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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

‘Who was that man whose funeral I attended yesterday?’ I cry. ‘Who? He made people cry and cheer and laugh and applaud and hug and unite and I don’t know him. I’ll never know him. Because I know you! And you’re not here anymore!’

I check my phone for distraction, slumping down onto the kitchen floor.

There are two messages from Gareth, our Kit’s fiancé. One is just checking in, sending his love. The second is a YouTube link to some political satire. He sends these often. I’ve got a message from Beth, too.

My sis just announced baby number 2’s on the way. I’m happy for her. I don’t want her baby. I want mine. But still. FFS. Xxx

I send back a crying face and string of red hearts.

I never asked Jack outright if he wanted kids. I didn’t need to. We were always playing the name game; it was a habit that developed quite early on. Even when he was cooking the bolognese, the night before he died, he said, ‘I like Lily for a girl. Not Lilian. Just Lily.’ It was a breath of fresh air, since he’d recently declared our son would be called Wild. Now, I’m all for alternative names, but Wild? Nope. My argument was that we can control our kid’s name, but not their personality. What if he was naturally tame? At least a Joe or a James can be anything they want without judgement …

Hold on.

Could it be possible? Could I …

I scroll through my phone; look at the calendar. I’ve never been one to chart, keep up with dates about what’s going on with my body. I’ve been on the pill for years. But I read a negative article a couple of months ago and decided to stop taking it. Jack and I were careful, most of the time.

I count the days.

And count again.

So I won’t know for sure until next week, when my period is due.

But, oh my God. I might be pregnant.

12

‘Miss Roscoe?’ Si Sullivan calls. ‘A word, please.’

The bell has shaken us out of our first lunchtime rehearsal. I didn’t have to do much – Si was the one on the piano and teaching the song. Layla Birch didn’t show up. I wonder if she’s rebelling because she didn’t get the lead.

Si reaches into his anorak pocket and pulls out two West End theatre tickets.

‘Say, whaaaat?’ He attempts a terrible American accent.

‘Surprise!’ I say.