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Back One Winter Morning Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. By the same author
  4. Dedication
  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. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Acknowledgements
  54. Read More
  55. Two Years Later
  56. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Billy has finished his pint and wants to know if he should get another. He is one of my dearest friends, but when I look up at him and see the unmistakable glimmer of hope in his eyes, all I want to do is run away, back to the security blanket of home, where I am free to wallow as much as I want. I feel uncomfortable here now, but it’s not because I’m on a date with Billy – it’s because I actually hate pretending to him that everything is fine. He deserves better than this fake version of me, and this clown act that I’m having to put on tonight is exhausting.

Lifting my glass of wine, I drain it forlornly.

‘Come on,’ says Billy, his fingers warm in the crook of my arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, returning once again to the word I seem to use more often than any other these days.

Billy shakes his head, deflecting my apology.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I get it, Genie – you don’t have to explain.’

I’m not sure I would even know how, but I don’t say as much to him.

Billy looks at me without a trace of disgruntlement. His concern, as ever, seems purely to be focused on how I feel, and what I want. Not for the first time, I feel lucky to have such an incredible friend. I certainly don’t deserve him.

‘To be continued, Nash,’ he says, grinning at me as he pushes all the remaining balls into the nearest pockets. ‘Get your coat on and I’ll walk you home.’

Penguin walking logo

3

It is the day after David pulverised me with his revelation, and Hayley is running late.

My best friend has many talents, but timekeeping is definitely not one of them – it’s one of the many things we have in common, our chaotic disorganisation. She said that she would aim for just after four p.m., and it’s almost five now, the December sky beyond my windows an inky black. As soon as I reach for my mobile to call her, however, I hear the distant chime of the doorbell, followed shortly by the muffled sound of David’s voice, then feet on the stairs.

I have been friends with Hayley Thomas ever since the summer of our very first Pony Club Camp. Back then, she was saddled with a rotund and very greedy piebald pony called Boris, while Anna and David had arranged for me to loan out a chestnut gelding named Fox, who jumped like a stag but spooked at everything.