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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

On the bus, I couldn’t help but think about the lost bag. Charlie told me she was calling the lost property office every day but it hadn’t turned up. I had given up hope. Maybe it was on a landfill site somewhere. Most probably, as Charlie had said, it had already been destroyed. I had called Tilly and she’d offered to make copies of some of her photos of Mum and Dad. They wouldn’t be perfect but I didn’t have any other option. This time, I wasn’t going to hide the pictures away, unable to look at them. I was going to get them framed, put them on display.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t believed Charlie’s story. Something about the way she had told it, or the incredible absent-mindedness needed for her to have left it on the bus. But then, people did that kind of thing every day. I had once left my expensive laptop on a train. And why would she lie? What else would she have done with the bag? I could imagine her getting upset about the mementoes of my exes. But she hadn’t been afraid of showing her hurt when she felt insecure, like with the girl in the park, and I couldn’t imagine her sneaking the bag out of my flat and secretly destroying it. It was completely out of character. If she could do that then . . . well, it would show I didn’t know her at all.

So I cast my doubts aside, told myself I was being stupid, that it was nothing but an accident. I forgave her. Thinking, cynically, that it was one in the bank for me, if I ever did something like break one of her favourite teacups or shrink her clothes in the washing machine. All couples must go through this at some point: in our case, it was unfortunate that she was trying to do something lovely and ended up doing something that hurt me.

I changed buses and, before I knew it, I was heading past Old Street roundabout and towards Victor’s office. I was using a single crutch now, and only outdoors, but it was still slow going.

The office was on the second floor of a converted warehouse, like so many of the offices around here. A few steps led up to a solid metal door, the names of the companies in the building – all of them something to do with the media or internet – written in bright colours beside a row of buzzers. I was ten minutes early and I stood and looked up at the building, giving myself another little pep talk – silent this time.