Greenwich Park

By Katherine Faulkner

This “gloriously tangled game of cat and mouse” (Ruth Ware, #1 New York Times bestselling author) explores the anxieties of impending motherhood, unreliable friendship, and the high price of keeping secrets. Perfect for fans of the thrillers by Paula Hawkins and Robyn Harding.

In this “outstanding debut thriller” (Booklist, starred review), Helen’s idyllic life—handsome architect husband, gorgeous Victorian house, and cherished baby on the way—begins to change the day she attends her first prenatal class.

There, she meets Rachel, an unpredictable single mother-to-be who doesn’t seem very maternal: she smokes, drinks, and professes little interest in parenthood. Still, Helen is drawn to her. Maybe Rachel just needs a friend. And to be honest, Helen’s a bit lonely herself. At least Rachel is fun to be with. She makes Helen laugh, invites her confidences, and distracts her from her fears.

But her increasingly erratic behavior is unsettling. And Helen’s not the only one who’s noticed. Her friends and family begin to suspect that her strange new friend may be linked to their shared history in unexpected ways. When Rachel threatens to expose a past crime that could destroy all of their lives, it becomes clear that there are more than a few secrets laying beneath the broad-leaved trees and warm lamplight of Greenwich Park.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gallery Books
• Release date: Jan 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781982150334

Katherine Faulkner

Katherine Faulkner, an award-winning journalist, studied history at Cambridge. She has worked as an investigative reporter and an editor and was formerly the joint Head of News at The Times (London). She lives in London, where she grew up, with her husband and two daughters. She is the author of The Other Mothers and Greenwich Park. 

Book preview

24 WEEKS

Helen

AT THE TOP OF the beer-stained carpet, a taped sign on the door reads National Childbirth Trust. The doorknob feels like it might fall off if I turn it too hard. Inside there is a semicircle of chairs. A flip chart. Trestle tables with juice and biscuits. The sash windows are jammed shut.

Three other couples are here already. I am the only one on my own. We smile politely at each other, then sit in silence, too hot and uncomfortable for small talk. One bearded husband tries to yank a window open, but after a few attempts, sits down with a defeated shrug. I smile back sympathetically, fanning myself with the baby first-aid leaflet I found on a chair. We teeter like bowling pins, our swollen bellies resting on our laps, arching our backs, our knees apart, grimacing.

As the room fills, I glance at the clock on the wall. Past six thirty. Where are they? I keep looking at my phone, waiting for the flash of response to my messages. But nobody replies.

I’d peeled away from the office early, wanting to get here on time. I hadn’t been the only one. The air-conditioning has been broken for days. By this afternoon the place had been half empty, just a few desk fans still whirring limply into the flushed faces of middle-aged men.

When I picked up my bag and flicked my screen off, I had glanced at Tom, but he’d been hunched on a call to building services, complaining about the temperature for the third time that day. I’d tried to catch his eye with a sort of awkward half wave, but he’d barely acknowledged me, gesturing me away with a sideways glance at my belly, his other hand still clutching the phone to his ear. I think he’d forgotten today was my last day.

Unable to face the slow suffocation of the Tube, I’d decided to walk instead. The glare had been blinding. Heat bounced off pavements and crosswalks, shimmered between cars and buses. Horns honked in sweaty frustration. It is all anyone is talking about, the heatwave. No one can remember a summer like it. We are constantly reminded to stay in the shade, carry a bottle of water. It hasn’t rained for weeks. Shops are selling out of fans, ice packs, garden umbrellas. There is talk of a garden hose ban.

I decided to cut across the park, between the Observatory and the Royal Naval College. The hazy light seemed to soften the edges around everything. Office workers were spread out on the yellowing grass, shoes kicked off, ties loosened, sunglasses on. They were drinking gin and tonics from cans, sharing Kettle chips, speaking slightly too loudly to each other, the way people do after a few drinks. It had felt like walking past a party, one I hadn’t been invited to. I had to remember not to stare. It can be hard not to stare at happy people. They are mesmerizing somehow.

It was hot like this the summer we graduated from Cambridge. We used to punt down the river, the four of us. Serena and me sunbathing. Rory punting. Daniel sorting the drinks out, his pale skin reddening in the heat. We’d veer into banks, get tangled in curtains of weeping willow, the sky cloudless, the sunlight catching sequin-bright on the clear waters of the Cam. It felt as if the summer would go on forever. When it ended, I feared we would lose the closeness we felt back then. But we didn’t. Rory and Serena came to live in Greenwich, on the other side of the park. Daniel went to work with Rory at the family firm. And now, there’s our babies, due just two weeks apart.

The course leader is here now. She jams the door open with a folded beer coaster, then picks up a sticky label and writes her name on it with a thick green marker: SONIA. She presses the label onto her chest, then dumps a faded shopping bag and some Tesco grocery bags next to the flip chart. A whiskery braid runs almost the length of her spine.

Right, says Sonia. Shall we start?

She begins a practiced monologue about labor, pain relief, and Caesareans, one eyelid flickering during the embarrassing parts. Occasionally she is forced to raise her voice over a crash of pots and pans, or a burst of expletives, from the pub kitchen on the floor below.

After she has been speaking for a few minutes, I glance down at my phone screen again, just as a message flashes up from Daniel. I open it. Meeting only just finished, he says. Heading home now. Train gets in at 10. He is so sorry again about the class, says again that he wishes he could be there with me. He’ll make it up to me, he says.

I know he would be here if he could, that he is gutted to have had to let me down. That this last-minute crisis meeting just came at a terrible moment. At the same time, I can’t help feeling so disappointed. I’d been excited about these classes, about doing them together, like proper expectant parents.

