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Praise for Anna Bell

‘Funny and relatable. I love books that blend poignancy with laughter – and this one does it to perfection’

Sophie Cousens, bestselling author of This Time Next Year

‘I feel like I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster. What a thrilling ride this novel was – strap in and enjoy. Hilarious yet heartfelt, this is romcom writing at its very best!’

Isabelle Broom, author of The Getaway

‘OMG, I adored this book. It’s one of the best I’ve read for a while and I literally couldn’t put it down. What a gorgeous, poignant story’

Jules Wake, bestselling author of The Spark

‘Warm-hearted and hilarious. It will make you giggle and want to hug the book when you finish it’

Miranda Dickinson, author of Our Story

‘Anna Bell’s best book yet, and – given how much I’ve always loved her writing – that’s saying a lot. It has all of Anna’s unique trademark wit, warmth and wisdom, while also being an incredibly compelling and brilliant story’

Lucy Vine, author of Hot Mess

‘Brilliantly written, funny and tender’

Fabulous

‘Heart-warming and hilarious’

Yours

‘Funny and touching’

My Weekly

Also by Anna Bell

The Man I Didn’t Marry

We Just Clicked

If We’re Not Married by Thirty

It Started with a Tweet

The Good Girlfriend’s Guide to Getting Even

The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart

Don’t Tell the Brides-to-be

Don’t Tell the Boss

Don’t Tell the Groom

About the Author

ANNA BELL lives in the South of France with her young family and energetic Labrador. When not chained to her laptop, Anna can be found basking in the summer sun, heading to the ski slopes in the winter (to drink hot chocolate and watch – she can’t ski) or having a sneaky treat from the patisserie – all year round!

Note to Readers

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• Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008467630

Dedication

To my UKC girls – Sarah, Sonia, Christie and Ali – the mind boggles what our eighteen-year-old selves would have written to us. Thanks for all the memories we made then and for the new ones we continue to make.

Dear Future Me,

You only went and bloody did it, didn’t you? Did what we said you’d never do: grow up. Don’t you remember, we were supposed to always be young, always know what’s in the charts, always be down with the cool kids? But let’s face it, I’ve never been down with the cool kids, so there’s really no hope of that happening. Unless I’ve seriously underestimated myself.

My mind is boggling at what your life might be like. Are there flying cars? Do people live on Mars? Did you finally reduce your unread emails to zero? I can’t begin to imagine.

So, what do I hope of me in seventeen years’ time? Mainly I hope you’re happy. And not the kind of on-paper happy that’s all about shiny cars and executive flats. I mean proper cheeks-ache-from-too-much-smiling-and-laughing-type happy. I hope your life is busy and full of love and friendship and that you’re finally comfortable in your own skin. I hope that you are being true to yourself and that you’ve become the woman you should have been and the one that you wanted to be.

But most of all I hope that you haven’t fucked it up and that you didn’t lose him, again.

X x

Chapter 1

I sometimes think that I am the only person in the world who doesn’t enjoy their birthday. There’s that assumption that the day has to be special and better than any other day of the year: the most fun had, the best meal ever eaten, the most love felt. There’s always so much pressure that it inevitably feels like you’re setting yourself up for a fall when it doesn’t live up to expectations. And this year, on my thirty-fifth birthday, for some inexplicable reason I’m feeling it even more.

I’ve never been that bothered about getting older. I didn’t have a midlife crisis when I hit thirty and I don’t dread the thought of turning forty or fifty, so I can’t put my finger on why all week I’ve been freaking out about turning thirty-five. It’s not even a special birthday.

I might not have the husband or children I once expected to have at my age, but I have so many other things to be grateful for. A flat all of my own. A boyfriend who’s sweet and funny, who isn’t in a hurry to fast-track our relationship. I’m co-director of a successful business. Yet, despite all this, I can’t shake the feeling that turning thirty-five is significant somehow.

I quicken my step towards the café where I’m meeting Dad and Layla, hoping they’ll distract me from my thoughts. A breeze whips around me and I pull my cardigan across my chest. It might be June and almost a midsummer’s day, but there’s nothing midsummer about today’s weather at all.

I immediately locate my dad in the corner of the café when I walk in.

‘There’s the birthday girl,’ he shouts, loud enough for the rest of the customers to hear. He folds his newspaper and places it on the table, before standing up to give me a big hug. ‘Happy birthday, love. Thirty-five, eh?’

