventeen not bloody seven. Grow up! The sudden sharpness in Simons voice cuts through the warm, buttered-toast air.

He doesnt mean to be harsh, she just gave him a start. Hes trying to concentrate and lashed out a little, something he rarely does with the children, which is why were so surprised. I glance at Sophie and she seems to shrink before me. I look over to see if hes realised the effect his words have had on her, but hes still on his phone, already in work mode. In his absence, Ill put the plaster on her hurt feelings.

Your eggs, Your Majesty, I say, rolling one arm in an elaborately subservient manner while putting the plate in front of her. But its too late, shes now sulkily slumping into a chair, her gossamer wings crumpled. If only he realised how much she loves him, how she so desperately wants his approval. Sophies always been a daddys girl, and I know he adores her, and would do anything for her, but her teenage insecurities overwhelm her sometimes and his insensitivity can sting. I ache for her but dont have time to try and bring her round now. Its already 8.15 and the twins are thundering down the stairs. They land in the kitchen, arguing about who can do the loudest belch, and this is accompanied by vigorous and revolting demonstrations.

Boys please, thats not nice, I say wearily, but they continue to make disgusting noises from their mouths and there are serious threats that this may extend to their bottoms.

I look at Simon who smiles indulgently at them but gives me a disapproving look like its me whos suggesting a bloody burping competition. I wait for him to either reprimand them or join them in their pursuit of the loudest belch, but instead he grabs his coffee, takes it through to the orangery and settles with his phone.

My identical six-year-olds both have thick dark hair like their dad and are completely wild. Charlie, at four minutes older, is the leader of the two, usually starts the fights and is obsessed with everything vile. What Alfie doesnt dare to do, Charlie will push him to it. They are now trying to smash their breakfast plates on each others heads, which apparently is a new and innovative technique to test who has the strongest skull.