Free After the Lie: A gripping novel about love, loss and family secrets by Kerry Fisher

opportunity to cement his position as their favourite tradesman. In the end, he just came home and told me that we were going that weekend. There was no way round it. The rest of the week slipped away in a snowball of dread until Saturday evening rolled around.
    ‘You look amazing,’ Mark said, as I came downstairs.
    Clearly he spent the majority of his life thinking he was married to a badly stuffed sausage. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Have you changed your hair?’
    ‘I’ve curled it.’ And used blusher, eyeliner, hold-your-blubber-in pants and a clever grey dress with ruching that confused the eye about whether the folds were fat or fabric. We were not going to look like a charity case on whom Sean was going to bestow his largesse by ordering a built-in coffee grinder.
    Years ago, I’d vowed never to do the whole ‘You’re not going out in that’ scenario on the grounds that my poor dad couldn’t pick out a pair of socks without my mother having an opinion on them. Tonight, though, I wanted to change everything Mark was wearing. Top of my hate list were the canvas plimsolls – far too children’s PE bag. The tank top was second – only a bloke with an electric guitar and raffish hair curling round the collar could carry that off. Sean always looked so stylish in a casual, Timberlandy sort of way.
    I hesitated, then grabbed the car keys. ‘I don’t want to stay late. I’m really tired.’
    ‘Don’t forget that the McAllisters could make a serious difference to my turnover this year. I don’t know why you’re so anti them. Anyway, you won’t even have to talk to them much. There are two other couples going, didn’t he say?’
    I shrugged. Mark’s attempt at making me feel better just multiplied the possibility that someone would take an interest in my life ‘before Surrey’. Mark frowned and picked up the bottle of Brunello he’d been given by a grateful client.
    I allowed Mark to direct me to Sean’s house. I couldn’t admit I’d already sat outside it, watching the shadows of his life pass back and forth behind those sterile blinds. As we walked up the drive, I found myself shuffling behind with all the gusto Jamie had demonstrated on a recent trip to the British Museum.
    ‘You’ll be the most gorgeous wife there,’ Mark said, as we stood on the doorstep. I didn’t care about being gorgeous half as much as I cared about being ‘there’.
    Sean’s daughter opened the door. She looked so much like him that my defences locked down as though someone had pressed a panic button. She ushered us in, her dark hair gleaming with the natural shine of someone who is a stranger to the dye bottle. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
    Sean bowled out of the sitting room. ‘Come in, come in. I see you’ve already met Eleanor.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘This is Jamie’s mum and dad.’
    ‘I’m in a lot of classes with Jamie. We’re working on a project together in Biology.’
    My stomach dropped. Blood rushed to my brain and started clattering around like water driving an old mill wheel. That was her . The one Jamie always ‘had to speak to’ about his Biology. Jesus Christ. Flaming Sean McAllister’s daughter who looked like she could eat Jamie for breakfast, burping lightly into a napkin, no cutlery required. There was something slightly South American about her, with her dark eyes and full lips, all raunchy samba and swaying hips. She looked far older than fifteen.
    ‘Bet you’re streets ahead of him in class. He’s such a lazy toad,’ I said. ‘Don’t let him distract you from doing well.’ My voice was all stilted, as though I was talking to someone with a poor grasp of English.
    Mark threw me a puzzled look. I ignored him.
    Eleanor mirrored Mark, screwing up her face as though I’d just coughed garlic over her. ‘I don’t think he’s lazy. He’s really clever. Especially at Science and Maths. I try and get into his group when we do experiments because he always understands the