Sonia starts to pull objects from the grocery bags: a pelvis—through which she squeezes a fully dressed plastic newborn—knit nipples, a pair of forceps, a suction cup. The men look horrified, the women sweaty and anxious. We pass the objects around the circle, trying bravely to smile at each other.

The chairs to my left are still empty. The bearded man has to lean right over them to hand me the objects as they come around. I glance down at the name tags I wrote out for Rory and Serena, sitting on their vacant seats. Those two were supposed to be here at least, to keep me company, make me feel less alone. I feel foolish, like a woman who has invented two imaginary friends. Could Serena really have just forgotten?

Another message comes through. It’s from Serena. My heart sinks. Somehow, deep down, even as I tap to open it, I know what it’s going to say.

Hey, Helen! I know it’s the first prenatal class tonight. Hope you don’t mind, but I think Rory and I might skip them after all. I was actually looking online and I found these other ones that look a bit more my thing—beautiful bump classes—they’re supposed to be a bit less preachy, and they meet in the organic bakery. I was thinking I might try those instead. So sorry to cancel at the last minute. Have fun!

Sonia is brandishing a red marker at her flip chart now. So. Can anyone tell me what they know about breastfeeding?

I try to focus on the breastfeeding discussion. It is not going well. Most of the mothers are staring at the floor. One mutters something about positioning, another offers an anecdote about a friend who kept breast milk in the fridge.

Anyone else? Sonia is flagging now, half-moons of perspiration spreading from under the arms of her T-shirt.

Just at this moment, a girl walks in, slamming the door behind her. Sonia winces.

Fucking hell. Sorry, everyone, she announces loudly. She slips a metallic-gold backpack off one shoulder and drops it down on the floor with a thud. It lands inches from my foot.

Oops. She grins, one hand on her bump.

Everyone stares. Sonia, still standing in front of the flip chart with her red marker pen held aloft, eyes the girl coldly. The only things written on her flip chart so far are CORRECT POSITION (NIPPLE) and STORE IN FRIDGE.

The girl points a purple-painted fingernail at the seat next to me, the one I had reserved for Serena. This chair taken?

I hesitate, then shake my head. I feel the eyes of the other couples on me as I haul my bags over to the other side, scrape my chair out a little to make more room.

Sonia sighs. Anyone else?

The flip chart charade continues for a few further minutes. The women begin to shift in their chairs, exchange raised eyebrows, uncomfortable glances. I try to concentrate. The girl next to me, the latecomer, is chewing gum. All I seem to be able to hear is the snap of it between her teeth as her jaw opens and closes. When I glance sideways at her, I glimpse it between her teeth, a neon-pink pellet, an artificial cherry scent. She catches my eye, grinning again, as if the whole thing is hilarious.

Finally, Sonia surrenders, pulling the back of her arm across the moisture on her brow. OK, she says. Shall we take a short break?

A murmur of relief goes up. All the women waddle toward the jugs of juice, and I quickly follow them. Soon they are grouping up, the room filling with the noise of chatter. I am being left behind. I feel a plummeting panic. No Daniel, no Rory, no Serena. How do people make friends? What would Serena do?

I hover on the edge of a group, trying to look casual, waiting to be included. But there never seems to be a good moment to interject. I open my mouth to speak a few times, but on each occasion, someone else speaks first. I end up closing my mouth again, like a fish drowning in air. I feel the trickle of my anxiety begin, the nerve center at the back of my head starting to alarm. I am uncomfortably warm. Can’t someone get that window open?

The girl who came in late appears at my side. She is holding two enormous glasses of what appears to be cold white wine, clouds of condensation on the side of the glass.

Do you want one? I thought you looked like you might need a real drink. One a day can’t hurt, surely.

She holds out the glass in front of me. Her painted fingernails are short and chewed. She looks very young—perhaps she just has one of those faces. Round, dimpled, babyish. Yet when she smiles, there is something wolfish in it, her canine teeth protruding slightly, small but sharp.

What’s the deal, then?

I blink at her. I beg your pardon?

The girl places the glasses of wine down on a side table, gestures to the two chairs next to me, the name tags Rory and Serena still lying on them. Just wondered what the setup was. She shrugs. Then her face snaps back at me, her eyes wide, her fingers pressed to her mouth. You’re not a surrogate, are you? She laughs. That would be typical, wouldn’t it? Didn’t even want it, and now you’re left holding the baby!

The girl hoots. I look over her shoulder, try to catch the eye of one of the other women. But none return my gaze, so I am forced to reply. I clear my throat.

No, um. No. I’m not. I try to laugh. It’s just that my husband, Daniel, couldn’t make it tonight. I shake my head slightly, as if it’s just one of those things, doesn’t matter.

I pause, before realizing she is waiting for an explanation about the two other empty seats.

The other couple is my brother and his wife. Rory and Serena. They’re expecting in the same month as us. We’d been planning to do the classes together, as a foursome, but… I think they… obviously decided against it in the end.

The girl smiles sympathetically. Hopeless. Never mind, you can team up with me, can’t you? She picks the glass up again. Shall we have this drink, then?

Thanks, I say hesitantly. But I’m not sure…

Why am I incapable of completing my own sentences? I should just say no, thank you, I would rather not drink. I mean, I’m pregnant. We both are. Surely I don’t have to spell it out?

Oh, I know what you’re saying, she booms, rolling her eyes and glancing around the room. Ridiculous, isn’t it? All this pressure! The way they change the advice all the time! One minute you can drink, the next minute you can’t, then you can ‘in moderation,’ then it’s basically illegal! Bloody doctors.