‘Thanks for reminding me.’ I peer around the table, trying to spot any discreetly placed birthday decorations. Dad knows I hate any kind of fuss on my birthday. ‘I’m glad to see you finally listened to my no-decorations rule.’

I catch the slight twinkle in his eye as he tries to suppress a smile.

‘What have you done? The whole reason I agreed to meet you here, and not the office, is to keep this low-key.’

My dad and I are co-directors of an office supply company and in years gone by he’s decorated my desk with balloons, banners and streamers, and there’s always a speech. I hate speeches.

The bell above the door of the café jangles, and in breezes Layla, one of our work colleagues, who over the years has become my best friend too. A waitress walks out from behind the counter with a tray of hot drinks and Layla nearly takes her out with the two pink foil helium number balloons that pop out from behind her.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, trying to wrestle the three and five under control. ‘Happy birthday, Edie.’

‘Did you forget to send Layla the no-fuss memo?’ Dad laughs, oblivious to my eye roll.

I grit my teeth, standing up to give her a hug, and she tucks the offending balloons around my chair.

‘No one is letting me forget how old I am today, are they?’

‘By the time you get to my age you need all the reminders you can get,’ says Dad, standing up. I can’t help but crack a smile, as, deep down, I know they’re only making a fuss because they care. ‘I’ll go order us some coffees; two flat whites?’

‘Perfect,’ Layla says, and I nod.

As Dad goes to queue for the drinks, Layla pulls out an expensive-looking box of chocolates and slides them over to me.

‘Thank you, you know you didn’t need to.’ She’d already given me her present when she took me on a fancy spa day at the weekend.

‘Couldn’t resist. Besides, I couldn’t show up empty-handed – I had to give you something on your actual birthday. Speaking of gifts, I’m dying to know what Miles got you!’

‘Oh, I don’t know yet, I’m not seeing him until tonight.’

‘Didn’t he sleep at yours last night?’

‘No, because I’m seeing him tonight.’

‘You two’ – she shakes her head – ‘there’s nothing to stop you seeing each other two nights in a row, you know.’

‘I know, but just because we’re having fun dating, doesn’t mean to say that we have to live in each other’s pockets. We both like having our own space, and seeing each other a couple of times a week suits us fine. Besides, a birthday is just another day.’

‘I feel like you should come round and do a TED talk about that in our house. Try convincing the twins that their eighth birthday is like any other day.’

‘Isn’t their birthday in October? That’s months away.’

‘I know, but that hasn’t stopped them from lobbying for every bit of the not-even-released-yet Liverpool football kit, an Xbox, a zillion games for the aforementioned Xbox, an iPad.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Anyway, this is not about them, this is about you. Where’s Miles taking you to dinner? Somewhere fancy, I hope?’

‘The Chambers.’

‘Ooh, that is proper swanky.’ She lowers her voice and leans across the table. ‘You know that’s a proposal restaurant, don’t you? I think I read in the local paper that they get on average two proposals a week.’

My whole body stiffens.

‘We’re definitely not at that stage.’

She gives me a knowing smile. ‘Maybe tonight will prove otherwise.’

My stomach’s started to churn even though I know she must be wrong. We’ve only been together five months.

The coffee machine starts to whirr away in the background and Dad comes back over and takes his seat.

‘What have I missed?’ he asks.

‘Edie is going to The Chambers tonight for dinner with Miles.’

‘Oh, you’ll have to let us know what you think. I was thinking that perhaps we could book it for our Christmas do this year.’

‘Blimey, business must be good,’ says Layla. ‘That’s a step up from last year’s trip to the pub across the road.’

‘I think winning a place on the council tender should be reason to celebrate,’ says Dad.

‘Just because we’re a preferred supplier doesn’t guarantee that anyone will order from us,’ I say. ‘It might be best to play it safe this year and go all out next year when we know if it’s made a difference.’

‘Come on, Edie, I’ve got that dress from Whistles that’s just itching to be worn again. It would be the perfect occasion,’ says Layla, pleading with her eyes.

‘You and that Whistles dress.’

‘Well, if someone would get married already I’d have somewhere else to wear it.’ She gives me a pointed look.

The waitress comes over with a tray and I’m relieved of the interruption until I notice with horror that she’s got an almond croissant with a lit candle in it. She breaks out into a loud rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ and Dad and Layla don’t miss a beat joining in. The rest of the patrons of the café sing along and my cheeks burn. I try and sink down in my chair, but between Dad singing at the top of his lungs and the pink helium balloons advertising my age, there’s no escaping it.

