Chapters (50)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Ninteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Letter From the Author
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
Tilly looked up at me from her wheelchair. ‘Sorry, it’s just . . . I haven’t seen you for ages. Has something happened? Is Charlie OK?’
‘She’s fine. She’s at work. Can I come in?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
I followed her into the living room. The smell of perfume hung in the air, threatening to make me sneeze. I looked at Tilly properly. She was dressed up, wearing a pair of black trousers and a tight top, her hair curled and voluminous.
‘Oh shit, are you going out? Have you got a date?’
Tilly laughed. ‘I am going out, yes. You should have called. But it’s not a date. I’m going out with Rachel and her bloke.’
‘The Hells Angel?’
She grinned. ‘Yes! The very same. His name’s Henry. But they’re not real Hells Angels. It’s just a motorcycle club.’
‘Oh, yes, you told me that, I think.’
‘He’s actually very nice.’ She appraised what I was wearing. ‘You’re a bit scruffy but I’m guessing Henry won’t be wearing a suit. You’ll be fine.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can come with us. I was worried about being a gooseberry. I’m so glad you’ve come to rescue me.’
A horn sounded outside and Tilly said, ‘That’ll be them. Come on.’
‘But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘You can tell me over dinner. Unless it’s something private.’
‘Well . . .’
She looked at me seriously. ‘It’s not . . . your old problem, is it?’
I shook my head quickly. ‘No. I’m fine.’
This wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Not now, not ever. My sister knew this and I was irritated with her for even alluding to it.
‘OK. So maybe . . .’ I saw the face she always pulled when she was about to say something rude.
‘No,’ I said, cutting her off. ‘I’m not suffering from any sexual problems, I haven’t got an STI, Charlie’s not pregnant.’
‘Oh. I was going to ask if you were going to tell me you’ve proposed to Charlie. She told me that you’re moving in together.’
I stared at her. ‘You’re in touch with Charlie?’
‘Oh yes. She friended me on Facebook. We chat all the time. She’s hilarious. And she’s mad about you. Actually, she must be mad, if she loves you as much as she seems to. She talks about you like you’re some dragon-slaying hero, a cross between Brad Pitt, Mr Darcy and Nelson Mandela.’
‘But . . . Charlie’s not on Facebook,’ I said.
‘Yes she is.’ From outside, Rachel and Henry beeped their car horn again. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’
