The Last Lie: The must-read new thriller from the Sunday Times bestselling author

So that’s what he’d be. He made a mental note to buy some kids’ music CDs the next day. He’d never played on a kids’ CD in his life, but he’d tell her he was on them. She wouldn’t know any different.

Back on stage, he picked up his bass as the band played the opening bars of ‘Wild Thing’. He glanced at her. She was talking to a friend who had her back to the band, but as he watched she looked up at him. He gave a little wave. She waved back at him.

He knew then this was a done deal.

And it was. They went on dates, ate meals Alfie couldn’t afford in places he’d never known existed. He met her friends and their husbands, listened to how they spoke and matched his accent to theirs, modelled his behaviour – confident, charming – on the way they acted. She fell in love with him, head over heels. He fell in love with the life she offered him.

It was a life he could get no other way. He worked, on and off, but he didn’t get very far. It wasn’t his fault; he was as able as anyone else but he had the wrong background. He’d managed to get into a marketing firm at one point but had got sick of seeing graduates with RP voices and degrees in art history from Warwick and Durham and Oxford show up and take all the promotions. He hated them, hated taking orders from a fucking idiot who just happened to have been to the right school and the right university and whose dad had the right connections and whose mum had the right clothes and gave head to the right fucking people.

And there was nothing he could do about it. He had nothing and he was going nowhere.

But Claire fixed both his problems. She had money, and she had connections, and at first he had quite liked her, which was, for Alfie, as good as it got. He didn’t really care about anybody – he certainly didn’t love anyone in the way other people claimed to; in fact, it seemed absurd to him that anyone could ever be so dependent on someone else – so why not Claire? And what wasn’t to like? She was pretty, quiet, and, if he was ever getting too bored with talking to her there was always sex. Like most new couples, they did that a lot.

But it had all changed now. Now he hated her.

He finished his cigarette and put his lighter and cigarettes back in his jacket pocket. As he did, his fingers brushed the phone he kept with the illicit tobacco. It wasn’t his iPhone; that was in the back pocket of his trousers.

It was his other phone, a pay-as-you-go Android device he’d bought in a backstreet electronics shop.

He took it out and glanced at the screen. There were four missed calls and three messages. He swiped and read them.

The first was from that morning.

Hey! I’m missing you! Give me a call. It’s been a week! Pippa x

Then, a few hours later:

Are you ignoring me? Only kidding. But call! Pips.

Then a new arrival only a few minutes old:

Henry! What’s going on? Get in touch. Please?

It was the ‘please?’ that did it. He’d sensed she was getting too attached and this was confirmation. Besides, he was getting bored with Pippa Davies-Hunt anyway. Most of the thrill with her had been in the chase. She knew how to play hard to get, understood that once she let him screw her the mystery would be gone, the novelty would have worn off.

And she was right. All the thrill was in the chase. She was well educated and rich and lean and pretty but she was a disappointment in bed. She was stiff and unresponsive; compliant, yes – in order to try and keep himself interested he’d suggested some light bondage the third time they’d slept together and she’d gone along with it, not complaining when he choked her hard enough to leave her gasping – but it was the dumb compliance of a farmyard animal. She seemed to take no pleasure in it, seemed to think it was a grim necessity, the price paid for a boyfriend, the thing boyfriends and girlfriends did. It was like she was acting, and Alfie – Henry – was bored of her.

Yes, Henry was bored of her. Henry Bryant – handsome and elusive doctor, frequenter of the websites where people like Pippa went to meet men, owner of the Android phone in Alfie’s pocket – was no longer interested in her.

And there was only one way to deal with it. He had to rip the plaster off. Put an end to it, immediately and irrevocably. It might as well be now. She didn’t know it, but this had been coming from the start. As far as she was concerned, he was Henry Bryant, a doctor, single, and devoted to his work, which was why he would often be out of touch for a few days. She had no idea he was married and called Alfie Daniels and about to shatter her dreams.

Sorry, he typed. Been busy. I’ve been thinking too. I’m not sure this is working out. I think it’s better if we call it a day. Sorry to do this by text, but I’m a bit of a coward.

Nice touch of humility at the end there, he thought. Bit of humour too. Should soften the blow.

The reply was immediate.

Are you fucking SERIOUS??! We need to talk, Henry. You can’t end it like this.

He chuckled. There was no point being gentle with her. This was the last he’d have to do with her and so he might as well leave her thinking he was an arsehole. It’d help her get over him.

I can, and I just did. Sorry. It’s over. Please don’t contact me again.

He hit send and took a mint from his pocket. He slipped it into his mouth. Time to go back in.

The screen lit up with a message. Pippa, again. Fucking hell. She needed to get the message and fuck off.

You bastard. You absolute bastard. You can’t do this to me! I won’t let you. I love you, Henry! I need to see you one last time so we can talk about this. I’ll come to your hospital at a time that suits you. OK?

Shit. She wasn’t going to give up easily. It didn’t matter, though. She had no idea who he really was, and if she did show up at the hospital he’d told her he worked at, they’d inform her there was no Dr Henry Bryant on the staff. He smiled at the thought of it. She really would be shocked then. Anyway, it made no difference to him. He was done with Pippa Davies-Hunt. He deleted her message and headed for the house.

Claire (#ulink_f2abe2cd-137e-511b-b994-f978e055f293)

Jodie, Claire’s oldest friend, was walking towards her across the living room. She was with a man Claire vaguely recognized – perhaps a university acquaintance – and as she reached Claire she gestured at her companion.

‘You remember Trevor?’ Jodie said. ‘I think you may have met at Bunny’s wedding last year?’

Trevor shook her hand. ‘Sorry to crash your birthday party. But I was out with Jo this afternoon. Happy Birthday, by the way.’

Claire smiled, and glanced at Jodie. No one called her Jo. Jodie rolled her eyes slightly, in a look that said I can’t get rid of him.

‘No problem,’ Claire said. ‘Nice to see you.’

‘Where’s Alfie?’ Jodie asked.

‘I’m not sure. Maybe getting a drink? He’s around.’

‘That was quite the … performance earlier,’ she said.

‘It was sweet of him,’ Claire said. She felt defensive, especially after Hugh’s comments. ‘You know Alfie. That’s how he is.’

‘God, I totally agree,’ Jodie said. ‘I didn’t mean anything negative, but not every guy sings songs at his wife’s birthday, you know? I actually thought it was amazing.’

‘He has a really good voice,’ Trevor said. ‘It was … impressive.’

‘He was in a band,’ Claire said, looking at Trevor. ‘That was how we met.’

‘He picked you out in the crowd?’ Trevor said.

‘Not exactly. They were playing at a wedding and he was on his break. I know – it sounds like a cliché, but he wasn’t the band guy looking for groupies at all. He was so nice. So relaxed. He told me about his career singing children’s songs. He wasn’t embarrassed, like some guys would be.’

‘He sings children’s songs?’ Trevor said.

‘He used to,’ Claire said. She was aware there was a hard edge in her voice, but she was getting sick of people thinking Alfie was some kind of beta male because he didn’t run about thumping his chest and downing pints of lager. ‘But sadly not any more.’

‘Well,’ Trevor said, finding it hard to know where to look. ‘It’ll – er – it’ll be a useful skill when you have kids.’

Jodie caught Claire’s eye. She knew they had been trying – unsuccessfully – and she changed the subject.