Chapter 8 Excerpt from OUR BEAUTIFUL MESS by Adele Parks:
Luke was snoring heavily, which annoyed her in a petty way that she wasn’t proud of. When they were younger, if he had slept peacefully as she lay counting sheep, she might have turned on her side and simply gazed at him. She’d have examined the contours of his face and plump lips, fought the urge to kiss them so as not to wake him up. Now, she often prodded him in the ribs, not caring if she disturbed his sleep. But then, when they were younger, he didn’t snore. She did not love her husband any less now than she did before – she probably loved him more as the years passed – but she was less dazzled by him, more prone to accept and expect everything he had to offer. That was what contentment was, she supposed: a surrender of the heady, exhausting days when emotions ran high and reactions couldn’t be predicted or counted upon.
Anyway, his snores were not the reason sleep eluded her. She never could sleep until she heard the girls arrive home. It was nonsensical, because of course, the oldest two lived elsewhere now, and it wasn’t her house they generally returned to. She had to assume they were often out late, sometimes not home until the morning. Occasionally she woke in the middle of the night and felt compelled to track their whereabouts on Find My iPhone. The girls were aware of this and generously allowed it. Sometimes she found out they were back at their student digs, other times not. It was out of her control. Tonight, was different though. They were all expected back here to the family home, and she needed to know they were in and the door locked behind them before she could sleep. She supposed her mother-hen traits had been reignited with Fran’s news.
It was past 11 p.m. Not late, exactly, but far past Sophie’s curfew. She got out of bed. Looking out of the window, she saw some of the distinct and peculiar magic of Christmas Eve. There were far fewer cars parked on the street than usual – many of her neighbours had country homes and stayed out of town over the festive period, although every house was lit up by garlands of twinkling lights. Most were tasteful white lights; only the new family across the street had plumped for cheerful coloured ones. They also had an inflatable snowman in the garden and an inflatable Santa on their roof. He swayed gently now in the breeze; he looked like he was dancing. Connie imagined the street’s housing association might have something to say about these decorations at next month’s meeting. Residents were gently encouraged to conform, but she secretly hoped the tacky, joyful inflatables made an appearance again next year. Ed, who lived two doors along, was out walking his Labradoodle. He stood near the lamp post, checking his phone as he waited for the pup to finish peeing. The dog was wearing a Christmas coat and reindeer headband. Connie didn’t know if she absolutely approved of people dressing up their pets, but there was no denying it, the Labradoodle looked ridiculously cute.
She craned her neck, pushed her cheek up against the cold window pane to get a view along the street. There was a couple walking at speed, holding hands. Connie wondered if they were rushing because it was cold or because they were eager to get one another to bed. Another couple were arguing, their friends were trying to intervene: too much of the wrong type of Christmas spirit. The revellers all looked so young and so underdressed. Connie could barely recall a time in her life when she chose short skirts and high heels over practical trousers or jumpsuits and flats. Had she ever? She watched the bickering group walk under her window and then out of sight. The street settled, but instead of enjoying the unusual peace and calm, Connie felt uneasy. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Fran’s announcement, Zac’s arrival in their lives, the girls not being home all combined, left her feeling tense, not in control. Her breath steamed the window. She shivered, but didn’t want to abandon her post to grab her woolly bathrobe. She didn’t feel cold exactly. It was something closer to spooked.
Then she saw them turn a corner. Her clan – her three girls – glorious and giggling. She let out a sigh. She noted that Auriol, Fran’s best friend and practically Connie’s fourth daughter, was with them. Henry and Sebastian were walking with Zac. They were all there. Safe and accounted for. Of course. Internally she chastised herself for imagining anything other. Countless nights had been marred by a brief worry that they might not return to her, but it was silly. They always did. Yet experience simply couldn’t triumph over Connie’s maternal worst fear.
Auriol was not only Fran’s best friend, but the daughter of Connie’s own best friend, Lucy, and half-sister to the twins. Lovely Rose had been married to Peter before he met irresistible Lucy. He’d left her for Lucy. It had been officially nasty at the time. Armageddon. The blast of the betrayal had lodged splinters in the friendship group, fractured it, temporarily torn it apart. It had taken a huge amount of discretion, tact and compassion to negotiate both friendships and remain loyal to both women, but Connie had managed it. Rose and Lucy had eventually found a way to co-exist in a civilized manner, both accepting it was better for the children. Rose had Craig now, Lucy and Peter were happy. People changed and moved on. Connie knew that nothing was for ever.
It was a great comfort and a great horror.
Auriol must have joined the others at the pub and was now being walked home by her brothers. Seeing her children with her friends children caused Connie’s heart to lift in a moment of relief and joy, as it always did when she saw them all together. It was one of her favourite sights.
The girls were walking in a two-by-two bundle, arm in arm, laughing, singing. She wondered what they might be singing: a Swiftie anthem or a Christmas carol, most likely one or the other. Fran’s coat wasn’t fastened, it flapped wide open like a bird trying to take flight. Connie thought of the gifts she’d bought her daughter for Christmas. Wrapped so beautifully and currently nestled under the tree. At least three items of clothing would probably need returning; even if they fitted her right now, they would not in a few weeks’ time. Connie would take her shopping for a new coat straight after Christmas. The twins and Zac walked behind the girls. As her eyes rested on Zac, her joyful relief was elbowed aside by something considerably more complex. She tutted to herself. Shook her head sharply, just once. She was being ridiculous. She had to get used to including him, expecting him. Not being surprised by the sight of him. Henry was holding court as usual, Seb seemed to be nodding along. It didn’t look as though Zac was listening. Well, she couldn’t blame him for that, Henry did tend to be a little opinionated. Zac’s head was bent over his phone. Who might he be texting when he was out with Fran? Connie shook her head again. That was a silly thought. He could be texting his parents, his friends. It was Christmas Eve; what could be more natural, more normal. Yet she felt uneasy, untrusting.
