His Other Life by Beth Thomas – Blog Tour Stop (extract)

his other lifeSummary from Goodreads

He was hiding a terrible secret…

Grace’s new husband Adam seems like the perfect package. Good looking, great job, completely charming – almost too good to be true…

So when Adam suddenly disappears from Grace’s life, she is left bewildered and heartbroken. And with a lot of unanswered questions.

As she tries desperately to find him, Grace opens a Pandora’s Box of secrets and lies – and starts to learn that Adam wasn’t so perfect after all.

What shameful secrets was her husband hiding? Is Grace in danger? And can she survive the truth? However terrible it may be…

Paperback, 400 pages
Published March 26th 2015 by Avon (first published March 12th 2015)


There’s a text on my husband’s phone. It’s lying on the counter near the kettle and I just heard it vibrate. He’s  turned the sound off, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear it – that’s the only reason someone would put their phone on silent, right? – but I still can. It sounds like an automatic gun; our neighbours probably heard it. Pam and Mike next door are no doubt up off their sofa already, frantically dialling three nines before you can say Crimewatch.

I look over at the phone but it’s face down, probably so that it doesn’t light up noticeably when texts or calls arrive. Bit of a pointless precaution if you ask me, given that it sounds like a horse falling downstairs. Maybe it’s also a precaution against someone – well, let’s be honest, me – getting a glimpse of the name of anyone who might call or text.

Eventually the glasses and cutlery stop rattling from the aftershocks and I glance over at hubby to see if he’s noticed. Of course he’s noticed; the house shifted on its foundations. But he’s not going over there to read the message, or even check to see who it’s from. Why is that?.

‘I think you just got a text,’ I say über-casually, then pick up a tea towel and saunter over to the draining board. ‘Want me to see who it was?’

He’s working on getting a particularly stubborn bit of baked cheese off the side of the lasagne dish and doesn’t look up: this job apparently requires full concentration. ‘Oh, did I? No, no need,’ he says lightly. ‘I’ll have a look in a minute.’

I nod slowly. ‘Oh, OK.’

Adam finishes the dish, carefully rinses the soap off under the cold tap, then places it gently upside down on the draining board. He empties the washing up-bowl, turns it over, wipes its base, then wipes the excess water from the draining board. Finally he turns and walks to where I’m listlessly drying up a wine glass. He’s smiling as he reaches out towards me but I don’t move. As soon as his fingers touch the tea towel in my hand, they stop approaching and interwine themselves into the fabric, drying off.


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