August 11, 2020

#BookTour: Lies, Lies, Lies by @AdeleParks #Mira @HarlequinBooks






Synopsis: Daisy and Simon’s marriage isn’t what it seems… 

After years together, the arrival of longed-for daughter Millie sealed everything in place. They’re a happy little family of three.

So what if Simon drinks a bit too much sometimes—Daisy’s used to it. She knows he’s just letting off steam. Until one night at a party things spiral horribly out of control. And their happy little family of three will never be the same again.

In Lies, Lies, Lies, #1 Sunday Times bestselling author Adele Parks explores the darkest corners of a relationship in free fall in a mesmerizing tale of marriage and secrets.
 




GoodreadsAmazon

Rating: ★★★★★
My Review: I was hooked from the beginning.  Adele Parks takes us on an emotional journey through Simon and Daisy's marriage.  Ever time I got her one tragedy and thought that things were going to get better another twist was thrown in.  This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole way through.  I also thought the story flowed really well even with the split POV.  




Go Into This One Knowing: rape, alcoholism, animal abuse. 




Social Links:
Author Website
Twitter: @AdeleParks
Instagram: @adele_parks
Facebook: @OfficialAdeleParks
Goodreads
Author Bio:
Adele Parks was born in Teesside, North-East England. Her first novel, Playing Away, was
published in 2000 and since then she's had seventeen international bestsellers, translated into
twenty-six languages, including I Invited Her In. She's been an Ambassador for The Reading
Agency and a judge for the Costa. She's lived in Italy, Botswana and London, and is now settled

in Guildford, Surrey, with her husband, teenage son and cat.


Prologue

May 1976

Simon was six years old when he first tasted beer.
He was bathed and ready for bed wearing soft pyjamas, even though it was light outside;
still early. Other kids were in the street, playing on their bikes, kicking a football. He could hear
them through the open window, although he couldn’t see them because the blinds were closed.
His daddy didn’t like the evening light glaring on the TV screen, his mummy didn’t like the
neighbours looking in; keeping the room dark was something they agreed on.
His mummy didn’t like a lot of things: wasted food, messy bedrooms, Daddy driving too
fast, his sister throwing a tantrum in public. Mummy liked ‘having standards’. He didn’t know
what that meant, exactly. There was a standard-bearer at Cubs; he was a big boy and got to wave
the flag at the front of the parade, but his mummy didn’t have a flag, so it was unclear. What was
clear was that she didn’t like him to be in the street after six o’clock. She thought it was
common. He wasn’t sure what common was either, something to do with having fun. She bathed
him straight after tea and made him put on pyjamas, so that he couldn’t sneak outside.
He didn’t know what his daddy didn’t like, just what he did like. His daddy was always
thirsty and liked a drink. When he was thirsty he was grumpy and when he had a drink, he
laughed a lot. His daddy was an accountant and like to count in lots of different ways: “a swift
one’, “a cold one’, and ‘one more for the road’. Sometimes Simon though his daddy was lying
when he said he was an accountant; most likely, he was a pirate or a wizard. He said to people,
“Pick your poison’, which sounded like something pirates might say, and he liked to drink, “the
hair of a dog’ in the morning at the weekends, which was definitely a spell. Simon asked his
mummy about it once and she told him to stop being silly and never to say those silly things
outside the house.
He had been playing with his Etch A Sketch, which was only two months old and was a
birthday present. Having seen it advertised on TV, Simon had begged for it, but it was
disappointing. Just two silly knobs making lines that went up and down, side to side. Limited.
Boring. He was bored. The furniture in the room was organised so all of it was pointing at the
TV which was blaring but not interesting. The news. His parents liked watching the news, but he
didn’t. His father was nursing a can of the grown ups’ pop that Simon was never allowed. The
pop that smelt like nothing else, fruity and dark and tempting.
“Can I have a sip?” he asked.
“Don’t be silly, Simon,” his mother interjected. “You’re far too young. Beer is for
daddies.” He thought she said ‘daddies’, but she might have said ‘baddies’.
His father put the can to his lips, glared at his mother, cold. A look that said, “Shut up
woman, this is man’s business.” His mother had blushed, looked away as though she couldn’t

stand to watch, but she held her tongue. Perhaps she thought the bitterness wouldn’t be to his
taste, that one sip would put him off. He didn’t like the taste. But he enjoyed the collusion. He
didn’t know that word then, but he instinctively understood the thrill. He and his daddy drinking
grown ups’ pop! His father had looked satisfied when he swallowed back the first mouthful, then
pushed for a second. He looked almost proud. Simon tasted the aluminium can, the snappy biting
bitter bubbles and it lit a fuse.
After that, in the mornings, Simon would sometimes get up early, before Mummy or
Daddy or his little sister, and he’d dash around the house before school, tidying up. He’d open
the curtains, empty the ashtrays, clear away the discarded cans. Invariably his mother went to
bed before his father. Perhaps she didn’t want to have to watch him drink himself into a stupor
every night, perhaps she hoped denying him an audience might take away some of the fun for
him, some of the need. She never saw just how bad the place looked by the time his father
staggered upstairs to bed. Simon knew it was important that she didn’t see that particular brand
of chaos.
Occasionally there would be a small amount of beer left in one of the cans. Simon would
slurp it back. He found he liked the flat, forbidden, taste just as much as the fizzy hit of fresh
beer. He’d throw open a window, so the cigarette smoke and the secrets could drift away. When
his mother came downstairs, she would smile at him and thank him for tidying up.
“You’re a good boy, Simon,” she’d say with some relief. And no idea.
When there weren’t dregs to be slugged, he sometimes opened a new can. Threw half of
it down his throat before eating his breakfast. His father never kept count.
Some people say their favourite smell is freshly baked bread, others say coffee or a
campfire. From a very young age, few scents could pop Simon’s nerve endings like the scent of
beer.
The promise of it.

Excerpted from Lies Lies Lies by Adele Parks, Copyright © 2020 by Adele Parks.

Published by MIRA Books









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