The Perfect Couple: The most gripping psychological thriller of 2020 from bestselling author of books like The Party and Have You Seen Her Read online

  Praise for Lisa Hall

  ‘Compelling, addictive … brilliant!’

  B A Paris

  ‘A classic twisting mystery from the Queen of Suspense, Lisa Hall’

  Woman’s Own

  ‘Brilliantly plotted … a gripping read’

  Alice Feeney

  ‘An uneasy creeping feeling followed me through the book – I was never quite sure who I should be trusting… I read this book in one sitting because I had to know what was going to happen next. An excellent thriller that had me hooked from the start’

  Katerina Diamond

  ‘This is an unrelenting and scarily plausible story weaved expertly around some very real characters. Good luck putting it down…’

  Heat

  ‘Relentlessly pacey and brilliantly written’

  Phoebe Morgan

  ‘An addictive read’

  Closer

  LISA HALL loves words, reading and everything there is to love about books. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl and, after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.

  Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor.

  Also by Lisa Hall

  Between You And Me

  Tell Me No Lies

  The Party

  Have You Seen Her

  The Perfect Couple

  Lisa Hall

  ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

  Copyright

  An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

  Copyright © Lisa Hall 2020

  Lisa Hall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.

  Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008356460

  Version 2020-05-07

  Note to Readers

  This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

  Change of font size and line height

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  Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008356453

  To my lovely Mum

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise

  About the Author

  Booklist

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Note to Readers

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Acknowledgements

  Extract

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  How well do you really know the people in your life? The person closest to you – the one you live with, share a bed with, have children with… have made an entire life with? The one person you think you know every little detail about, the one you choose to let in – your significant other. It’s a question we rarely have cause to ask. You think you know it all – you know that he can’t play football anymore because he’s ruined his knees, that he has high blood pressure, that sometimes he laughs in his sleep, that he’s a good dad and a hard worker. You know that she tells everyone she is allergic to mushrooms but really she just hates them, that she can’t tolerate liars, that sometimes when she’s tired stupid things make her laugh so hard, she cries. You notice gestures, gait, intonations that are exciting at first, until they become part of everyday life, things that are as familiar to you as your own movements. But do you know what lies underneath? The secrets that hide beneath the skin, burning and branding their way into that person until they’re indelible. Until they are a part of them, hidden from view, but still there, waiting to be exposed.

  And then, how well do they know you? You let slip little details as you sit over dinner, sipping wine on the perfect first date, and then as time goes on, more is uncovered. Accidentally, you reveal little bits of yourself on romantic weekends away, holidays, and then snatched moments on the sofa in the evening after a long day at work.

  You think you know them inside out and you let them think the same about you, but do they really? Have you told them every little detail of what makes you, you? Do they know what really drives you? The things you keep hidden, tucked inside yourself, too ashamed to ever let them see the light of day?

  Secrets. We all have them. They are the things that turn the ordinary everyday into an enigma, sometimes exciting, sometimes explosive. But some secrets are so shocking, so devastating, that you’ll do anything to keep others from finding out. So, I’ll ask you again. How well do you know the other person in your life?

  Chapter One

  It’s time you got yourself sorted out. Sadie’s words echo in Rupert’s ears as he drains the last of the red wine from the bottle into his glass, grubby with greasy fingerprints. He greedily swigs at the purple liquid, shuddering slightly at the furry film it leaves on his teeth. Can he really be blamed for letting things slide? He’s been on his own for months since Caro died; surely everyone is allowed some sort of mourning period, in which they don’t have to wash the dishes every night, and red wine is allowed f
or dessert?

  He pushes himself upright from the depths of the sofa, a struggle in his mildly inebriated state, and glances around the living room, in the house he used to share with Caro. The cushions – ridiculously expensive electric blue Wolf & Badger cushions, which he’d had to bite his tongue over when Caro brought them home – are saggy and squashed without anyone to plump them. Two empty pizza boxes sit on the marble coffee table, although he hasn’t had pizza since he worked late into the evening last week. An empty white wine bottle sits alongside the now empty red wine bottle on the floor by the sofa and Rupert knows for a fact that his recycling bin is crammed full of more. He gets to his feet, stumbling slightly, almost sloshing red wine all over the cream rug in front of the open fireplace.

