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Back Because She Loves Me Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. Contents
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Ninteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Epilogue
  48. Letter From the Author
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. About the Author

I called the agency and, after being put on hold for an interminable length of time, listening to their hold music (R. Kelly’s ‘Clean This House’), I eventually got through to a man who sounded like he’d just heard that his dog had died.

‘Kristi’s not with us anymore.’

‘Oh. She’s left?’

A long pause. ‘I’m not allowed to give out personal information about our staff.’

‘I wasn’t asking for personal information. I just wanted to check if she would be coming back.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Sumner, but like I said, she isn’t able to work at the moment.’

Wasn’t able?

‘Maria is one of our most experienced cleaners. I’m sure she’ll do a great job for you. But if for any reason you’re dissatisfied please get in touch.’

I hung up and listened to Maria clean my bathroom. I felt glum. I’d liked Kristi, though maybe if I was honest with myself it was only because she was attractive and mysterious. She had been terrible at her job.

Maria came into the room, carrying a bin bag full of rubbish she’d collected from around the flat, a business-like expression on her face. I could read her mind: she was thinking I was a dirty boy, a pig who lived among his own mess. I flushed with shame because, if she was thinking that, she was right. Since Charlie had come into my life I’d turned into a slob.

By the time Maria had left, leaving the flat looking and smelling better than it had in months – surfaces gleaming, carpet spotless, rubbish removed and the musty smell I hadn’t even noticed banished from the air – I’d stopped worrying about my old cleaner.

Sixteen

Sixteen

When I was a kid we had a plump and loveable tabby cat named Claude, whom Tilly would carry around like a baby, dressing him in doll’s clothes, while I let him sleep on my bed and fed him pieces of contraband ham from the fridge. When Claude was getting on a bit, Tilly started pestering for a kitten. Mum and Dad compromised and got a rescue cat, a year-old neutered tom whom we called Speedy. When we introduced Speedy to Claude, the old cat hissed, arched his back and pissed on the carpet while the newcomer trembled under a chair.

When Sasha walked into the living room, where Charlie waited, hovering awkwardly by the sofa, it reminded me of that terrible introduction. They didn’t hiss or spit or soil the rug. They were civil, smiling and shaking hands in that soft way that girls do. But the atmosphere shifted in the same way, like a disturbance in the universe, stress fissures in the fabric of the air. I was tempted to hit the abort button, get Sasha out of there, but I badly wanted them to like each other, to get along.