I clear my throat, unsure how to answer. I am very aware now of the gaze of the other women in the room, looking from me to the girl and the wine, and back.

Well, fuck doctors, she continues. Our mums all got smashed when they were pregnant. We all bloody survived! She is speaking far too loudly. The room is silent, and people are starting to openly stare.

The girl looks over at the other mothers, registers their disapproving glances, then raises her eyebrows at me and giggles. She holds the wineglass aloft to toast her own sentiment. She brings the glass to her lips. Fuck the NHS, she spits. That’s what I say. She tips the glass to her lips and drinks. As she does so, I notice one or two of the other mothers actually wince.

The girl picks up the drink she has brought for me. She holds it out, like a threat, or a dare.

Come on, she hisses. Her eyes flick down to my name badge. You know you want to… Helen.

Later, after everything, I will come to wonder why I act as I do in this moment. For even now, there is something about this girl. Something that makes me want to edge away, to look for a place of safety. Like the feeling of being on a cliff-top path, when the wind is just a little too strong at your back.

But I don’t step away. I take the wine. And as I do, the other women turn their heads, as if by taking it I have answered all their questions. I want to tell them I’m just being polite, that I have no intention of actually drinking it. But they are already looking the other way.

Thanks, I say weakly.

Nice to meet you, Helen. I’m Rachel.

And then Rachel clinks her glass against mine, knocks back another deep glug, and winks at me, as if we share a secret.

Helen

THE HEAT IS MORE bearable today. A breeze from the river flows into Greenwich market hall, and the cloths over the stall tables billow like boat sails. Sunlight shines through glass panels in the roof, casting warm islands on the floor. In the green-painted metal rafters, pigeons coo and clamor. They sail down to the feet of the cafe tables, jabbing at abandoned croissants.

I have always loved the streets around the market: little crooked lanes, handsome Georgian windows, the musty scent of books and antiques. The dusty lamplit gloom of the pubs, with their worn leather and low ceilings. The brackish smell, carried on the breeze from the river. The mysterious names, left over from an age where Greenwich was the center of the world: Straightsmouth, Gipsy Moth, Turnpin, Cutty Sark.

Daniel and I often come here on a Saturday, even though the whole experience is usually a letdown. You can never get a table at the coffee place, and the takeout line stretches around the block. The aisles between the stalls are so packed that I am left constantly apologizing, my bump pushed up against people’s backs as I squeeze past. We end up wandering aimlessly, looking again and again at the same handmade children’s clothes, quirky hats, worn-out furniture. Squabbling with tourists over tiny samples of expensive cheeses, then feeling obliged to buy it.

I had to get out of the house, though. I’d made my way downstairs this morning—still in my pajamas, clinging to the filthy banister, attempting to dodge the gauntlet of tools, insulation, dustcovers—to be greeted by a host of embarrassed-looking builders. I mumbled a good morning, but the only one I really know is Vilmos, the boss, and he wasn’t there. I don’t think any of these ones spoke English. They just nodded and smiled, clutching their cans of Red Bull, cigarettes perched behind their ears. I could already see what the day would have in store. Drilling, dust, smashing plaster. Strange men urinating in my bathroom, dirt being tracked to and from the kettle. Anything had to be better than staying at home.

I still haven’t completely forgiven Daniel for missing the prenatal class. When I woke the next morning he was already up and showered, perched on the sofa with his laptop on his knee.

He looked up when he saw me. Hey, how was it?

I shrugged, fiddling with my robe cord. Embarrassing.

I’m so sorry, Helen.

I know. It’s just, you know I hate stuff like that. On my own.

He closed his laptop, rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. Tried to explain. The new development he’s working on had gotten another dreadful write-up in the Evening Standard. It had come out late afternoon, and the client had gone mad, demanded to know why they hadn’t been warned, why the press seemed to have it in for the project. It had been up to Daniel to race to Edinburgh to meet with the client, try and calm everything down.

Couldn’t Rory have dealt with it?

Even as I said it, though, I knew what the answer would be. Daniel rolled his eyes. Nowhere to be found, he said. As usual.

Daniel had joined my brother, Rory, at his architecture firm a few years ago. It was my suggestion, so I can’t help but feel responsible for the fact that my brother has proven a less than ideal business partner. It always seems to be left to Daniel to keep everything going.

Daniel hauled himself up, wrapped his arms around me.

I’m sorry, he murmured into my hair. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go into town this weekend, have a proper look at things for the nursery.

I pulled away to look at his face. It felt like a significant concession: he finds things like that hard, I know, after what has happened before. He still can’t bear to hope, to put his trust in the idea that this time things really are going to be different.

Really? And you won’t spend the whole day complaining?

He laughed. Promise. We can look at as many tiny pairs of socks as you like. I won’t say a word.

Today the market is wonderfully sleepy. Most of the sellers are sitting back, eating lunch from brown takeout boxes, chatting. There are no lines, so I take my time choosing serrano ham, hard cheeses, a glistening apricot tart. In the bakery, I pick up a flour-dusted loaf of sourdough. In the stalls outside I gather handfuls of red and yellow tomatoes in crinkling brown paper, smooth and round as gemstones.

Maybe it won’t be so bad after all, having nothing to do. I was advised to start my maternity leave early. This isn’t my first pregnancy—the others didn’t end well. I am a high-risk case, scanned every two weeks, my baby checked and checked again. I have been told I need to take it easy. Spend time at home. Do nothing.