The waitress places it down in front of me and I mutter a thanks before I blow out the candle. Dad pats me on the back and Layla claps her hands.

‘Thank you for that complete embarrassment.’

‘Come on, it’s your birthday; we just wanted to make it special. You know it’s only a fraction of what your mum would have done,’ says Dad. ‘Jan always loved birthdays.’

My heart burns at the mention of Mum. He’s right though; she would have done something completely over the top. She would have filled the whole café with balloons and there would have been a cake the size of a table, and it certainly wouldn’t have had one solitary candle on top.

I can’t help but feel sad. My birthdays have never been the same since she died seventeen years ago. Each one serves as a painful reminder that she’s no longer here. I’ve almost reached the point now where I’ve celebrated more without her than I did with her.

Dad senses the shift in mood, and he puts his hand over mine. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to; his being here knowing how I’m feeling is good enough.

‘So how long have you got before you need to go?’ I say, trying not to slip down a melancholy rabbit hole.

Layla’s a governor at the school that her twin boys attend, and she’s roped Dad into doing a careers talk there this morning.

‘In about twenty minutes. You should come,’ says Layla.

‘Um, that’s OK. I thought I might just potter round and go to the shops.’

In truth, I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to do after I left them. It was a last-minute decision to take the day off, mainly motivated by the weird feeling I’ve had surrounding this birthday.

‘Why don’t you come with us?’ says Dad. ‘I feel like I haven’t seen you properly for ages. It would be nice to spend the morning together at least.’

‘Dad, we work together every day. We see plenty of each other.’

‘Yeah, but it’s different when we’re in the office. I just feel like we haven’t caught up a lot lately.’

I don’t want to point out that it’s his fault, so instead I take a bite of my croissant. He’s always busy with Julie, the woman he’s started dating.

‘You know I don’t really like those kinds of events, I’m never very good at answering questions on the spot.’

‘It’s not like you’ll have to say anything, just come and watch my talk.’

‘The boys would love to see you to wish you happy birthday,’ says Layla.

The two of them are ganging up on me, but it’s not like I have anything better to do and perhaps it’ll distract me from thinking about my birthday.

‘OK, why not.’

‘Good,’ says Dad, a triumphant look on his face. ‘Now, that almond croissant looks really good. I might just get one for myself.’

‘Dad! You know you’re supposed to be cutting down.’

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t have any breakfast at home.’

That’s not really the point and he knows it.

‘Plus, it’s not every day your baby turns thirty-five.’

‘Tell me about it,’ I say, wishing that everyone would stop reminding me.

Chapter 2

We arrive at the school in plenty of time for Dad’s presentation and are greeted by Claudia, the twins’ teacher. She wastes no time getting straight to the logistics of how the talk’s going to work.

‘First, we’ll introduce you to the kids,’ says Claudia, ‘then we’ve got the perfect story lined up for you to read, if that’s OK? It’s about a boy deciding what he wants to be when he grows up, and then we’ll finish off with a Q&A. It’ll be nice and informal, so hopefully the kids will all get to join in.’

My dad is grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’s the complete opposite of me in that he loves public speaking. Dad’s the face and the spokesperson of our company and I’m the behind-the-scenes-making-sure-everything-happens person; it’s why we make such a good team.

‘Right, so we’ll get you a—’ Claudia’s interrupted by Dad’s phone ringing. He excuses himself from the conversation and retreats over to the other side of the room. ‘As I was saying, I’ll just go and grab your visitor passes before I take you to the class,’ says Claudia. She heads into the glass-walled office in the corner.

‘You’ll have to report back, Edie, and let me know if the twins behaved themselves in class,’ says Layla.

‘You’re not going to watch?’

‘No, I’ve got a meeting with the head teacher – governor stuff.’

‘Oh, well, I’m sure the twins will behave as they normally do.’

‘That’s why I’m worried.’

I laugh but stop when Dad walks back over with a frown on his face.

‘Everything OK?’ asks Layla.

‘No, actually, Julie let herself out of my house and she’s locked her car keys inside.’

‘Oh, gosh,’ says Layla, as Claudia returns, passes in hand.

‘I’m going to have to leave and give Julie my spare key; otherwise she won’t make it to work on time.’

‘You can’t go,’ I say to Dad. ‘What about the kids?’

Dad looks at Claudia in a panic then glances over at me. ‘Why don’t you do it, Edie?’

‘Er, yeah, sure, I can take the keys to Julie.’ It might be a little awkward since I’ve never met her before.

‘You haven’t got your car and you’re not insured on mine. No, I mean, you do the talk instead of me.’