  As he walks into the kitchen, past the pile of unopened post that sits on the worktop, the dishes that are stacked in the sink even though the dishwasher sits empty beneath the counter, cornflakes welded to the rim of the crockery, he catches sight of himself in the reflection of the kitchen window. Outside is pitch black, and his face in the glass is a stark, white oval. His hair falls over one eye, and dark circles ring his eyes. He peers into the glass, squinting at the purple stain on his lips from the wine, and bares his teeth, the purple carrying over to the enamel. It’s been a long day. Moving to the sink, Rupert tips the wine down the drain, watching as it swirls away before running the cold tap and refilling the wine glass. Sadie’s voice nips at the back of his mind, and he has to concede that maybe she does have a point, but did she have to choose today to voice her opinion?

  Rupert slides into a kitchen chair, weariness infusing his bones. Today was not the best day for Sadie to tell him to get his act together. Today was Caro’s memorial. He closes his eyes and takes a sip of water, the liquid cold on his tongue and leaving his mouth full of a sharp, metallic taste.

  The death knock, he believes that’s what they call it. That hard, fast knock that signals the beginning of the end of something for a family. When that knock came at Rupert’s door, on a miserable, wet January evening, the bare branches of the trees bending and swaying in the wind as rain began to lash at the windows, Rupert knew he would open the door to the police. He’d been waiting for the knock for three days. He knew what they would tell him, and his stomach had rolled as he pulled the door open, slowly, as if to delay the moment.

  ‘Mr Osbourne-Milligan?’ They’d stood there, grim-faced, before he’d nodded and let them into the house, and they’d told him that they’d found her car, that it was found not far from the Severn Bridge, with her purse and a card with a single word scrawled across it – ‘Sorry’ – on the passenger seat inside. That given her state of mind and previous history, they were in no doubt about what she had done.

  Nothing has been the same since those two police officers stood on Rupert’s doorstep, with their serious faces and grave voices, and told him that his life was about to change forever. Everything is washed out, faded, blurred by a persistent tug of guilt every time he lets himself think of her. More so today, the day they held a memorial service in Caro’s name. Everything is over for Caro, she is at peace. He has to keep on going, guilt balanced on each shoulder.

  The church had been freezing cold earlier this morning despite the weak sunshine outside, as they all shuffled in and sat, straight-backed, waiting for the vicar to start his speech. All except Michael, Caro’s father. His shoulders were rounded, hunched, grief scored into his face as he finally took his seat next to Esme, Caro’s mother. The tip of Rupert’s nose was cold, meaning he had to keep sniffing, inhaling the cat piss scent of the lilies that adorned the aisles. Thinking he was crying, Esme turned to pat his hand, a tissue pressed against her own nose, and he was grateful when numbness overtook him as the vicar stood to give Caro’s eulogy. A man who barely knew her – Caro hadn’t attended church for years despite Esme’s requests – standing talking about Rupert’s wife, telling the church how loved she was, how generous, how kind, how caring. Rupert felt disconnected, removed from the moment as the voice of the vicar boomed around the echoey chambers of the church, as though they weren’t talking about Caro. As though the vicar was talking about someone Rupert couldn’t recognize, someone he’d never met before. Then he’d had to endure drinks and a buffet at Caro’s parents’ house, as strangers – Caro’s people, not his – told him that they were sorry, but at least he could move on now. He expects this kind of thing from them, but not from Sadie.

  ‘Rupert? Are you OK? Well, I know you’re not OK, of course you’re not. It’s just, you don’t seem to have spoken to many people. I’m just a little worried that you’re… oh, you know what I mean.’ Sadie appears beside him in the dining room of Michael and Esme’s home, thinner than ever in her black dress, her collarbones jutting out white and bony above her neckline. She holds a glass of white wine in one hand and Rupert wonders if it would be crass to ask her to get him one.

  ‘I know what you mean. I can’t speak to them, Sadie. They’re Caro’s friends, not mine. I didn’t want a memorial, you know that. I did it for her mother more than anything.’ Rupert resisted the idea of a memorial for almost a year, but when Caro’s mother had cried on his last visit to her, telling him she needed a memorial before she could let Caro go, he didn’t have the heart to deny her any longer. Now, he tries to temper his tone; Sadie is – was – Caro’s best friend after all. She is feeling the loss of Caro today just as much as she did a year ago. Sod it, he needs a drink. ‘Where did you get the wine?’

