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BETH THOMAS
His Other Life
Copyright
AVON
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2015
Copyright © Beth Thomas 2015
Cover images © Nikki Dupin 2015
Illustration © Helen Musslewhite 2015
Beth Thomas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007544844
Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007544837
Version: 2015-01-08
Dedication
For my Babbagee.
You may be a sour-faced puss,
but it’s not your fault.
Contents
ONE
There’s a text on my husband’s phone. It’s lying on the counter near the kettle and I just heard it vibrate. He’s turned the sound off, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear it – that’s the only reason someone would put their phone on silent, right? – but I still can. It sounds like an automatic gun; our neighbours probably heard it. Pam and Mike next door are no doubt up off their sofa already, frantically dialling three nines before you can say Crimewatch.
I look over at the phone but it’s face down, probably so that it doesn’t light up noticeably when texts or calls arrive. Bit of a pointless precaution if you ask me, given that it sounds like a horse falling downstairs. Maybe it’s also a precaution against someone – well, let’s be honest, me – getting a glimpse of the name of anyone who might call or text.
Eventually the glasses and cutlery stop rattling from
