Girl on the Run Read Online Free PDF Page A

Polly
    That would be nice, but I doubt it. You should have seen the excitement when they spotted the photo. They were all crowded round it gawping . 　I left. I couldn't bear it. It's just horrible. I don't want to spend my life with people watching my every move again. What am I going to do?
    ##
    From: Polly, To: Jane
    Oh Jane. I don't think there's anything you CAN do. You're just going to have to tough it out. It might not be as bad as you think.
    * * *
    Ruth returned to the office before Jane could reply. She quickly closed down her email and blinked back residual tears.
    Ruth sat down and started pounding on her keyboard. Her eyes were sparkling.
    Jane braced herself for questions, but none came. Was Ruth staying silent out of politeness? As the minutes ticked by, Jane felt her nerves stretching more and more taut. Finally, unable to bear the suspense, she decided to face the questions. ‘What did it say?’
    Ruth looked up. ‘Pardon?’
    ‘ The magazine. What did it say?’
    ‘ Oh.’ Ruth looked furtive. ‘Push the door to, will you?’
    Jane felt a prickle of hope. She pushed the door closed, as requested.
    ‘There's this girl. Dominique …’ Ruth began.
    Relief washed through Jane, making her body suddenly feel light. It wasn't her they'd seen in the magazine. It was someone else.
    Oh thank God.
    * * *
    From: Stevie, To: Marshall
    I see Dominique's made it into the gossip mags – or at least someone who looks very much like her has. She's going out with some footballer, apparently. Have you seen it? Are you Ok ? 　Stevie.
    ##
    From: Marshall, To: Stevie
    One of the other attorneys has very kindly left the magazine on my desk for me. Although I'm not sure exactly why she thought I'd like to study a photo of my ex draped over some footballer! Dominique and I split up ages ago. Why should I care whoshe decides to snog ? 　Marsh.
    * * *
    Jane had been working at Ramsdean and Tooze for a week and she still couldn't get over the fact that she lived in London now. Normally, she liked to ride on the top deck of the bus, well above the familiar shop displays, where the buildings revealed their true nature. While the shop facades were soulless and modern, the second floors of the buildings displayed styles and decorations that spoke of what they used to be. She found it fascinating.
    She hadn't managed to catch a double decker bus that day, so she was at street level. At least she had a seat by the window, so she could watch the streams of people on the streets. What was it about London crowds that fascinated her so much?
    It wasn't the diversity of races and colours. Manchester had that, although to a lesser degree. Nor was it the sheer number of people. Partly, she realised, it was what they were wearing. Classic, grunge, traditional garb from various countries and some outfits that were just plain wacky. In the North people tended to dress more uniformly, especially on a winter night.
    Jane had tottered to clubs wearing open -toed high heels and a small dress under her huge coat. She had never been comfortable in the tiny scraps of clothing that most women went clubbing in. After Ashby became famous she had opted for slightly more expensive, longer dresses for media events, earning her the reputation of ‘classy bird’ among the other band members.
    The bus crawled along in the slow traffic and drew up at a bus stop. There was a large advert on the side of the bus shelter. Jane found herself staring straight at Ashby. It was a nice photo, airbrushed slightly to get rid of the acne scars on his cheeks. He stood in the foreground, looking moodily at the camera, with the band fanned out behind him. His light brown hair had been highlighted to make it shine and the camera had caught the lucent blue of his eyes perfectly. He looked younger than he was. And very sexy.
    Jane instinctively ducked, hiding her face, until she remembered that she was in London where it was very unlikely anyone would recognise her. As the