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Back The Lucky Escape
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR LAURA JANE WILLIAMS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. Epilogue
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. Publishing Credits
  53. Keep Reading …
  54. About the Author
  55. Fiction by the same author
  56. About the Publisher

The man in front of me was friendly-looking and approachable. An everyman. You might not turn back to look at him on the street, but you wouldn’t be mad if you got sat next to him at dinner. He wasn’t intimidating to look at, but he was cute. I didn’t mean to compare him to Alexander. God. Would I always compare every fella who crossed my path to him? Urgh. That made me so mad. For all I knew Alexander was in Timbuktu with a harem of attractive women who did CrossFit and took turns blowing him on the hour, every hour. ‘Annie Who?’ he probably said as yet another grape was delivered to his perfect mouth by a woman with an arse pert enough to park a bike in and tits that bounced like basketballs.

I refocused. The man in front of me, with his wavy dark blond hair and thoughtful eyes, was looking at me intently.

‘You’ve got no idea who I am, do you?’ He smirked. He had a levity to him, like he wasn’t laughing at me, but that we were in on a joke together. It made me want to catch up and be light, too.

But I wasn’t light. Instead, I was suddenly panicked. Maybe he was a friend of Alexander’s. Had he been in the church, at the wedding that never happened? I steeled myself for an outpouring of sympathy. This was exactly what I hadn’t wanted to happen, and exactly why I was loath to leave the house.

‘Drama camp. Summer of 2002 … Maybe 2003?’ He offered.

I shook my head, the penny dropping. ‘You went to Yak Yak Theatre Program?’ I said, slowly.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He nodded. ‘I did set design for Bugsy Malone, and I think you …’

Colour climbed up my neck and to my cheeks. If he was there for that …

‘Oh my gosh! I was a showgirl! And the understudy for Tallulah. I got to do one show when that girl – oh crap, I can’t remember her name – she broke her leg on the very last day and I got to perform!’

‘Standing ovation, as I recall. The whole place went wild. I was there. It was electric. I mean, I was a teenager so that’s a loose definition of the word electric, but I remember it. I remember your face. You don’t look any different.’