A Part of Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

forgotten what I was saying.
    ‘You can’t just walk, Amy. You’ve worked too hard at that place. Don’t tell Adrian anything, not yet. Just … call in sick. Think about all that later.’
    Later
? Because
later
would somehow suddenly mean I didn’t work at the same company as the man who’d justcar-crashed our life? Or the woman he’d chosen to go joyriding with? What could
later
possibly offer? My focus shifted from the streaks of rainwater, breaking my view of the new sandpit in the garden, to the faint reflection I could see of myself in the cold grey glass. I turned away–away from it all, back to the house James hadn’t returned to last night. Apparently, he couldn’t explain. Other than a flurry of missed calls at 3 a.m. there had been nothing.
    ‘Ame? Are you still there?’
    I leant my back against the bookcase and scanned the rest of the lounge. My own home suddenly felt foreign.
    ‘I’m here.’
    Anna had advised us to replace the old glass coffee table with this wooden one. Wood was safer, easier to affix corner cushions to. I’d bought those the same day. And the socket covers, the kitchen drawer catches and the fire guard. All deployed and ready for action. We were fully accident-proofed. If you wanted to hurt yourself around here, as in
really
cause yourself gut-wrenching pain, James’s idea of love and loyalty was probably going to be your best bet. I tried to shake his name from my head but, from nowhere, the turmoil of the last twelve hours saw its chance and rushed me again. I covered my face with my sweater sleeve, holding the lower part of the phone away so Phil wouldn’t hear.
    ‘Why don’t I come over?’ she tried.
    Quietly, I breathed through it. I felt my chest releaseagain, reluctantly unclenching like an angry fist, and risked a steady lungful of air.
    ‘I can’t stay here, Phil. I’m going to Mum’s once I’ve packed some things.’
    ‘Is Viv picking you up, or do you need a ride?’ she asked softly.
    ‘No. Thanks. I’ll get a cab.’ My voice faltered.
    ‘Are you crying? Because if you’re crying I’m coming over right now.’ A warm rush streaked down either side of my face again. I wiped the tears away, as if that might somehow hide the evidence from my friend.
    ‘Stand down, Phil. I’m not crying,’ I lied. ‘I have to go. I don’t want to be here much longer in case he turns up.’
    Phil let out an unappeased breath. ‘Okay. Call me, will you?’
    I nodded at the phone and set it down on its post before Phil could hear me lose it again.
    I hadn’t been sure that I couldn’t stay here until I’d said it out loud. Now I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t think he’d have brought her here, but it wasn’t impossible. I booked a cab and skipped upstairs, pulling closed the first door I passed. The lingering smell of recent paint was reason enough to shut off that bedroom. James said we should wait, see who we were matched with, but I’d started painting the nursery in neutrals the day we’d returned from panel. Maybe I’d jinxed it. There were superstitions about that kind of thing.
    My bedroom felt just as foreign as the rest of the house. I began stuffing a few handfuls of clothing into James’sovernight bag before lunging towards my dressing table. The bottom drawer slid out easily, revealing the prettily decorated firebox nestled safely on its cushion of winter sweaters. I couldn’t remember where the idea had originated from, my grandmother probably, but I was glad for it now. In the event of a house fire or other major catastrophe, letters, keepsakes – anything of irreplaceable value–would all be to hand in the firebox. All in one place, ready for salvation.
    I lifted the découpaged box from the open drawer and regarded it. Dedicated teacher that she was, there wasn’t much Mum couldn’t achieve with PVA glue and patience. My fingers briefly reacquainted themselves with the delicately placed art nouveau motifs in muted blues and greens, the