I decide to take my time, do a full loop around the market, gulping in the smells of fresh bread and newly cut flowers, the faded melody of the busker on the steps outside. I linger over the stalls I never buy anything from—the ones that sell silver jewelery, old-fashioned children’s toys, homemade candles, rustling skirts, silk dresses, tie-dyed tunics. Things that Mummy liked to look at when we came here together. I pretend to be interested so I can touch things. Feel the silver, the velour, the crushed silk. Things that remind me of her.

The lady in the clothes stall—an aging hippie with a nose piercing and a leathery face—doesn’t seem to mind me lingering. She is eating what smells like a lentil curry from one of the hot-food places, stabbing at chunks of paneer and butternut squash with a fork, a bluebottle batting at the canvas behind her. I sift through her tunics and skirts, moving the hangers one by one with my fingertips. I imagine which ones Mummy might have chosen.

Once she bought a blue velvet dress here. She held it up against herself, her head cocked to one side, looking in the chipped mirror in the lady’s makeshift changing room. That mirror is still here, with its rainbow rim. I have the dress at home, although I don’t like to look at it much. I keep it in a drawer, hidden away. I can’t understand sometimes how things like that are still the same. Things that she touched, things that she wore, that were once warm against her skin, mirrors that held her reflection. They are all still here, in the world, with me. But she is gone, and never coming back.

I head back into the main square, where the coffee place and the metal tables are. I think about getting an orange juice and sitting here for a bit. I could look at Serena’s Instagram for a while, see what she’s up to. She does her yoga class on a Wednesday and usually posts something afterward, a picture of herself upside down, flexed like an acrobat on a pale pink mat, her trailing hair completing the perfect circle of her body. Or an inspiring quote from a book, which is usually easy enough to find and order online. I think about having a look at these other prenatal classes she’s found, the ones that meet in the bakery. But I’ve already paid hundreds of pounds for the NCT ones. Daniel would go mad.

And that’s when I see her. The girl from the prenatal class. Rachel. She is sitting at one of the metal tables, reading a newspaper, the free one they hand out at the Tube station. That rape case is on the front page again. There’s a hardness in her expression as she reads, her mouth clamped in a tight line.

I could say hello, obviously, but I don’t really have anything to say, and can’t think why I would want to initiate another round of awkward small talk. I’d been desperate to get away by the end of the class, but she had tried to strike up another conversation. I got the impression she was hoping to hang around, have another drink. I’d muttered an excuse and left as quickly as I could, marching home to scold Daniel over his nonappearance.

I can’t resist studying her a bit, though, seeing as I am here unobserved. She looks young to be having a baby, I think—much younger than most of the others in the group. She is quite pretty really, though she has made the mistake of overplucking her eyebrows, and her long hair is dyed too dark, so it makes her face look shockingly pale.

Rachel seems completely absorbed in her newspaper. The coffee on the table in front of her looks untouched, a speckle of chocolate powder sitting perfectly on the foam. She has left her phone and wallet on the edge of the table, rather recklessly. Anyone could snatch her things from a table like that. I notice the wallet is stuffed with bills—so many that she has only been able to zip it up halfway.

Rachel places the newspaper down, picks up her phone, and starts tapping away. That chipped purple polish is still clinging to her fingernails. The garish gold backpack is at her feet again, plus a clutch of shopping bags. Her cell is clad in a gold plastic case, the sort you see on teenagers’ phones, an outline of a Playboy bunny studded on the reverse in diamanté.

I have stared too long. She glances up, spots me immediately. I try to look away, fiddle with my bags, but it is too late.

Helen!

When I glance back up, the serious expression has been replaced by a wide grin, her pointed teeth on show again. She tilts her head to the side and motions me to come over. As she does so, she shoves the bulging wallet into her bag, away from view.

So great to see you! she cries. I start a tentative wave, but instead she stands up and pulls me into a bear hug, as if we’re old friends who haven’t met in ages, rather than near strangers who met just a few days before. The hand I’d raised in greeting is squashed awkwardly between our two chests.

They’ve signed me off work early, too! High blood pressure, same as you. What are the chances?

What are the chances? I think. I suppose blood pressure issues are hardly uncommon. Although I’d sort of assumed it was linked to my being a bit overweight. Whereas she is so skinny and slight, her small round bump incongruous against her matchstick-thin arms and legs.

Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. Poor you, I say tentatively. Are you on the labetalol, then?

She looks blank for a moment. Yeah, she says vaguely, glancing off to the left. Something like that. Her hands flap my question away, as if it’s not important. Come on, let’s have a coffee. We can catch up properly.

Catch up? On what? I open my mouth to object, then close it again, my brain having failed to supply me with an excuse. Rachel is looking over my shoulder, beckoning a waiter with a purple-painted fingernail.

Excuse me? Hello? The frown is back. Fuck me, she mutters. Service is slow around here.

I place my bag and my basket of groceries on the floor between us. As I do, I start to form excuses in my mind. Friends around for dinner, I’ll say. Can’t stay long. I sit down, the silence between us already feeling uncomfortable. I take a stab at small talk.

Have you been shopping? I ask, gesturing rather stupidly down at her bags.

Yes! She beams. Baby stuff, obviously. I’ve literally gone mad. I know they say not to buy too much. Can’t help it, though. It’s all so fucking cute!

I laugh awkwardly. I know what she means. The little velour jackets, the tiny towels with bear ears on the hoods. It’s like an addiction, once you get started. I’ll have to pretend to Daniel that I’ve waited, as he said we should—that baby shopping this weekend is a big treat. In reality, I’ve been hiding bags from him for weeks.

Rachel presses her lips to the coffee mug and sips, leaving a crescent of coral pink on the rim. So, she says, replacing it. Tell me about this husband. Did he have a good excuse?

Sorry?

For not showing up!

