Back Blast from the Past
Chapters (70)
  1. Blast from the Past
  2. Copyright
  3. Epigraph
  4. Table of Contents
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
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  25. 21
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  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. Epilogue
  62. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  63. Discover more gloriously funny and uplifting fiction from Cathy Hopkins
  64. Read on for an exclusive extract of Cathy’s hilarious novel, Dancing Over the Hill
  65. Cait
  66. 1
  67. If you enjoyed this extract and want to read on, click here to buy now 978-0-00-820208-8
  68. About the Author
  69. Also by Cathy Hopkins
  70. About the Publisher

His voice became distant, or maybe he’d stopped talking. It felt quiet, then suddenly it was like watching frames of a film inside my head – or were they pieces of a mosaic? That was it: a mosaic or a jigsaw puzzle. I could see images from my life, people I knew so well, all there from different times, but I was seeing them all at the same time. My life streaming back, moving but not moving. Odd but not scary. Yes, I was looking at a mosaic made up of pieces of my life. I felt overjoyed; there were all my pets going back in time: Boris, Casper, Jack, the cats Smokey and Samantha. Friends were there, too, they had their own colours; each person was on a different piece of the mosaic. Marcia’s was autumnal, reds, browns and oranges; Heather was in vibrant greens; Pete was blue. Old friends: Jane, Greta, Carol, Rosie. I could see friends I’d known but had lost touch with over the years: Bernie, Fran, Jean, Annie. In one mosaic piece, I saw a scene from my life. I was in Harrods with Marcia, up on high stools, drinking hot chocolate. In another, at a wedding with Heather, talking to her friends. In a car with my brother Matthew, him driving so fast, my foot on an imaginary brake. Back, back. It was a moving mosaic, beautiful; vibrant, as if lit from within. There was Marcia at school in sixth form. Another segment shows us on the bus, on a back seat with a bag of Liquorice Allsorts. We’re laughing until it hurt.

‘Where are you, Bea?’

‘Remembering friends. Time is moving back but also standing still. I can see everyone I know, all at once, like they’re in a living mosaic.’ At dinner with Richard, in bed with Jon, bicycling with Graham, singing with Michael: they were all there; all my past lovers in a jigsaw made from mosaic pieces. Was a piece missing? Where was it? Or was I imagining a gap? Oh, there’s my brother, I’m studying in Central Library with him. And Sam, stoned again, headphones on, crashed out on the sofa. I wanted to laugh. Some of the mosaics were so perfect, a tiny embodiment of a moment. Bruno. Jim. Andrew. Everyone was there.