Happy Ever After: 2020’s most addictive debut thriller by C. C. MacDonald
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 3.0 MB
She made one terrible mistake… and someone isn’t going to let her forget it.
Naomi seems to have everything. A beautiful daughter, a gorgeous house, a perfect life. Behind the scenes, though, she and her husband are drifting from one another and struggling to conceive their second child. Then Naomi meets a parent at her daughter’s nursery. Sean understands her, or so she thinks. Looking for a connection, for a friend, Naomi makes a terrible mistake.
Weeks later, when Naomi attempts to contact Sean, he has disappeared without a trace. But it becomes clear that someone else knows her secret. Someone who wants to make sure she never forgets what she did.
A twisting, addictive thriller about desire and deceit, perfect for fans of Apple Tree Yard, Blood Orange and Our House.
Naomi flings milk into a bowl of oats and yoghurt and clatters it on to the highchair tray, putting a stop to Prue’s tears. Her raisin face unwrinkles to reveal skin so smooth that the sunlight streaming through the bi-folding doors seems to halo off it. How can anything as perfect as her daughter’s skin even exist?
She drinks Prue’s plumpness in for as long as she can before pushing herself off the kitchen island and making her way to the living room. She keeps her eyes on the floorboards and their shreds of belligerent underlay as she opens her dressing gown, his dressing gown, flattens herself on to their inherited sofa and arranges herself.
She looks over at her husband’s naked back, skin pulled taut over his spine; unrecognisable from the back she thought she knew. Two flat floury baps for an arse.
‘Bubble, bubble, bubble … Pop,’ Prue sings from the kitchen. Charlie sighs with exasperation, shakes his head.
‘It’s not going to happen, is it?’ She tries to keep her words as matter-of-fact as possible but she can feel the swell of rage brewing inside her. He turns his head towards her but only so she can see his profile, keeping his body hidden from her. He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. ‘How is it so difficult to have sex with your wife?’ He turns back to the mantelpiece and lets the word ‘fuck’ out in a long, whispered breath. A cry comes from the other room.
‘Spoon. Spoon. Spoooon.’ Prue delivers her message and when no action is taken a desperate wail sirens along the ground floor.
‘It has to be today.’ She sits up and wraps the dressing gown around her top half, knowing how impossible it is to be commanding with your boobs on show.
‘She’s crying,’ he says, arm extended towards the kitchen. ‘I can’t just— Do you know how hard this is for me?’
‘Are you serious?’ She has forced him to do this but she has no compassion. It has to be today. They have to have sex today because he barely managed it last night and the ovulation app on her phone says tonight will be too late. It has to be today. Prue’s cries ramp up.
‘You can’t just click your fingers—’
‘What do you want? Foreplay? We’re not twenty-five any more, for fuck’s sake, Charlie.’ She thinks he might cry so she bounces up off the taupe sofa and walks down the hall towards her howling daughter. ‘You’ll have to come into work.’
‘You honestly think we’ll be able to do it there?’
‘It has to be today. You know it has to be today and you promised me,’ she calls along the hall before reaching her daughter. ‘Did you drop your spoon, sweetheart?’