Oh. I laugh nervously, glancing at the tables on either side of us. I wonder if other people are finding her voice a little too loud, or if I’m just imagining it. He just had a nightmare at work. It was one of those things.

Daniel used to love his job. When he first went into practice with Rory—at the architecture firm Daddy founded, and that Rory took on when he died—I thought it would be perfect. Even if Rory didn’t always pull his weight, surely it would be easier for Daniel, being his own boss. The firm is based here in Greenwich. He can walk across the park to work, choose his own hours. At least, that’s what Rory appears to do.

But I seem to see Daniel less and less. He comes in with these bags under his eyes, a slant in his shoulders, like he’s carrying rocks in his backpack. He tells me everything’s fine, that it’s just this demanding client, this difficult new project. But between that and the remodeling work at home, it’s as if he has started to hate it. Maybe it’s the pressure of the baby coming, too—I don’t know. I should talk to him about it, ask him properly. But sometimes when I see his face when he walks in, I’m worried to ask how his day was.

Work! A likely fucking story. Rachel laughs, slapping a hand down on the table. Her rings clang against the metal. I jump. A gaggle of pigeons that had gathered at our feet flutters away.

Rachel glances at me, then places her coffee down. She resets her expression, puts a hand on my arm.

Sorry, Helen. That was a joke. I’m sure he was gutted.

It’s fine. I try to get the conversation back onto a comfortable footing. I was cross with him, to tell you the truth. My brother and his wife were supposed to be there as well, but they couldn’t make it either, so—

Oh yeah, you said. That’s a shame. She pauses. Must be exciting, though—to be having babies at the same time. Especially when you live nearby.

I nod. It’s lovely. I couldn’t believe it when Serena told me her and Rory’s baby was due just a few weeks after mine. After all the times before, it felt like a good omen, at last. I’d somehow felt sure, then, that things would be different this time.

Do you get on with her? Your brother’s wife?

Serena? Oh God, yes. She’s amazing. She really is like a sister, I gush, then feel a hot curtain of blood rising through my face. Do I sound childish? We were at university together, the four of us, I add quickly. I’m careful not to say Cambridge—Daniel told me once that it sounded boastful, talking about it all the time, especially to people who might not have even been to university. Rory was in the year above me. And Rory and Daniel are in business together now, so we see them both a lot.

Your husband and your brother? In business together? Doing what?

They’re architects. My father was an architect, too. He was… well, he was sort of a bit famous, I suppose. He died a few years back.

I pause automatically, waiting for the usual condolences, the usual curiosity about Daddy. But Rachel doesn’t react. She is using her index finger to spoon the dusting of chocolate powder from the froth of her coffee directly into her mouth. When she is finished, she starts to work the moistened finger around the rim of the cup, where a little tideline of chocolate is stuck to the lip.

When Daddy died, Rory took over the firm. Haverstock and Company, I continue, even though I’m not entirely sure she is listening. By then Daniel was doing pretty well at another place—he’d won awards, that sort of thing. So it was an easy decision, really. Rory asked Daniel to come on board as his partner, and now it’s a real family firm. They are brilliant. Daniel is in the process of remodeling our house. We’re getting rid of the ground-floor bathroom and putting a new one in upstairs—it’s going to have one of those lovely Victorian roll-top baths, and a big walk-in shower, with these gorgeous tiles I found. And we’re putting in a new staircase and landing where that was, and eventually there will be a big basement addition, a whole new floor, with a sunken living space and glass roof, and— I stop, wondering if I sound boastful. Anyway. A few other bits. Daniel’s designed it all. We’re quite excited about it.

I sense my talk of the architectural work is boring Rachel. She finishes her coffee: a little M of froth left behind on her top lip, a smudge of chocolate in either corner of her mouth. I motion to my own lip; she giggles, wipes the marks off. She stretches her hands above her head, lets out an exhale, glances around the market.

Shall we have another coffee? she suggests, even though I haven’t actually had a coffee yet, just watched her drink the one she had already. You could even risk one with actual caffeine! Rachel smiles, taps her leopard-spotted bump. I can’t work out whether she is making fun of me or not. She seems to believe the babies only exist in abstract, that adhering to the health guidelines is entirely a matter of personal taste.

Actually, could I just have an orange juice?

She looks amused. OK. Sure! I’ll go up and order—quicker than waiting for these jokers.

She says this loudly, causing a passing waiter to look up, dumbfounded. Rachel ignores him, strides into the cafe.

When I see

Reviews for Greenwich Park

[jay robinson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This ended up being so good!! I wasn't sure what type of novel this was going to be. A lot of time was spent building the characters but it was so worth it. I mainly listened to the audio book but read the last several chapters. I could visualize it like a movie. Can't wait to read more from the author!

[rmarcin-630843 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Helen Thorpe is excited that she and her sister-in-law are both pregnant. She schedules prenatal classes, but when Helen's husband, Daniel, nor Serena or Rory attend, Helen's life changes. A young woman in the class, Rachel, befriends Helen and starts showing up everywhere. Helen starts finding notes to RRH, her brother's initials, and she begins to suspect something. When Rachel disappears, events from 10 years earlier, when the 2 couples were both attending Cambridge together, come to light. You feel that something sinister is happening, especially with the notes, the Greenwich Park scenes, the money, the current court case that Katie reports, but you aren't quite sure what, and then the confession happens. The last line of the book -- oh my!

[mm_jones · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This debut by Katherine Faulkner features not just one, but multiple unreliable narrators. If you enjoy that scenario, this might be the book for you.