  ‘Someone handed it to me in the kitchen. Here.’ Sadie thrusts the glass towards him, and he takes it. The wine is warm, sour on his tongue, but he swallows it down anyway.

  ‘I don’t even know who half these people are. I don’t even know if Caro would know who half these people are,’ Rupert says. There is a heavy lump in his stomach, weighing him down. Sadie is right, he hasn’t spoken to many people here at all, just accepted their condolences, letting Sadie and Miles brush them away. People mill about in the spacious living room, keeping their conversation to a respectable low level, as Caroline stares out from the huge framed wedding photo on the mantelpiece, her face alive, eyes sparkling, a glass of champagne in her hand as bride and groom beam into the camera.

  ‘I bet she could tell you the name of every person in here. She was very popular,’ Sadie says, her eyes roaming over the crowd that fills the room. ‘Everyone loved her, you know that. She was… God, Rupert, I’m so sorry.’ Her eyes fill with tears and Rupert has to look away. ‘Shit.’ She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. ‘I thought it was getting easier – it’s been a year.’

  ‘Old chap.’ Miles appears beside Sadie, giving her a peck on the cheek, his hand sliding around her waist as he aims a thin smile in Rupert’s direction. ‘People are starting to leave. Do you want to say goodbye?’

  ‘Do I have to?’ The wine has gone to his head, after he necked it on an empty stomach. Caroline would never have approved.

  ‘Well, not if you don’t want to…’ Sadie starts to say, before Miles interrupts.

  ‘Best if you did,’ he says. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes, and then they’ll all be gone. Just show your face.’ Subtly reminding Rupert that that’s what you do, when you’re upper-middle class like Miles. Show your face, keep up appearances. It’s what Caro would have wanted. Rupert hauls himself to his feet, ready to shake hands, hug, kiss cheeks until the last of the stragglers depart, and at last he’s able to think about leaving.

  Finally, Sadie and Miles drive Rupert home, and they stand in the chilly living room of the house Rupert once shared with Caro. The house that still holds hints of her scent, catching him unawares, as though she is still here, a ghost that roams the rooms. He is hoping that Sadie and Miles will be leaving straight away, but Sadie shrugs off her jacket and heads through to the kitchen, and Miles starts to lay a fire in the hearth.

  ‘I poured you some more wine.’ Sadie comes back in carrying three glasses and a bottle on a tray, and Rupert thanks her even though he d
oesn’t want any more wine, the first sip feeling like acid as it burns its way down his throat. ‘You did so well today. Caro would have been proud.’

  ‘You did bloody well, mate.’ Miles slaps Rupert a little too firmly on the back in his attempts to sound like a regular bloke, instead of a trust-fund-supported, slightly-too-posh corporate lawyer. Which he is. ‘Cigar?’ He offers one out, a fat, juicy Cuban, and Rupert shakes his head. Where he comes from, a cigar is only for celebrations, not an everyday occurrence. ‘Mind if I…?’ Miles nods towards the door, still respecting Caro’s wishes about not smoking in the house, even though she isn’t here anymore.

  ‘Go ahead.’ Rupert watches him leave and when he turns back Sadie is stood beside him, so close he can feel the warmth of her breath on his face.

  ‘Rupert. Are you sure you’ll be OK on your own? It’s been a rough day.’ She cocks her head on one side, a sour tang of alcohol like a cloud around her. Her eyes are rimmed with red, her face pale. There is a faint smudge of mascara at the corner of her left eye, but her lipstick looks freshly applied.

  ‘Of course.’ He’s had a year without Caro beside him already. ‘I’ll be fine. You two should probably go. It’s been a long day, shouldn’t you be getting back to the twins?’ Blanche and Barclay – a fraternal nightmare, and Rupert and Caro’s godchildren. Rupert’s godchildren, now.

  ‘They’re fine. They’re with the nanny.’ She looks away, running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. ‘Rupert, if you need to talk, you can call me any time, you know that? You’ve shut us out since Caro’s been gone. You can talk to me about her – I won’t fall apart. She was my best friend, part of my life since I was eleven years old. We did everything together. I know what you’re going through. I know how it feels.’ Her words slur slightly, and Rupert realizes she’s a little drunk. She leans towards him, laying a hand on his arm, and he focuses on the gap between her two front teeth, the tiny mole that sits just above her top lip and prepares to push her away. ‘It’s been a rough year for all of us.’