Someone Like You Read Online Free PDF

wrap this thing up in three days if our bowlers do what they’re paid for!’
    Dan waved him off and then let his gaze wander over the low dunes to the white-foamed caps of the water and the horizon beyond. He’d been feeling antsy the past couple of days, housebound. Like a prisoner. He needed to get out of the house and go for a walk. But not now. Not until it was dark. Until then, there would be people around and he might run into one of the locals and be obliged to say hello, make small talk. Everyone seemed to know who he was and what had happened, even though he had no clue who they were. He didn’t want to face the inevitable, ‘So, how are you?’ questions from total strangers, no matter how well meaning.
    So he’d stayed off the beach during the day when the tourists were in town, and at dusk when the locals emerged with their dogs. He walked at night, once the sun had set, when he could roam the beach in solitude after the tide had come in and swallowed most of the beach. The dim streetlight didn’t shine as far as the sand, so it was always as dark as a dog’s guts out there. And that suited him fine.
    Dan checked his watch. He wondered what tonight’s delivery would bring. While he waited, he flipped open his laptop, connected to the world and caught up on some news. He read the online cricket coverage and the analysis of the play so far. He ordered some groceries and then checked the Blackburn and Son Developments website. Just for old times’ sake, he clicked on the ‘About Us’ tab and was slightly relieved that his name and photo were still there, right next to Ry’s profile. Looking at that smiling man, sharply dressed in a navy suit, crisp white shirt and burgundy tie, felt strange. He hardly recognised himself, hadn’t been that person for months. Maybe this alternate Dan still existed, and was living back in Adelaide, enjoying the pre-accident life he’d walked away from.
    He closed his laptop. He hadn’t even brought any of those clothes with him when he’d moved down to Middle Point. They were all in storage, had been since he’d rented out his Adelaide home a few months back. He’d brought only the barest of essentials with him to suit this simplified, pared-down new life.
    At eight o’clock, he found a white box with veal Parmagiana, parsnip mash and a sourdough roll on the doorstep.
    On the fifth night of the home delivery service, it was twice-cooked pork belly with steamed rice. That particular meal went to the top of Dan’s charts.
    Night six was freshly caught Coorong Mullet with tossed salad and balsamic vinaigrette.
    By night seven, Dan was hungry at about a quarter to eight. Hell, he was starting to act like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every minute until eight o’clock seemed like an hour. He sat quietly, waiting to hear footsteps. Nothing. So without waiting for a knock, he opened the front door at eight o’clock on the dot. No one was there and disappointment skittered through him.
    He looked down at the doormat. This time, there was a note inside the box, written by hand, restaurant messy with a big loop on the ‘g’.
    Tagliatelle with Blue Swimmer Crab in a tomato sugo. In case you’re allergic to shellfish. Green salad .
    He wasn’t. This time, he didn’t eat it out of the takeaway container. He’d grown tired of that. It made him feel like a uni student again, when he used to consume mountains of plastic instant noodles straight from their polystyrene cups. He found a clean dinner plate and tipped the pasta out onto it. The aroma was unbelievable. He poured himself a glass of water and moved to the table, sat down like a grown-up. He looked around the room. Silent, empty, lonely.
    For the first time in months he wished he had someone to share it with.
    Lizzie was feeling quite proud of herself. She had the whole meals on wheels scheme totally organised and everyone at the pub had slipped into her routine without a hitch. By seven-thirty each night, she would give