[froxgirl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

As close to perfect as a domestic thriller could be, the author mixes up pregnancy, adultery, sexual assault, women's friendships, and gaslighting in a riveting mélange of class warfare. At first there seems to be little connection between the perspectives of three characters, but after Rachel, a wild young woman, shows up drinking wine and smoking cigarettes at Helen's prenatal class, the strings start being woven tightly together. Helen and her husband Daniel are finally hopeful, after four miscarriages; Helen's brother Rory and his wife Selena are due at the same time; and childhood friend Katie, now an investigative journalist, becomes involved when covering a rape case in the wealthy neighborhood that echoes one that ended in acquittal ten years before. The outcome is so satisfying that the reader might punch the air in glee.

[beamis12 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

So often these psychological thrillers don't work for me, but I fell in love with the cover. This is the kind of house in could see myself living in. It starts out rather slowly but as or reads the tension builds and builds. The entrance of the character Rachel, shakes things up. One is not sure what she wants with Helen and her family, but that she is not who she says she is quite apparent.. She seems to have many secrets and there are just too many coincidences. Clues are given throughout the story but I didn't try to decipher them, just went along with the ride.It's been quite a while since I've not wanted to put a book down, actually kept reading late into the night. This is a debut author and I can't wait to see what she writes next. Comparisons to the novels of Lisa Jewell are apt.

[life2reinvent · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Greenwich Park starts out as the story of Helen, a lonely woman who had to stop working and rest for the remainder of her pregnancy in a house undergoing a major renovation. She meets an erratic young woman named Rachel at her first prenatal appointment who jumps into Helen’s life. Helen’s not sure if she wants someone like Rachel intruding in her life but isn’t as lonely as she had felt before.Faulkner uses multiple narrators to show us the perspective of worrisome Helen, her headstrong pregnant sister-in-law Serena, and their journalist friend Katie. The high-profile rape case Katie was covering has ended, giving her the chance to reconnect. We also meet the three men who complete this tight group. Katie used to date Charlie, Helen’s partying druggie younger brother. Helen’s older brother Rory is married to Serena and runs the family architecture business. Rory is professionally partnered with Helen’s husband, Daniel.Rachel’s intentions and actions are questioned as she further entwines herself into the group. Is she planning to harm Helen? Why does Rachel keep popping up in their social lives? What secrets are being protected, and what is going on in Helen’s house? These questions are answered in a series of wild twists and turns. What makes Greenwich Park such a fascinating read is that it’s impossible to guess what’s happening next. By the end of the book, Faulkner unravels a complicated web of secrets that take the story in unexpected directions. The story is filled with uncomfortable nuggets that aren’t completely explained as the story is being told. As we find out more about the characters and their secrets are revealed, those nuggets fit. The book is loaded with ‘aha’ moments where actions and motivations are exposed. And just when it looks like the story’s been resolved, there are still more twists. Faulkner doesn’t use these twists as gimmicks but as finishing touches for a tight thriller.What a wonderful debut novel! Faulkner’s plot and characterization combine for a delightfully twisted, jam-packed thriller. Thanks to NetGalley and Gallery Books for providing me an Advance Review Copy of this wonderful book.

[twink_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I've been looking forward to quite a few new titles coming out in 2022. Katherine Faulkner's debut novel, Greenwich Park, has been at the top of the list. And if you enjoy twisty suspense that will keep you guessing, you need to put this book on your must read list.Helen, her husband Daniel, her brother Rory and his wife Serena all went to University together. They lead the enviable lives of the wealthy. And now Helen and her sister-in-law are each expecting their first child. For Helen it's a frightening time as she's had many miscarriages. So, she is off work and ordered to take it easy. Helen ends up solo at her prenatal classes and meets Rachel - a young woman who is also pregnant. Rachel is loud, flamboyant and doesn't seem to read social cues. She's the opposite of Helen, but still, she is drawn to Rachel. Perhaps it's because she's lonely....Uh huh - you can see where this is going can't you? Or can you? Is Rachel what and who she says she is? Or does she have another reason for befriending Helen? Faulkner puts her own twist - or I should say twists - on the idea of a stranger insinuating themselves into someone's life. Helen is the perfect unsuspecting, unreliable lead character. She's afraid to offend anyone, wants to do the 'right' thing and seems to not want to address the cracks in her own life. The supporting cast provide many choices for the 'whodunit'. None of them are truly likeable and each seems to be harboring their own secrets. Some of those supporting players are given their own voice, giving the reader more clues as to what is going on - and why.I thought I had things all figured out - I was happily proven wrong. I love being surprised by a author. And just when I thought things were all neatly tied up, Faulkner changes the endgame - again. Bravo!A binge worthy debut and I look forward to Faulkner's next book.

[carole888fort · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Greenwich Park, a debut thriller by Katherine Faulkner, is a fantastic way to begin a reading year. This is the story of three couples linked by family and friendship, over several years, beginning when most of them are at university together. In the present, Helen meets and becomes friends with Rachel, as they are both attending pre-natal classes. Rachel then shows up here and there in Helen’s daily life, appearing in odd places at odd times. She is slowly infiltrating the life of her new friend, as well as the lives of her other friends. What does Rachel want from Helen and friends? Greenwich Park is a convoluted thriller that is completely unpredictable. It is at times creepy, at times emotional. The author, Katherine Faulkner, is a journalist and it largely influences the way the novel is written. The characters are multi-faceted and deceiving and the reader will have difficulty figuring out what is going on. This is a thriller with a difference. It captures and keeps the reader’s attention throughout and the conclusion is unbelievable. If you enjoy tense and emotional storylines, Greenwich Park is for you. I look forward to future novels by Katherine Faulkner. Highly recommended. Thank you to Simon & Schuster Canada, NetGalley and the author for the e-ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[muddyboy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is an absolutely great debut novel. It centers around two couples (a sister and a brother and their spouses). The husbands are business partners at an architectural firm and their wives are both pregnant. Helen is befriended by a young ladt at her maternity classes to the point that she invites her (Rachel) to stay at their home as she has suffered hard times. As the novel develops we find out that Rachel has ulterior motives and a history with these people when she was a teenager. Tons of twists and turns. Fantastic.

