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Tell Me Your Lies free digital audiobook - Chapter 56

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This is no mellow autumn day, all golden light and tumbling leaves. No, the weather is biblical: the

universe has provided the perfect backdrop for their sins. Rain and sleet slice the sky, the odd flash of

lightning sending the satisfyingly large gaggle of journalists scuttling for cover. Patience, I think, the

voluminous hood of my olive mac giving me all the cover I need. I wipe droplets from the glasses that I

don’t strictly need, and as my vision clears, they’re pushing their way through the courtroom doors and

starting down the st eps. My heart starts to thump in my chest. What is it? Fear or excitement? I think,

most of all, it’s pride.

The size of the crowd momentarily shocks them: Nick grabs desperately for Lily’s hand, his own

shaking. Only someone with my gifts would discern these tiny tells. Now Lily begins to speak over the

shouting, jostling crowd. ‘We’re not doing this for us,’ she says self-righteously, the rain soaking her

pale pink skirt suit into soggy darkness. ‘We’re doing this for every other vulnerable family who might

be preyed on by an, an...’

It takes all my strength not to fight through the throng and set her straight. But then I remember,

fastening my hood a little more tightly, that this is the most powerful place for me to be. ‘...

unscrupulous therapist,’ she continues, swallowing something far more vicious. Sticks and stones, I

think. ‘These people ruin lives! We need stronger regulations to stop them tearing other families apart

the way...’ She falters now, her gaze briefly turned upwards towards the slate grey sky. She doesn’t

even pretend to look to her useless husband for comfort. ‘... the way that ours has been,’ she says, her

final words quietly stuttered out, the energy visibly draining away. They’re neutered, diminished. I did

that.

Journalists are shouting questions at them now, calling from left and right. A groomed blonde woman

holding a microphone st eps in front of the fray. ‘But you were in volved with Amber Greville’s

daughter? Can you speak to that? She was your children’s nanny?’ Now Nick wakes up, lurching

forward furiously like a sad, old drunk. Again, I have to consciously root myself to the spot, so strong is

my desire to hurt him.

Esther will come back to me, I can feel it. She just needs more time to appreciate that my whole battle

was devoted to her healing. Love can be fierce – a mother’s most of all. In time she’ll understand that I

still won, even if the spoils weren’t quite what we’d looked forward to. ‘That’s not relevant to this case,’

Nick shouts, a finger jabbing towards the blonde. ‘Amber Greville tried to embezzle money from us.

She gave our daughter the plan that bankrupted us. This is a civil case, related to that. Check your facts.’

‘You’re s eparated now, is that right?’ asks the blonde, undeterred. No surprise really, he doesn’t cut the

powerful figure he once did. As I’ve always known, life is nothing but a confidence trick. Lily’s head

swivels towards her, her eyes like slits. ‘I stand by my husband. Our family stands united.’ She inclines

her head, and now their awful son and his wife are fighting through the scrum to complete the line-up,

rictus grins plastered on their faces. No sign of Sophie, I note with satisfaction. Rachel would be so

happy at the cast-iron evidence that her sister took her side. Took our side. Still, it’s a little unnerving

how they emerged from the crowd: I take a st ep backwards, ke ep my gaze trained on the ground. I’m

taking a huge risk today, but I know in my heart that it’s worth it.

‘But isn’t it true that your husband’s been declared bankrupt because you refused to sell the family

home?’ shouts the blonde terrier, but now they’re refusing to r eply to her. ‘And the judge just threw

your case against Amber Greville out,’ adds another journalist, thrusting a mic towards them, his

cameraman at his shoulder. ‘He said any claim you’d be entitled to is against your daughter.’

Lily rounds on him, furious.

‘I would never betray my daughter in that way. And those who have betrayed her will pay the price.’

She looks into the camera, almost beseeching. She’s speaking directly to the child I know she’s lost

forever, even if I don’t know where she’s gone. ‘I won’t stop fighting.’ Now they’re elbowing their way

through the crowd – it’s safest to let myself be sucked into it, obscured by the crush of bodies. The

whole family cram themselves into a taxi, but I know, ultimately, she’ll be home alone.

The light will click on in the master bedroom – the window is top right from my vantage place across

the street – shortly after 9 pm. It’s not like the old days when the lights in the living room would often

blaze till 11 pm – the two of them watching their favourite crime shows in a bad parody of marital bliss,

or, alternatively, Lily numbing herself with Sauvignon Blanc solo, waiting for him to deign to make a

reappearance. It was uncanny to finally go inside, that first day I met Rachel – like walking into a book

you’ve read a hundred times, the pages thumbed, the spine broken.

I won’t put the book down, won’t stop fighting. My girls – both of them – can trust in that. I know in

time they’ll be ready for me to tell them. I know – have always known – how exquisite it can be to wait.

Acknowledgements Infinite thanks are due to my incredible agent, Eugenie Furniss, who signed me

long before there was any sign of a new manuscript, and yet was unfailingly generous, enthusiastic and

supportive. Massive thanks also due to the rest of the 42 Books D epartment – Marilia Savvides, for

sterling work at the point when it got exciting, and the amazing Emily Mac Donald who ke eps everyone

in order.

To the 42 Production D epartment, for being so supportive of my side hustle. And to the endlessly

patient and loyal Lucinda Prain at Casarotto, my TV agent, who is luckily also very good fun. Huge

thanks to the whole team at Simon & Schuster. I couldn’t ask for a smarter, more engaged editor than

Bethan Jones. Thanks, too, to Victoria Godden for a thoughtful copy-edit.

Thanks to Caroline Haughey, QC, for her amazing knack for making a crime plot stack up in a

(hopefully) entertaining way. Thanks to my incredible early readers for putting up with the spelling

mistakes and the excessive exclamation marks. Ray, Rhonda, Miriam, Carol B and Matthew – I so

appreciated your compliments and deftly delivered criticisms in the d epths of lockdown.

Talking of which – thank you to Miriam and Kingsley for turning the N5 office into an octopus

appreciation society. To Anne, for going with the whole conc ept of white wine in ke ep cups. To Sophia,

for all-round sanity and a lot of soft rock. To Kay, for deeming me worthy of a Jump bike ride up a ste ep

hill. To Stef, for making the LA/London time difference work so many different ways.

And to all the not Ambers who have helped me along the way – Cabby, Bee, Foxy, Gill, Kitty, Ross.

Your wisdom and kindness is never something I take for granted.

About the Author Kate Ruby is a pseudonym for an award-winning TV drama producer and

screenwriter. With several previously published novels and original TV projects developed at the BBC

and Sky, she balances her writing career alongside her role as an executive producer.

www. Simonand Schuster. co. uk/Authors/Kate-Ruby

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First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2021 Copyright © Kate Ruby 2021 The

right of Kate Ruby to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. Simon & Schuster UK Ltd 1 st Floor 222 Gray’s Inn Road

London WC1 X 8 HB Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

www. simonandschuster. co. uk www. simonandschuster. com. au www. simonandschuster. co. in A CIP

catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Paperback ISBN:

978-1-3985-0026-6 Export Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-3985-0126-3 e Book ISBN:

978-1-3985-0027-3 Audio ISBN: 978-1-3985-1323-5 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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