This is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollins Publishers
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First published by HarperCollins Publishers 2018
Copyright © Caroline Green 2018
Caroline Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design by Micaela Alcaino © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018
Cover photographs © Lee Avison/Trevillion Images;
Shutterstock.com(woman silhouette)
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2018 ISBN: 9780008319052
Source ISBN: 9780008308704
Version 2018-06-28
Readers: I’m so grateful to each and every one of you.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: Nina
Chapter 2: Angel
Chapter 3: Nina
Chapter 4: Lucas
Chapter 5: Nina
Chapter 6: Nina
Chapter 7: Nina
Chapter 8: Angel
Chapter 9: Lucas
Chapter 10: Nina
Chapter 11: Nina
Chapter 12: Angel
Chapter 13: Nina
Chapter 14: Nina
Chapter 15: Lucas
Chapter 16: Nina
Chapter 17: Nina
Chapter 18: Lucas
Chapter 19: Nina
Chapter 20: Angel
Chapter 21: Nina
Chapter 22: Nina
Chapter 23: Lucas
Chapter 24: Nina
Chapter 25: Angel
Chapter 26: Lucas
Chapter 27: Nina
Chapter 28: Angel
Chapter 29: Nina
Chapter 30: Lucas
Chapter 31: Nina
Chapter 32: Angel
Chapter 33: Nina
Chapter 34: Lucas
Chapter 35: Nina
Chapter 36: Angel
Chapter 37: Nina
Chapter 38: Lucas
Chapter 39: Angel
Chapter 40: Nina
Chapter 41: Angel
Chapter 42: Nina
Chapter 43: Lucas
Chapter 44: Angel
Chapter 45: Nina
Chapter 46: Nina
Chapter 47: Nina
Chapter 48: Nina
Chapter 49: Angel
Chapter 50: Lucas
Chapter 51: Nina
Chapter 52: Lucas
Chapter 53: Lucas
Chapter 54: Nina
Chapter 55: Angel
Chapter 56: Nina
Chapter 57: Nick
Chapter 58: Nina
Chapter 59: Angel
Chapter 60: Nina
Chapter 61: Lucas
Chapter 62: Nina
Acknowledgements:
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Cass Green
About the Publisher
The sun still blasts through the restaurant windows at seven pm, showcasing dust on the red plastic table cloths and monochrome movie stars on the walls. Even Sophia Loren is looking the worse for wear as she smiles down on my table-for-two, her picture yellowing and wrinkled in the unforgiving light. Two large ceiling fans churn the soupy air, bringing no relief.
The initial, barbecue-novelty of this heatwave has long passed and most of the passers-by now share the same shiny, bad-tempered patina. There’s a fraught, irritable energy in the heavy air. Earlier, on the bus into town, a young woman had unleashed a barrage of swearing at an old man she accused of hogging all the space on their double seat. Physical contact with strangers is even less welcome than it ever was.
I pluck at my neckline to let in some air; sweat is gathering under the seams of my bra. Because I’ve been living in vest tops, baggy old shorts and flip-flops after work lately, I feel imprisoned by this outfit. I don’t even like this dress that much, nor the sandals that supposedly go with it, which seem to be made mainly from barbed wire and sandpaper.
I bought the shoes and the dress from a shop I normally avoid because it’s so expensive, deciding I needed to be bolder, braver, in my wardrobe choices.
Making any kind of decisions the day after your husband of fifteen years moves out of the family home and in with his new, younger partner, isn’t, it transpires, the brightest idea.
I picture her; reasonable, smiling Laura with her huge, moist eyes and her, ‘I really hope we can become friends, Nina.’
Friends.
Ian posted a picture on Facebook today; the two of them looking tanned and happy outside a pub. Laura’s face was turned to him like a heliotrope seeking sunshine. He seems to have dropped ten years in that picture and it stung, I can tell you. If that wasn’t bad enough, Carmen, my supposed best friend, had liked the post. It was as though she’d forgotten all that stuff about being ‘better off without him’. Forgotten about my broken heart.
So, I’d bashed out a furious private message to her. She’d claimed it was ‘difficult’ because we all ‘went back a long way’ and a load of other rubbish that finally made me snap. I’m pretending not to see the missed calls and four texts she has sent since then.
It’s fair to say that it has been a shitty day.
I usually love this time of year. The thought of six weeks away from the comprehensive where I work as an English teacher should be something to relish. All those weeks without lesson planning, marking and having to mop up hormonal teenage angst. Lots of time to hang out at home. The extended summer holiday usually includes some lesson planning and a couple of meetings, but for now it stretches ahead of me. That is the problem, in a nutshell.
Last night, my twelve-year-old son, Sam, went off to stay with Ian and Laura before travelling with them to visit Laura’s parents, who live in Provence. I’ve seen the pictures of where they’re going. It’s all turquoise shutters and tumbling wisteria. Idyllic. There’s even a small pool. But the icing on the cake is the resident dog, a shaggy-haired golden retriever. Sam has always wanted a dog but Ian’s allergy to pets meant it was a no-go. I can’t help enjoying the thought of Ian spending the whole holiday sneezing. Maybe I’ll get the biggest, hairiest dog I can find while they’re away. That’ll show him.
I pretended to be excited for Sam, however hard it was to mould my mouth and face into the required shapes for a response. I want him to have a lovely time. Of course I do, but the idea of rattling around the house on my own, picturing them all together as they amble down sun-sparkled lanes surrounded by lavender fields, causes a panicky emptiness to swell inside my chest.
Must snap out of this. I take a swig of my tepid white wine and blink hard. I wish I had thought to bring something to read, or at least my iPad. I’d been watching something on Netflix in the bath, and I left it on the side. Ian disapproved of this and now I do it as often as possible in a pathetic act of rebellion.
I look around the restaurant.
There aren’t many other customers. Whether it’s because it is still early, or there is no air conditioning here, it is hard to say. A couple with two small children stoically attempt to eat with one hand each, while simultaneously pushing rising offspring back into highchairs, wiping mouths and occasionally tapping at their phone screens with the other. I remember those days all too well, but how quickly they go. People told me this but I didn’t really believe it then.
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