Introduction

A twisty, compelling new audiobook about one woman's complicated relationship with her mother-in-law that ends in death...

From the moment Lucy met her husbandâ??s mother, she knew she wasnâ??t the wife Diana had envisioned for her perfect son. Exquisitely polite, friendly, and always generous, Diana nonetheless kept Lucy at armâ??s length despite her desperate attempts to win her over. And as a pillar in the community, an advocate for female refugees, and a woman happily married for decades, no one had a bad word to say about Dianaâ?¦except Lucy.

That was five years ago.

Now, Diana is dead, a suicide note found near her body claiming that she longer wanted to live because of the cancer wreaking havoc inside her body.

But the autopsy finds no cancer.

It does find traces of poison, and evidence of suffocation.

Who could possibly want Diana dead? Why was her will changed at the eleventh hour to disinherit both of her children, and their spouses? And what does it mean that Lucy isnâ??t exactly sad sheâ??s gone?

Fractured relationships and deep family secrets grow more compelling with every chapter in this twisty, captivating new audiobook from Sally Hepworth.

Praise for Sally Hepworth:

â??With jaw-dropping discoveries, and realistic consequences, this novel is not to be missed. Perfect for lovers of Big Little Lies.â? ?Library Journal, starred review

"Hepworth deftly keeps the reader turning pages and looking for clues, all the while building multilayered characters and carefully doling out bits of their motivations." ?Booklist

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

1

LUCY

I am folding laundry at my dining room table when the police car pulls up. Thereâ??s no fanfare â?? no sirens or flashing lights â?? yet that little niggle starts in the pit of my stomach, mother-natureâ??s warning that all is not well. Itâ??s getting dark out, early evening, and the neighboursâ?? porch lights are starting to come on. Itâ??s dinnertime. Police donâ??t arrive on your doorstep at dinnertime unless something is wrong.

I glance through the archway to the living room where my slothful children are stretched across different pieces of furniture, angled toward their respective devices. Alive. Unharmed. In good health apart from, perhaps, a mild screen addiction. Seven-year-old Archie is watching a family play Wii games on the big iPad; Four year old Harriet is watching little girls in America unwrap toys on the little iPad. Even two-year-old Edie is staring, slack-jawed, at the television. I feel some measure of comfort that my family are all under this roof. At least most of them are. Dad, I think suddenly. Oh no, please not Dad.

I look back the police car. The headlights illuminate a light mist of rain.

At least itâ??s not the children, a guilty little voice in my head whispers. At least it isnâ??t Ollie. Ollie is on the back deck, grilling burgers. Safe. He came home from work early today, not feeling well apparently, though he doesnâ??t seem particularly unwell. In any case, heâ??s not dead and Iâ??m wholeheartedly grateful for that.

The rain has picked up a little now, turning the mist into distinct, precise drops. The police kill the engine, but donâ??t get out right away. I ball up a pair of Ollieâ??s socks and place them on top of his pile and then reach for another pair. I should stand up, go to the door, but my hands continue to fold on autopilot, as if by continuing to act normal the police car will just keep on driving. But it doesnâ??t work. Instead, a uniformed policeman emerges from the driverâ??s seat.

â??Muuuuum!â?? Harriet calls. â??Edie is watching the TV!â??

â??Itâ??s all right,â?? I say, my eyes still on the window.

Harrietâ??s cross little face appears in front of me, her dark-brown hair and thick fringe swishing around her face like a mop. â??â??But you SAID . . .â??â??

Two weeks ago, a prominent news journalist had spoken out publicly about her â??revulsionâ?? that children under the age of three were exposed to TV. Like most Australian mothers Iâ??d been incensed about this and followed the predictable diatribe of . . . â??what would she know?â?? She probably has a team of nannies and hasnâ??t looked after her children for a day in her life!â?? before swiftly instating the â??no screens for Edie ruleâ?? which lasted until twenty minutes ago when, while I was on the phone to the energy company, and Edie decided to try the old â??Mum, muuuum, MUUUUUM . . .â?? trick until I relented, popping on an episode of The Wiggles and retreating to the bedroom to finish my phone call.

â??Never mind what I said. A few minutes wonâ??t hurt,â?? I say, glancing back outside. The cop looks to be mid-twenties, thirty at a push. His police hat is in his hand but he wedges it under one arm to tug at the front of his too-tight trousers. A short, rotund policewoman of a similar age gets out of the passenger side, her hat firmly on her head. They come around the car and start up the path side-by-side. They are definitely coming to our place. Nettie, I think suddenly. Itâ??s about Nettie.

Itâ??s possible. Ollieâ??s sister has certainly had her share of health issues lately. Or maybe it was Patrick? Or something else entirely? The fact is, part of me knows itâ??s not Nettie or Patrick, or Dad. Itâ??s funny sometimes what you just know.

â??Burgers are up.â??

The fly screen door scrapes open and then Ollie appears at the back door holding a plate of meat. The girls flock to him and he snaps his â??crocodile tongsâ?? while they jump up and down, squealing loud enough to nearly drown out the knock at the door.

Nearly.

â??Was that the door?â?? Ollie raises an eyebrow, curious rather than concerned. If anything, thereâ??s a touch of exhilaration on his face. An unexpected guest on a weeknight! Who could it be?