[squirrelhead_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

4 1/2 Stars.I admit the cover grabbed my attention straight away. Isn't that what we notice in the bookstore displays? A cover that appeals? Well, that and an author we love.The beginning of this book is a letter to Helen. It's from one of our main characters and that character is writing from prison. You don't know if it's a man or woman but they contact Helen to share a secret which I assumed would devastate her. For what it's worth, I guessed wrong on the author's identity, I mean completely as I didn't even have the correct gender of the writer!The house itself is always part of the story. It’s an old house registered with English heritage. It has a lovely doorway, huge old Georgian windows surrounded by ivy. Just look at the cover so you get a mental image. It looks like a place I'd love to live. Our main characters are Helen, Daniel, Serena, Rory and Rachel. With the exception of Rachel they all attended Cambridge University. Helen and Daniel are married and Helen's brother Rory is married to Serena. Both ladies are very pregnant and while you'd think the sister-in-laws would be bonding it's a bit awkward at times.Helen is a rather nosy character and goes through Serena's cabinets and drawers. One day she finds a note and she can’t figure out who it’s from (as if it's any of her business.)Darling RRHWear it to show meEvermoreWShe knows it isn’t Serena’s handwriting and wonders if her brother Rory is having an affair. The initial W doesn’t mean anything to her but it is revealed who W is at the end of the book. That part was quite clever, however Helen not knowing the hand writing raised suspicion with me as it is someone she knows very well. But that's much later in the book.....Rachel is a wild, smoking and drinking young woman who attends the same birthing class as Helen. She slowly insinuates herself into Helen's life even though Helen has zero in common with her. From the beginnning I was wondering why Helen didn't avoid Rachel but you will see her end game as you read on.I know so many books are compared to Gone Girl but this one has the over-the-waterfall revelations and I enjoyed every surprise.Brilliant writing and plot, I couldn't put this one down. With all the mysteries I read there are the occasional books which I can leave for days and then I get back to them. Not this one. I have been fortunate to have a great run of luck with the mysteries I've gotten from Netgalley and the library lately.Publication date is January 25, 2022 by Gallery Books. Genre: Mystery and Thriller. Look out for this one and I hope Ms. Faulkner continues with future engaging plots.Thank you to Netgalley for the advanced reader's copy of this book. I was not compensated for the review, all opinions are mine.Katherine Faulkner is a journalist and lives in London and Greenwich Park is her first novel.

[rv1988-998596 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Frankly, not good, and desperately in need of competent editing. Since the book is presented from various points of view, occasionally the author forgets who is narrating. Thus we have Serena talking about the time the boys and Serena went out. As she never again, or before, refers to herself in the third person, this seems like the sort of obvious typo an editor might have caught.

[nikkicolee · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I’m writing this review at 1am despite having to be up at 4:30am. I should have gone to bed hours ago but I had to stay up and finish it because it was just THAT good! I read this book in one sitting because I needed to know what happened and it is the type of book that sucks you in from page one and keeps your attention every page until the end. Great characters, great story, great writing... Loved this book and highly recommend it!

I’m actually editing my review a week later, to add a little more which is something I’ve never done before but felt I needed to. I needed a new book to read and was just looking for other books by the author since I enjoyed this one so much when I found out that this was her very first book and I’m even more blown away now! I have definitely read more psychological thrillers than the average person and I’ve never read one where I truly thought, for sure, that every single character was guilty at one point or another. The way the story developed and came together was brilliant and I will definitely be on the lookout for her future books!

[jfe16 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Review of eBookAfter four heartbreaking miscarriages, Helen Thorpe’s pregnancy is progressing as it should and, in just a few short months, she and her husband, Daniel, will finally become parents. Adding to their happiness, Helen’s brother, Rory, and his wife, Serena, are also expecting, their child due to be born just a few weeks after the Thorpe baby.When Helen meets single mother-to-be Rachel at a prenatal class, the two women strike up a fragile friendship. To Helen’s dismay, Rachel is not particularly maternal; however, her friendship fills a lonely void in Helen’s life. Rachel makes her laugh and serves as a distraction from Helen’s ever-present worries. But there’s something disconcerting about the young woman; it’s not long before other people begin to notice. And, although Helen is oblivious, Rachel’s connection to her family may lead them to a tragedy that could destroy them all.Told from three points of view . . . expectant mother Helen, Helen’s sister-in-law, Serena, and Helen’s journalist friend, Katie . . . the unfolding story begins with a cryptic letter sent to Helen from someone in prison, then backtracks to follow the last stages of Helen’s pregnancy. A couple of chapters look further into the past, providing the necessary backstory for the narrative; the ending is the conclusion of the stupendous letter that opened the narrative. Filled with unforeseen revelations, surprising plot twists, and a stunning, unexpected ending they simply won’t see coming, readers will find it difficult to set this captivating narrative aside. An underlying sense of dread keeps the suspense building and the pages turning toward the electrifying denouement.With believable characters [although Helen’s naiveté is, at times, enough for readers to commence serious eye-rolling] and a cleverly tangled plot that ultimately questions whether or not the mistakes of the past can be corrected, readers will find much to appreciate in this story of family, secrets, and lies. Highly recommended.I received a free copy of this eBook from Gallery Books and NetGalley #GreenwichPark #NetGalley

[pgchuis · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This had quite a slow first half, but then the pace picked up for the second half. I would have enjoyed it more if Helen had been more likeable and less clueless, but it was well-plotted and kept me guessing. The very ending was satisfying.

