A Hundred Pieces of Me Read Online Free PDF

you’re not pushing yourself too hard? This is me . It’s OK to be honest.’
    ‘I’m fine.’ Gina didn’t want sympathy from Naomi right now: it would unbalance her fearless mood to be reminded that she needed looking after. ‘I look ropy because I’ve been up half the night chucking stuff into boxes.’ She paused, then said, with a ferocity that was only just covered by her smile, ‘I know what ill feels like. I’m not ill. I’m feeling a bit . . . raw, but not ill, OK?’
    Naomi tried to look satisfied with that, but Gina noticed she folded her arms. ‘Well, you know best, Gee. But you’ve got to tell me if things get too much. You don’t have to live here in all this chaos. Come and stay with us until you’ve sorted the boxes out. Hey, do that! Willow would love to have her fairy godmother around. And we’ve got room . . .’
    ‘That’s kind but there’s no need.’ Gina waved wryly at the mess. ‘I have to get this under control in one go, or it’ll never get done. And it’s therapeutic, working out what to throw away, what I don’t need any more. What might benefit someone else. It’s good.’
    ‘Yeah, that’s the bit I’m having trouble with. You, getting rid of things.’ She pretended to feel Gina’s forehead. ‘You sure you’re all right?’
    ‘The more I chuck out, the better I feel.’
    ‘Well, don’t I feel bad,’ said Naomi, with a wry sigh. ‘I’ve just brought you one more bag to sort through. Some of it’s to eat, though. I bet you’re not eating enough.’
    ‘I’m hardly wasting away,’ Gina scoffed, then stopped as she remembered she hadn’t actually eaten since . . . the previous morning? Over the past few days her appetite had come and gone with the unpredictable surges of energy that propelled her into mad activity, then dropped away, leaving her staring, amazed and exhausted, at the unfamiliar place she was in.
    ‘Knew you wouldn’t have. That’s why I brought breakfast.’ Naomi pointed at the bag. ‘Don’t want you keeling over. Where am I going to get another best mate at this late stage? Eh? Not to mention a reliable babysitter.’
    Despite her cheery tone, Naomi’s eyes were searching her face with a motherly concern that made Gina feel a bit tearful. She gestured towards the open-plan kitchen. ‘Climb through and make us some tea, then. I unpacked the kitchen boxes last night. You won’t believe how much stuff we had in that kitchen. Do you know how many mugs there were? Forty-five.’
    ‘ Forty-five ?’ Naomi gave it the full comic timing pause. ‘Was that all?’
    ‘I know. Two charity bags full. There were seven different “I heart” mugs. Made me look very fickle.’
    ‘So how many did you keep?’
    ‘Five?’ Gina made it sound light but every keep-sell-chuck decision felt like a bigger statement to the universe about her future life. Keeping two champagne flutes was a hopeful message. She’d chucked the three-tier light-up punchbowl: end-of-season football parties were never going to happen again. Thank God. ‘I thought five was a good number. Somewhere between simple living and I-still-believe-I’ll-have-people-round-for-coffee.’
    Naomi considered it, then nodded. ‘I like that reasoning. Did you keep that glass cake stand? For birthday parties?’
    ‘I did. Where there’s cake, there’s hope.’
    ‘I agree. Now, where are your plates?’
    The kitchen was brand new and very streamlined, with no visible handles or appliances. The granite work surface gleamed after Gina’s cleaning fit in the small hours, and two of the kitchen boxes had been sorted and despatched. Only the bare essentials had made it onto the worktop: one balloon whisk, one spatula, one wooden spoon, one Microplane grater, one silver fish slice, all stored in a Victorian earthenware jar. Somehow the functionality of it, Gina thought, made her appear more like a serious cook than the cupboards full of unused pasta machines and juicers had.
    The juicer was