‘Oh, that’s a great idea!’ Claudia chips in, her face lighting up. ‘In fact, not to be rude, Gary, but we’re always looking at ways for the kids to become more aware of gender equality. And who better to speak to the kids than a young, female CEO like Edie. I’m sure it would be incredibly inspiring.’

‘But I haven’t got a speech prepared,’ I stutter.

‘You don’t need one, it’s all going to be very relaxed.’

‘It’s not only about being unprepared …’ I try and think of a reason that sounds less pathetic than admitting that I’m scared of talking to a class of children. I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans.

‘Couldn’t Julie get a taxi to work, or Layla could do the talk instead?’

‘Please,’ says Layla. ‘Your job title is way more impressive than mine; besides, I’ve got that meeting.’

My heart starts to race.

‘It’s just a story and a Q&A, and I’ll guide you through it.’ Claudia’s using a gentle voice like I imagine she uses when she’s trying to reassure the children.

‘You’ve got this, Edie,’ says Dad, squeezing my shoulder before he hurries off to rescue Julie. The irony isn’t lost on me that I came to spend more time with him, and I’ve ended up covering for him whilst he goes off to her, again.

As I enter the room, the sight of thirty plus excited seven-year-olds sitting cross-legged on a square of carpet is even more terrifying than I could have imagined. Beads of sweat start to form on my forehead and my mouth goes dry.

I follow Claudia with shaky legs, wishing I had her air of confidence as she strides across the classroom. She’s every bit the cool teacher I would have loved to have had as a kid, with her tight corkscrew curls that frame her face, and dressed in a mustard-coloured turtleneck with a black dungaree dress and stripy tights.

She claps her hands together and the noise level starts to fall until there’s silence.

‘Right then, raise your hand if you like pens.’ Nearly every hand shoots up. ‘OK, what about notebooks? And pencils? And chocolate biscuits? Well, that’s what Edie’s company sells to different offices. Now you’re going to hear all about it.’

Despite my nerves I manage to make it through the introduction to my job and the story without incident, with the children still more or less concentrating.

‘OK, class,’ says Claudia, ‘I’ve got a very important question and I want you to think long and hard about it. What do you want to be when you grow up?’

They suddenly snap to attention pondering one of life’s deep questions for a seven-year-old. Adults ask children it all the time. It’s a bit of a cruel trick in a way, making them dream big, convincing them they can be anything they want, but how many people actually get their exact dream job? Don’t most people have to adjust their life goals based on the hand they’re dealt? The resources they have, the grades they get, the opportunities that are available to them. Or, in my case, the life they inherit when everything falls apart.

‘Let’s see, does anyone want to be a firefighter?’ asks Claudia, pausing to see a show of hands. ‘OK, a few. How about an astronaut? … A doctor? … Chef? … Actor? … Business owner? How about you, Scarlett?’

‘I want to be the prime minister or a zookeeper.’

‘Excellent choices. Lucas?’

‘A sorcerer.’

‘Like a magician?’

‘Like a wizard,’ he says, his eyes widening.

‘Magic, I like it.’ Claudia nods. ‘Now what do you think Marcus in the book wanted to be?’

Hands shoot up and she points to a boy at the back.

‘Um, everything? But he looked happiest in the pictures when he was an astronaut.’

‘He did look pretty happy in that picture and maybe that was what he wanted to do the most. But isn’t that the best bit? That there are so many options and possibilities of what he could do?’

‘Yes, he’s lucky. He’ll grow up to be a man,’ says Scarlett, twiddling hair around her finger.

I bite my lip and try not to laugh as she seems to have morphed from a seven-year-old into a fully grown woman.

‘You’ll be able to do all those things too. Edie is living proof that you can achieve great things if you work hard for it,’ says Claudia, swooping in quickly.

Scarlett doesn’t look convinced, and I try hard not to smile. She’s so feisty that I have no doubt in my mind that she’ll be smashing glass ceilings whatever she decides to do.

‘And what did you want to be, Edie, when you were our age?’ asks Rohan, one of Layla’s twins.

‘Oh, um, I …’ I’m caught off guard by the question and my mind’s gone blank. ‘I’m not sure, maybe at your age … I probably wanted to be a ballerina or a bobsleigh driver.’

The kids pull confused faces and Claudia, who must be close in age to me, laughs.

‘There was a film … bit of a long story,’ I try to explain. ‘But then when I got older, I dreamed of changing the world, becoming a lawyer or even a teacher.’

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