The Other Us: the RONA winning perfect second chance romance to curl up with

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e761e35e-1ab7-5488-98b5-2fd6493dc9c3)

My first thought is that I am dead.

How strange, I think, as I lie very still, desperately trying not to open my eyes. Yesterday was such an ordinary day. I wasn’t ill, as far as I was aware. I went to the supermarket, watched something really dull with Dan on the telly and then we argued and I went to bed alone.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe I popped a blood vessel in my head while I was sleeping, from all the stress. Only that doesn’t make sense. It was more of a grumpy tiff than a full-on, plate-throwing kind of row. After twenty-four years of marriage, Dan and I never do anything that involves that much energy – or passion – any more.

It vaguely occurs to me that if I’d known the previous evening was to be my last on earth that I really should have spent it doing something more interesting, something less middle-aged, like tango dancing with a brooding Latin stranger or watching the Northern Lights shimmer across the polar sky. Instead, I’d spent it in the sleepy commuter town of Swanham in Kent, watching an hour-long documentary on the life cycle of a cactus – Dan’s choice.

Slightly disgusted with myself, and feeling more than a little resentful towards my husband, I turn my thoughts back to the present.