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Back Love, Almost Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUE
  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
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  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. EPILOGUE
  48. Acknowledgements
  49. Keep Reading …
  50. About the Author
  51. By the same author:
  52. About the Publisher

‘You’re right,’ he’d said, holding back a smile. ‘I can do anything I want.’ But he’d checked his watch and started to panic-push the mounds of material back into the split bin bags. He’d sung out a high-pitched, ‘Agh!’

‘You look very pink,’ I’d said.

‘Very stressed, you mean.’

‘Let me do the costumes.’

‘No, you’ve got enough on.’

‘Look, if anyone’s got enough to do, it’s you.’

‘Well …’

‘Si, give Layla a show-stopping role and I’ll be wardrobe mistress. I’ve got experience, haven’t I? Think of it as my second chance.’

I’d given Si a little shoulder shimmy and thrown a feather boa around my neck. He’d chuckled and I knew he’d give in. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t giving myself a second chance. I was giving myself a final warning.

‘I’ve got a free period now,’ I’d said. ‘Let me sort this utter shite out.’

‘It all needs hanging up, though, and some serious TLC. But there’s nowhere to do that in this joke of a school. I asked the head for a costume rail and got laughed out of her office. I mean, look at all that fringe! Tangled! Mangled! Oh—’

‘Si. I’ll sort it.’

I’d rolled a couple of leotards up and popped them into my satchel, planning to repair them tonight while I watch Bake Off. The remaining costumes are stashed in the PE cupboard under the gym horse. God knows if I’ll get away with that. The head of PE is ex-marine.

I’m almost back at the flat when I decide to join in the fun and get myself an iced latte from the coffee shop by the train station. As I wait for my drink, I catch up on Trish’s text from earlier.

Dear Chloe, I hope you’re keeping well. It would be greatly appreciated if you could pack Jack’s clothes into his suitcases and bring them to my house when you come to sign the tenancy agreement. Text me a date and time you’re free over the next week or so and let’s get it in the diary. I can be flexible. I’ll ping you a location pin of my address. Regards, Trish.

My name’s called and I’m handed an iced latte and a paper straw. I take it unwillingly; what I’d thought would be a treat is now just something else I’ve got to carry – it’ll make my hand cold and wet, give me brain freeze and make me feel too bloated to enjoy my dinner. The evening ahead is set to be busy with a task I’m going to find unbearably difficult.

The ripped leotards will have to wait.

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