Ollie is the social one out of the two of us, the one that volunteers on the Parents and Friendsâ?? committee at the kids school because â??itâ??s a good way to meet people,â?? who hangs over the back fence to say â??hiâ?? to the neighbours if he hears them talking in the garden, who approaches people who look vaguely familiar and tries to figure out if they know each other. A people-person. To Ollie, an unexpected knock on the door during the week signals excitement rather than doom.

But then he hasnâ??t seen the cop car.

â??Iâ??ll get it, Iâ??ll get it,â?? Edie cries, tearing down the corridor.

â??Hold on a minute, Edie-bug,â?? Ollie says, looking for somewhere to put down the tray of burgers. He isnâ??t fast enough though because by the time he finds some counter space, Edie has already tossed open the door.

â??Poleeth!â?? she says, awed.

This, of course, is the part where I should run after her, intercept the police at the door and apologise, but my feet are concreted to the floor. Luckily, Ollie is already jogging up behind Edie and ruffing her hair playfully.

â??Gâ??day,â?? he says to the cops. He glances over his shoulder back toward the house, his mind caught up in the action of a few seconds ago, perhaps wondering if he remembered to turn off the gas bottle or checking that heâ??d placed the burger-plate securely on the bench. Itâ??s the classic, unassuming behaviour of someone about to get bad news. I actually feel like I am watching us all on a TV show â?? the handsome clueless dad, the cute toddler. The regular suburban family on the television commercials, who are going to have their lives turned inside out . . . ruined forever.

â??What can I do for you?â?? Ollie says finally, turning his attention back to the cops.

â??Iâ??m Sr. Constable Arthur,â?? I hear a woman say, though I canâ??t see her from my vantage point, â??this is Constable Perkins. Are you Oliver Goodwin?â??

â??I am.â?? Ollie smiles down at Edie, even throws her a wink. Itâ??s enough to convince me that Iâ??m being overly dramatic. Even if thereâ??s bad news, it may not be that bad. It may not even be our bad news. Perhaps one of the neighbours was burgled? Police always canvassed the area after something like that, didnâ??t they?

Suddenly I look forward to that moment in a few minutes time when I know that everythingâ??s fine and Ollie and I can laugh about how paranoid I was. You wonâ??t believe what I thought, Iâ??ll say to him, and heâ??ll roll his eyes and smile. Always worrying, heâ??ll say. How do you get anything done with all that unnecessary worrying?

But when I edge forward a few paces and I see that my worrying isnâ??t unnecessary. I see it in the somberness of the policemanâ??s expression, in the downward turn of the corners of his mouth.

The policewoman glances at Edie, then back at Ollie. â??Is there somewhere we can talk . . . privately?â??

The first traces of uncertainty appear on Ollieâ??s face. His shoulders stiffen and he stands a little bit taller. Perhaps unconsciously, he pushes Edie back from the door, behind him, shielding her from something.

â??Edie-bug, would you like me to put on The Wiggles?â?? I say, stepping forward finally.

Edie shakes her head resolutely, her gaze not shifting from the police. Her soft round face is alight with interest; her chunky, wobbly legs are planted with improbable firmness.

â??Come on, honey,â?? I try again, sweeping a hand over her pale gold hair. â??How about an ice-cream?â??

This is more of a dilemma for Edie. She glances at me, watching for a long moment, assessing whether he can be trusted. Finally I shout for Archie to get out the Paddle pops and she scampers off down the hallway.

â??Come in,â?? Ollie says to the police, and they do, sending me a quick, polite smile. A sorry smile. That smile pierces my heart, unpicks me a little. Itâ??s not the neighbours, that smile says. This bad news is yours.

There arenâ??t a lot of private communal areas in our house so Ollie guides the police to the dining room and pulls out a couple of dining chairs. I follow, pushing my newly folded laundry into a basket. The piles collapse into each other like tumbling buildings. The police sit on the chairs, Ollie balances on the arm of the sofa, and I remain sharply upright, stiff. Bracing.

â??Firstly I need to confirm that you are relatives of Diana Goodwinâ??â??

â??Yes,â?? Ollie says, â??Sheâ??s my mother.â??

â??Then Iâ??m very sorry to inform you,â?? the policewoman starts, and I close my eyes because I already know what she is going to say. The thing Iâ??ve thought about countless times, even wished for. My mother-in-law is dead. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

While “You can’t choose your Mother-in-Law” is certainly true, is there anything Lucy, or Ollie, could’ve done differently, to make the situation easier on themselves?

The audiobook explores the value of being “self-made” versus inheriting your wealth. Should children work for their wealth or are they “owed” a similar lifestyle to the one that they grew up with? How can each perspective effect someone’s character?

How did your opinions of Diana change from the beginning to the end of the audiobook? How can someone’s death change the way you view their life?

There is a pivotal moment in the relationship between Diana and Lucy when Diana misses the birth of her first grandchild and arrives empty handed. Were her actions justified? And why do you think Diana was so secretive about her relationships with the refugees?

Diana and Lucy’s relationship is constantly plagued by miscommunication, ending in frustration for both characters. Were you frustrated as a listener? Do you think the author was frustrated at times when writing these characters?

The narrative flashes back and forth from past to present. What do you think this technique allows the author to accomplish?

Audiobook fans have a special affinity for narrators with Australian accents. How did the narration bring the setting to life? Are you surprised to hear that the narrator, Barrie Kreinik, is actually American?

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