BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. CONTACTS
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. PART TWO
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART THREE
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. EPILOGUE
  42. AUTHOR NOTE
  43. Keep Reading …
  44. About the Author
  45. Also by Mark Watson
  46. About the Publisher

‘We’re going to take a breath,’ she muttered to herself. And again, the body obeyed; the shaky seconds passed, the floor was solid. She’d been very cynical about all this – breathing, meditation, mindfulness. But Dec had been right. It never lasted long, the … that feeling. Sal addressed herself, mentally now, as if she were talking to someone at one of her workshops.

OK. Look. There are only two scenarios. Either you can solve this problem, this insane James problem, or you can’t. If you can’t, there’s no point spending another second thinking about it. But the likelihood is you can.

Sal got out her pocket-mirror, the one that used to belong to Jean. She would call Mum again and tell her everything was going to be fine. Then she’d work out how to make that into the truth.

13

LONDON, 02:32

Emil wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Steffi’s message had come through about ‘shit going on’, but it definitely hadn’t been a missing-person search. If he was honest, he’d hoped for a small personal drama, maybe a dumping; something that could be ironed out reasonably easily over a few drinks. Back in San Sebastián he’d specialized in those. He had far more female friends than actual girlfriends. That was what happened if you were a good listener, but not very tall. He’d hoped, in London, where nobody knew him as a serial loser in love, that he could make a fresh start – as a man you could talk to, have a drink with, fool around with maybe. As a fun guy and a considerate, gentle lover, which he knew he was, if he could get anyone to sleep with him, which so far he couldn’t, over here.

The London rebrand of Emil into sexy, man-about-town Emil hadn’t really worked out so far. He struggled with the language; the restaurant’s hours were unsociable; he often left work smelling of parmesan or fish – none of this helped. And maybe restaurant culture had just become blander. If you read books by the famous chefs, they were all perpetually off their tits and shagging like Vikings. They were jumping each other on the worktops, they were snorting double lines off the butcher’s block; it was surprising they ever got any food onto the pass at all. After service here, people mostly seemed to go home and watch Game of Thrones. Emil wanted to be having sex; he didn’t want to be watching other people having sex with elves, or whatever the fuck it was. He’d only seen the first episode, and there were so many characters he’d had to take a nap afterwards.