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Contents ( 47)
  1. OLIVE
  2. Emma Gannon
  3. Copyright
  4. Praise for Olive
  5. Prologue
  6. Part One
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. Part Two
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. Part Three
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. Epilogue
  45. Acknowledgements
  46. About the Author
  47. About the Publisher

Isla: What happened last night after I left? You OK?

Me: Sorry to anyone I offended. I don’t remember the last hour or so of the night

Isla: I missed the ending. Sorry again for leaving early Cec. Such a great night :)

Me: What did I do?

Bea: We were just worried about you

Me: That’s a first

Bea: Huh??

Cecily is typing

Cecily is typing

Isla: It’s OK, Olive

Bea: Ol. Please don’t alienate yourself from us

Cecily is typing

Cecily is typing

Cecily is typing

There is a long pause.

Cecily is typing

Cecily: I’m so disappointed in the way you were yesterday, Olive. I’m already feeling vulnerable, at home all day, missing my career and old life and I just wanted a day to celebrate my new baby, as it’s not been easy. At all. And somehow, somehow you managed to make it about YOU. As usual. WHEN WILL YOU REALIZE THAT NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU!!!

Monday. And I’m feeling the full effects of a two-day hangover; I’m exposed and vulnerable. I look in the mirror in the .dot toilets and can’t see the strong Olive I thought I’d built up. I don’t think Cec has ever been this angry at me. Not even that time when I accidentally lost her entire handbag on a night out. I feel terrible. I am a shell, and I know exactly what I am about to do.

I look under the toilet stalls to check for earwigging employees and press my phone to my ear. It starts to ring. The knots in my stomach feel tighter and tighter, and I feel as if I might be sick. He picks up straight away.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ I croak, and then cough. ‘Jacob, it’s Olive.’

‘Oh … hi!’ he says, a mixture of surprise and confusion. ‘Everything … um … OK?’

‘I know we haven’t spoken in ages. I wanted to pick up on our last conversation.’

‘OK … what exactly?’ he asks. I can hear him fidgeting around, trying to find somewhere for a private conversation, probably.

‘I don’t know. Just the idea, that, we could … one day … patch this up or find a way around it.’

‘Oh, Olive … I …’

‘You said you wanted to make it work, and I just wanted to call you to say I’m willing to have a more open mind. About us. All relationships are different.’

‘Olive.’ He sounds serious suddenly. He coughs. ‘Olive, I’ve actually met somebody.’

I am now sitting on the sofa watching Sister Act for the 172,282nd time. I don’t know what to do with myself. I contemplate calling Zeta but I can’t muster the energy. I wrap a fleecy blanket around me and wish it would swallow me whole. I put my WhatsApp groups on mute to try and forget they exist and scroll mindlessly through Instagram:

@Jamie Langdon

I have asked this amazing woman to #BeMyWife. She is #MyRock, my #OtherHalf, my #DreamWoman. I will treat you right forever soon-to-be Mrs Langdon!