All We Have Lost Read Online Free PDF Page A

I’m humbled.
     
    The rest of my clients take the news almost disappointingly well. I arrive home in a state of mild shock that I’ve done it. Actually taken the first step towards changing my life. I send Sally home for the day and hug the kids.
    We make Rice Krispie buns with Jelly Tots on top. And eat too many.
    Ian arrives with a bottle of Moët and a ‘body hug’.
    I get emotional. ‘I didn’t think you cared.’
    ‘Of course I cared. I just had to let you decide for yourself.’
    ‘But the decision involved you too.’
    ‘I had to step back, Kim. You kept changing your mind. One minute you wanted to quit and that was fine by me. The next minute you didn’t, and that was fine too. But when you kept switching, I started to stress. With every change of mind, you were changing our future. I had to stop listening.’
    I grimace. ‘If it’s any consolation, I was driving myself mad too.’
    ‘No. No consolation.’ He kisses me. ‘Congratulations! You’ve done it. Now, let’s get on with our lives.’
    I look at him and worry that I am asking too much of him. ‘You are happy about this, aren’t you?’
    ‘Do you want me to kill you?’
    I laugh. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Look, Kim. As always – if you’re happy, I’m happy.’
    I smile. ‘I am. I’ll make this work. I promise.’ Writing is my new career. I’ll treat it as such. Nothing will get in my way.
    He raises his glass. ‘To the next Agatha Christie.’
    ‘God. Couldn’t you pick someone more contemporary?’
    ‘Well, I don’t know. I don’t read crime.’
    ‘Patricia Cornwell.’
    He tries again. ‘To the next Patricia Cornwell.’
    My glass is a sword I raise to the sky. ‘Let the adventure begin.’

CHAPTER SIX
     
    A month later, I exit the world of PR the same way I entered, quietly. No big party. No grand finale. I hate letting Sally go. Worse, I hate that the kids will be separated from her. She promises to babysit. And I promise myself I’ll be the best mum ever.
    Work commitments evaporate. Mornings free at last.
    At the kitchen table, I face a blank screen. And can’t decide. Should I plot the whole thing out first or just start writing? I heard or read somewhere that you should start with a character – an interesting character – and give him or her a dilemma. 
    Given that I’m writing crime, I decide to go with plot. I need one that’s never been done before. I root around in my brain. Without success. I pace the kitchen. They say that every plot is in the Bible. I should get a Bible…. Actually, I should buy a book on writing. And some crime novels.
    I go straight to Amazon. And browse. Who’d have thought there would be so many books on writing? It reminds me of the gold rush; the people making the money were the ones selling the shovels.
    I can’t decide on my shovel.
    I check my emails. There’s one from Sarah – who I still haven’t told. Ironically, I didn’t want her to think I was copying her.
    So I email her. She replies instantly, wishing me luck – and calling me a kept woman. To Sarah, relying on a man would be like selling her soul in a mail order catalogue. It’s not something I’m shouting about either. But it’s temporary. Like going back to college. Or losing a job. It’s a blip. And it’s character building. How much more rounded will I be having faced rejection from publishers? Because there will be rejection. I’m not naïve enough to believe otherwise.
    It occurs to me that my inbox is crowded with emails I no longer need. Browsing through such subject headings as, ‘Head-above-the-rest mousse’ and ‘Just Smell It,’ I wonder how I did this for a living for so long. A lovely thought hits: I don’t need to deal with this any more. I delete the most recent. Bing! Instant freedom. Bing, bing, bing! An actual buzz. Only one thousand-three-hundred-and-eighteen to go. Maybe I should keep some excitement for tomorrow.
    An email from an old, dear friend reminds me of his existence. I should