Her attention was grabbed by two men walking behind the group. Something about their energy immediately felt off, hostile. Connie had lived in the city long enough to know how to spot trouble. These two didn’t seem like the other Christmas revellers she had watched. They were not swaying, or laughing or chatting, or even rowing. They were silent. Menacing. They wore big black puffer jackets, strode forward with a determined strut, heads up, necks out, knees loose and wide, as though their balls were too big to accommodate a more regular gait. They didn’t glance at one another or share a word, yet there was a sense that they had a uniform purpose. They were watching her family as intently as she had been. For a panicked moment, she feared that they might be about to jump the boys, snatch their phones, maybe relieve them of their watches, but then she dismissed the panicked thought. Why would two jump three? Even if they were tougher. They’d be looking for someone on their own, surely. Yet there was something threatening about their swagger. She felt sure the threat was towards her kids and their friends. Did she imagine it, or had Zac just looked back as though he too sensed danger? It seemed to her that he curled in on himself when he spotted them; his shoulders, up around his ears, were a shield.
A knife would mean two could jump three.
The men walked at a rate that meant they quickly overtook the twins and Zac. As they did so, she thought one of the guys shoved his shoulder into Zac. Zac stumbled, quickly righted himself. The guys did not apologise or even acknowledge the bump. Was it deliberate? Were they looking for trouble? Sensibly, Zac did not react. Connie’s heart quickened as she realised the men were now walking very close to the girls. Not giving them a normal amount of social distance on the pavement. Most likely they did not realise the guys were with them; were they trying to intimidate the girls? A standard and hideous practice. She braced herself as she waited for . . . what? Something. A catcall, a pathetic attempt at flirting, an unwanted touch. Something worse?
‘Luke, Luke, wake up.’ She alerted her husband before she knew what help might be needed, just in case. She stayed by the window to see what occurred. But nothing happened. The men continued to walk right behind the girls, but from what Connie could gather, they did not speak to them or bother them with any unwanted attention. The girls turned onto the path, stood by the door, laughing and chatting, two floors below where Connie hovered, fraught. They were unaware of her, unconcerned by the strange men who walked on by. One of them glanced back over his shoulder, but maybe he wasn’t trouble; maybe the group of pretty girls had simply caught his attention in the usual way. Zac, Henry and Sebastian caught up. They all stood in a merry gaggle. Connie could hear them debating whether they should have a nightcap or call it quits. She sighed, relieved. She had nothing more to worry about than the probability that Luke’s malt whisky might get finished off tonight and the kids would all be grumbling about hangovers tomorrow.
Except for Fran, of course. She wouldn’t have a hangover.
Despite her calling to Luke, he had not stirred, and now Connie was glad of that. She felt slightly silly that she’d let her imagination get the better of her. She slipped back into bed, put her freezing cold feet on Luke’s legs. He jumped and sleepily murmured something. Intuitively snuggled closer to her. Night-time thoughts. Never rational. Always bloated with imagined threat and panic. How many times had she lain awake imagining a problem, only for it to completely disperse the morning after?
Except for Fran, of course. The same thought drifted into her head.
That worry was not going to disperse in the morning.
Excerpted from Our Beautiful Mess by Adele Parks. © 2026 by Adele Parks, used with permission from HarperCollins/Park Row Books.
A Novel
Number One bestseller Adele Parks returns with an explosive and deeply emotional family drama that explores the lengths a mother will go to protect her family, even if it risks exposing her past. Perfect for fans of Lisa Jewell and Lianne Moriarty.
Connie can’t wait to have all her daughters back home for Christmas. It’s not just the excitement of the girls being together under one roof; uni student Fran is bringing a new boyfriend to stay. The empty nest will once again be full of friends, family and young love.
Yet from the moment she sees Zac, Connie feels a deep unease. Zac reminds her of the worst mistake she has ever made: a man whose charm and good looks nearly destroyed her marriage. Then, Fran announces she’s pregnant.
Reeling from Fran’s news and terrified that her past might threaten her family’s future, Connie desperately tries to navigate a path forward. But there’s a much greater menace looming, because she’s not the only one who has something to hide. Someone in the house has another devastating secret. A deception which will put everyone Connie loves in shocking danger, and one of them will pay the ultimate price.
Women's Fiction Psychological | Thriller Domestic [ Park Row, On Sale: February 10, 2026, Trade Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9780778387305 / eISBN: 9780369761361 ]
British born author Adele Parks is the author of 24 bestselling novels including the recent Sunday Times Number One hits Lies Lies Lies and Just My Luck. Over five million English editions of her work have been sold and her books have been translated into 31 different languages. She is an ambassador of the National Literacy Trust and the Reading Agency: two charities that promote literacy in the UK. Adele also writes for national media including The Times, Guardian, The Telegraph and appears regularly on TV as a spokesperson for the publishing industry. In 2022 she was awarded an MBE - a British order of chivalry – by His Majesty King Charles III for services to literature.
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