Love...Maybe: The Must-Have Eshort Collection

‘You’re divorced now, my love. And only last week, with Valentine’s Day and your big birthday party looming, what did the utter idiot go and do?’

‘Tell me!’ I croak weakly back at her.

‘Only went and announced that he’s getting married again. Makes me sick to my stomach … and when I think of the glittering career you gave up, just for him? But you know what you must do, darling? Channel your pain. See all this as a hidden opportunity for growth.’

I slump back onto the ground, hating this reality, this parallel time that I somehow seem to be stuck in. And hating that Amanda is now talking like the complete and utter tosspots she used to make fun of. ‘Channel your pain?’ Please.

I plead with everyone that I’m actually fine, just a bit groggy and that I definitely don’t need to go to hospital.

So Amanda takes me home. Except it’s not my gorgeous Victorian house that I renovated from scratch and invested pretty much all my savings into over the years. Instead, when the taxi drops Amanda and me off, we’re in a housing estate miles out of town, full of tiny dormer bungalows cramped one of top of the other.

‘Amanda,’ I say weakly, ‘I don’t live here! I live in Blackrock, on Avoca Avenue, in a gorgeous Victorian redbrick … you’ve been there loads of times, you know this!’

‘In your dreams you do, sweetie. This is all you could afford after you and James separated. But it’s the Four Seasons compared with where I live. I mean, look at me, almost forty and I can only afford to dress out of TK Maxx, while sharing the most appalling flat ever with possibly the two slobbiest actors – both practising alcoholics, by the way – in town. This to me, is luxury of the highest order, even if it isn’t quite the Ritz Carlton.’

The house is revolting. It’s where ten-year-old IKEA furniture comes to die. I don’t have a car it seems and my big jammy editorial job is just a figment of my imagination. Now, it seems I’m a lowly reporter for one of those free handout papers they give to hassled commuters at train stations.

I didn’t mean to, but somehow, by playing God, I’ve managed to ruin everyone’s life, my own included. At least the way things were before, I did have a great career. And Amanda had plenty of money, fabulous clothes and a lovely place to live. And she was herself, lovley, gorgeous, funny Amanda and not this affected thesp she’s morphed into. And Sophie had four fabulous kids … and now, because of my meddling, we’re all so much worse off.

Suddenly I feel nauseous all over again and there it is – that whooshing sound as the blood rushes back up to my head. I clench my stomach, not sure what’s coming next as my head starts to hammer away mercilessly. But just the pain gets so bad I think I’m about to gag, my eyes open and now … can this be for real? I squint and blink and try to take it all in.

Because somehow I’m not back in the tennis club at my birthday party at all now.

Instead I’m lying on a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines, with the girls beside me and Mum perched on a chair at the far end of the room.

‘She’s back!’ Amanda almost screams, gripping my hand. ‘Kate, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?’

‘You gave us all such a fright love,’ says Mum. ‘Kept talking all sorts of rubbish about seeing your father again. But the doctor says with plenty of rest, you’ll be just fine.’

‘And then you kept having this imaginary conversation with James Watson,’ says Sophie. ‘Scary stuff, babe.’

‘Sophie, how many kids do you have?’ I hiss urgently at her.

‘Four,’ she shrugs, ‘why? You wanna adopt one?’

‘And Amanda … did you once used to be in a soap opera?’

‘Jeez, you’re just out of a coma and you want my life’s CV now? Course I did, you eejit!’ she says, sounding 100 per cent like the old Amanda again.

And that’s when I know.

I just know I’m finally back in my own reality. In 2015, where I belong. With my two best mates and Mum; the people who matter most to me.

So there and then I make my real birthday wish. I wish that I could be nothing but grateful for every single life choice I made in my life that took me to this point. For my dream job, my lovely home and most of all for my family and friends. Because whether I thought so or not, every choice each of us made along the way was absolutely the right thing for us.

‘We’re all so lucky,’ is all I can whisper, before slumping weakly back onto the pillow.

We mightn’t have thought so, but actually everything is fine.

It just might take me till Valentine’s Day next year to explain it, that’s all.

If you liked Single, Forty and Fabulous, why not try… (#ulink_d6daf5ab-383f-5b5f-aa91-3dd6d3f736d5)

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About the Author (#ulink_3fbf8207-35a6-5f05-9e82-03438628cf95)

Claudia Carroll is top ten bestselling author in the UK and a number one bestselling author in Ireland, selling over 670,000 copies of her paperbacks alone. She was born in Dublin where she still lives. Her 2013 novel ME AND YOU was shortlisted for the Bord Gais Popular Choice Irish Book Award.

(#ulink_13560dfb-3bc4-5ab9-ac34-910cb27ce550)

BETH THOMAS

An Unforgettable Proposal The Guilty One

Copyright (#ulink_88d8177b-b683-5f99-85d0-a678f05e0753)

Avon

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

Copyright © Beth Thomas 2015

Beth Thomas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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