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
I moved aside clothes, lifted shoes, pulled boxes and folded jackets off the top shelf. Then, frantic, I pulled everything out, chucking everything on the floor, coat hangers flying, until the wardrobe was empty. I checked on top of it, behind it. Under the bed in case I’d moved it absent-mindedly. I looked inside every cupboard in the house.
It was gone.
I sat on the floor of my bedroom, my good mood obliterated, replaced by a dark, cold sickness.
The doorbell rang and, slowly, I got up to answer it. When Maria came in, and saw the clothes scattered about the room, she looked at them, then at me. Huffing and puffing, she systematically set about sorting everything out, while I sat in the other room, trying not to throw up.
As soon as Charlie came round, I said, ‘I’ve got something I need to ask you.’
Her eyes widened. She could tell from my face, I hope, that I wasn’t about to ask her to marry me or move in. Since discovering that my bag had gone missing, I hadn’t even thought about my idea to ask her to live with me.
‘In my wardrobe, I had a bag of stuff.’
I watched her face grow pale.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Andrew. I was hoping . . .’ She broke off. ‘I was hoping it would turn up before you noticed it was gone.’
I stared at her, conflicting feelings shooting about beneath my skin. Anger. Horror. Confusion. Even sympathy. She looked so contrite and scared.
‘What happened?’ I asked quietly.
‘I found it the other night. You know, when you were in your sleeping pill coma. I was getting that blanket out to cover you? Well, I saw the bag and I couldn’t help but look inside – I’m sorry, I know it’s your private stuff but I couldn’t stop myself. I found the pictures of your mum and dad and the cards and all that stuff. And I started to think what a shame it was that it was all just stuffed in a bag in your wardrobe.’
I got up and poured us both a glass of wine while she talked.
‘I was planning to take some of the pictures of your parents and get them framed, maybe get a few of them made into an album. But before I could sort it all out, you woke up. And then the next morning, when I was leaving, I didn’t get a chance to pick out the pictures I wanted so I took the whole bag, smuggled it out without you seeing.’
I had a horrible feeling I knew what she was going to say.