[vanessacw · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A tense, slow burning and suspenseful psychological thriller centring around a group of friends, three of whom are siblings. One of them is befriended by a girl at an antenatal class and she appears to have an ulterior motive....This is quite an exciting and gripping read, although I did have to suspend my belief at times. The behaviour of some of the characters is slightly incredulous. It’s told from three different viewpoints and I never knew who to believe. There are quite a few twists and turns, taking the reader on several different, interconnecting paths. My brain began to hurt with all the tension, trying to work it all out! All in all a compelling and enjoyable debut, it had me on tenterhooks a lot of the time. I loved the ending - it deserves a resounding cheer!

[smik_3 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is one of those books that just keeps the reader guessing. There are dark secrets to be unearthed, and just when I thought I had them all sussed out, then something else popped up.As seems to be the fashion with the recent crime fiction novel, there are several narrators and their names head the various chapters. The "hook" is a letter written after the action is complete by an inmate of HMP Bowood to Helen saying that she needs to hear the truth, and here it is. There is no indication who the writer might be. The next chapters regress to when the pregnancy is at 24 weeks, and with Helen who is waiting at the antenatal class for her husband, brother, and sister in law to join her. Her sister in law Serena is also pregnant, more or less due at the same time. They don't arrive and Helen is joined by Rachel who is similarly pregnant and also on her own.The novel then counts down each week, and new narrators pop up. Helen and Rachel become closer, until eventually Rachel moves in with Helen and Daniel. There are also scenes from Greenwich Park involving characters who remain unnamed.So there is plenty of mystery for the reader to unravel, there are references to things that have happened in the past, as well as strange events occurring now. We are never quite sure about the relationship between various characters, but we tend to see things mainly from Helen's point of view.

[romonko · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I would like to thank the publishers (Simon & Schuster) and the author for allowing me to read this book in return for an honest review. When I was reading this, I found it hard to believe that this was Katherine Faulkner's first book. It is very well-crafted and meticulously plotted. It is a first-rate thriller and I couldn't put it down. I was engaged with the characters throughout, even though I had difficulty liking Helen. She is truly a damaged heroine and Ms. Faulkner plays her off so well against her more astute and devious friends and family. The setting is in and around Greenwich Park in London. The time is late fall 2018. The premise behind the story is a familiar one, but it is the rich cast of characters that takes this book to the next level. This book will be out sometime this spring, and I recommend that if you like well-written thrillers that you get your hands on a copy. It keeps you guessing until the very end.

[nicx27 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Greenwich Park has been on my radar for quite a while now and I was so excited to dive between the pages. I can tell you now that I was not disappointed. It is a thrilling and fast-paced read that had me gripped from beginning to end.The story centres mainly around Helen. Pregnant with her longed-for baby, she goes to an antenatal class in a warm and muggy room above a bar. She's alone (her husband, Daniel, and her brother and sister-in-law, Rory and Serena, have stood her up) and so when Rachel, also alone, gravitates towards her, Helen finds herself with a brand new friend. We know from the synopsis that Rachel turns out to be a nightmare but the reasons why are only revealed gradually as the story unfolds. I thought Katherine Faulkner did an amazing job plotting this book and as Rachel insinuates herself deeper into Helen's life and we also hear from Serena and Katie, a friend of both couples, I honestly didn't know who to trust. It's clear that something isn't right but I was left guessing all the way through, via a few good twists and turns.This is a brilliant story and an impressive debut. It's a psychological thriller and a really well-drawn example of the genre, but it's also about women and that time running up to the birth of a baby, a kind of limbo-land when you're just waiting and potentially quite vulnerable. It's full of tension and suspense and I was hooked all the way through. For me the pace never let up and the underlying sense of foreboding was ever-present. I really enjoyed my thrilling visit to Greenwich Park.

[tibobi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Short of It:If you are into page-turners, Greenwich Park should be your next read.The Rest of It:Helen and Daniel are expecting a baby. They live in a beautiful house that Helen’s family left to her. Every day Helen realizes how lucky they are to live in such a beautiful home and after several miscarriages, she is finally looking forward to having a baby boy. Plus, she’s lucky to have her brother Rory and his wife Serena, also pregnant, living close by.One day, at a pre-natal class she meets another young mother by the name of Rachel. Rachel is a little bit odd. Kind of loud and brash. The father of Rachel’s child isn’t in the picture so when Rachel attempts to make friends with Helen, she reluctantly gives in, feeling a little sorry for the girl. Lunch here and there. Tea. It isn’t such a horrible ask until Rachel shows up with bruises around her neck and asks to live with Helen and Daniel.Daniel is immediately put off by the request but Helen, fearing for the girl’s safety, allows her to stay for a day or two. What is this girl’s story? Who is hurting her? What does she do in her free time? She has plenty of money but doesn’t appear to have any kind of job.As Helen’s due date approaches, the mystery ramps up and the tension runs high as Helen tries to figure out a way to get rid of Rachel without hurting the girl’s feelings.What Helen doesn’t realize is that none of this is accidental.Oh, I love a book that gives you a reason to forgot all household duties. Dinner? Nah. I gotta get back to my book. Laundry? Only if I can read in-between loads. I RACED through this one. Actually, I tried to read it a long time ago and put it down for something but when I picked it up again this past week I flew through it. I highly recommend it.For more reviews, visit my blog: Book Chatter.