Ralph's Party: A Novel

Ralph's Party: A Novel

Discover the debut novel of the #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jewell in which the residents of an apartment building confront one another’s attractions, distrust, secrets, and lies. Perfect for fans of Dolly Alderton and Jojo Moyes. Welcome to 31 Almanac Road where the walls don’t talk, but the people sure do. First, we have Ralph and Smith. Roommates and life-long best friends. Nothing can come between them…That is, until Jemima moves in, and the two find themselves in a battle for her affections. Neither Ralph nor Smith can boast successful love lives, but maybe their luck is about to change. The real question, though, is who does Jemima want? Take the stairs up a flight, and you’ll find Karl and Siobhan. On the outside, they’re the perfect couple. Look a little closer, though, and you might just spot some cracks in their fifteen-year relationship. And those cracks are suspiciously shaped like their upstairs neighbor, the beautiful and smooth-talking Cheri. In a building packed with this many secrets, everything is bound to unravel eventually. So, really, what better place for tears and laughter, break ups and make ups than at Ralph’s party? Lisa Jewell is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of twenty-four novels, including Don’t Let Him In , None of This Is True , The Family Upstairs , and Then She Was Gone , as well as Invisible Girl and Watching You. Her novels have sold more than fifteen million copies internationally, and her work has also been translated into over thirty languages. Connect with her on X @LisaJewellUK, on Instagram @LisaJewellUK, and on Facebook @LisaJewellOfficial. Chapter One CHAPTER ONE The girl standing in the doorway was tiny, about five foot two, black curly hair held on top of her head with pins and clips in some complicated but very feminine style that looked as if it should have sported ivy wreaths. She was postcoitally pretty, with cherry-red cheeks and a bittersweet mouth, the bottom lip drawn back very slightly under the top, and her eyes were bright and mustardy, framed by mascaraed lashes and faint but lively eyebrows. She should have been wearing wood-nymph muslins and lacy leather sandals but instead had on an equally beguiling soft flannel suit with fur at the collar and cuffs and a short skirt that would have looked obvious on a taller woman. The tip of her nose was winsomely pink. Smith let Jem walk in front of him down the hall, watching her as she turned her head this way and that, examining the pictures on the walls, peering through half-open doors, and patting tabletops as she went. She was definitely cute. She turned to Smith. “This is lovely, really, really lovely.” She smiled widely and suddenly turned to face the wall, grabbing the top of the radiator with both hands and letting out a sigh of relief. “Sorry.” She laughed. “My hands are freezing, like blocks of ice—feel.” She made her small white hands into fists and placed one on each of Smith’s cheeks. “It’s so cold out there!” Smith started and felt suddenly shy. “Shall we go to the kitchen? I’d love a cup of tea.” “It’s just through the living room,” offered Smith, attempting to overtake her. “Oh, yes. I know where the kitchen is. I saw it through the window. Outside.” She laughed again. “Sorry, I’m really nosy. And I’ve seen so many horrible flats tonight I don’t think I could have faced coming in here if it hadn’t looked nice.” They walked into the kitchen. “My flatmate’s around somewhere,” said Smith, filling the kettle. “He’s probably in his room. He’s called Ralph. I’ll take you to meet him when the tea’s done.” Jem was examining a rack of herbs and spices. The plastic lids of the jars were covered in a layer of greasy dust; all of them were full. “Do you and Ralph ever cook?” she asked. Smith laughed. “Erm, I think this speaks for itself.” He opened the door of the fridge to reveal shelves laden with colorful packets proclaiming “Thai-style Green Curry,” “Creole Chicken with Cajun Rice,” “Chicken Tikka Masala,” and floppy see-through bags containing fresh pasta sauces and soups. “Oh, God—typical boys! That’s such an expensive way to eat!” exclaimed Jem. “Cooking’s brilliant, you know—I’ll teach you. And Ralph, if you like.” She used the name Ralph comfortably, as if she knew him. “I’m very good. I think. Well, so I’ve been told. I can cook a Thai curry. These ready-made things are dreadful for you—it’s all the salt they put in them to make them taste of something.” She closed the fridge and wandered back into the living room. “Do you want to ask me some questions?” she called, picking up a paperback from a shelf and examining the back cover. “Milk and sugar?” Smith called back. “Have you got any honey?” Smith futilely opened and closed a few cupboards. “No,” he shouted. “Got some golden syrup, though.” “This is a gorgeous room, you know. No offense or anything, but it doesn’t look like two boys live here.” “Thank you.” Sm