The First Time I Said Goodbye Read Online Free PDF

all-time-low-sunk place was an achievement. I tried to message something back, through my fuzzy-headed exhaustion and fat-fingered typing, but nothing made sense and, as a wave of jetlagged exhaustion washed over me again, I felt myself start to drift off. Given that I had barely slept in the last few months, I surrendered, blissfully, to it. Okay, it might well have been fuelled by a mammoth journey and a time difference, but I would take my sleep where I could get it.
    When I woke again, despite the black-out blinds I could tell it was morning. There was a buzz about the place, the muffled sounds of cars outside passing up and down the street – the occasional call in a foreign accent which reminded me that I was somewhere new and different.
    As I sat up in bed, I heard a knock on the door and Sam’s voice carried through. “I’ve put some coffee on. I assume you drink coffee which is probably very presumptuous of me. My mother called earlier – she is bringing your mother over in an hour. You may need a dose of something strong to keep you going.”
    I called back a quick thank-you and stood and stretched. I’d just have a quick shower first, slip into some fresh clothes and then join Sam in his kitchen. I pushed all thoughts of Craig and his text messages behind me, feeling guilty that he hadn’t been my first thought on arriving safely. Of course he would have been worried, of course I should have let him know. I would call him later and let him know that I was sorry, that I had been overwhelmed by arriving in Ireland and had been dealing with the welcome of countless relatives and that I would make it up to him when I got home. We would put our lives together again when I got home, I decided, as the hot water gushed over me. It’s not that I would forget my father, but this seemed to be the final piece in the process of losing him. Once that was done I would move on. My return to the States would herald my return to Bake My Day and I would, I vowed as I washed my hair, make it all up to Craig. It would work out, I told myself as I towelled off, dried my hair, dressed in jeans and a sweat top, and swept some moisturiser across my face. I would do for now – until I’d had some caffeine anyway. Slipping some sneakers on my feet, I headed towards the kitchen where Sam called out that breakfast was ready if I wanted it. The smell of freshly cooked bacon hit my nostrils and I realised I was starving.
    “This is a lovely welcome,” I said, taking a seat at the kitchen island and reaching for the mug of coffee he poured me.
    “We’re a hospitable race,” he said. “Famed for it.”
    He put a key on the table along with my coffee. “I have to go to work – no rest for the wicked. But feel free to use this house as your own. No rifling through my underwear drawers or anything – but, you know, make yourself comfy.”
    I realised then I knew relatively little about this man who had allowed me to stay in his house except that he had exceptional taste in bed linen and lived alone – and perhaps sometimes entertained friends in the wee small hours.
    “Work? It’s a shop, isn’t it?”
    He nodded. “Vintage clothing – all the rage, especially in these times when everyone is looking for a bargain. But not just any tat. People tend to think when you say vintage you mean stuff you rifled from your mum’s attic. We’re very particular – designer labels mostly and genuinely vintage – 50s, 60s and 70s, occasional 80s. None of this ‘it was fashionable in 1994 therefore is retro-chic’ carry-on.”
    “So your shop doesn’t smell like mothballs?” I felt I could try a joke – he seemed up for it – but as I spoke I only hoped I didn’t offend him. After all, I didn’t know him from Adam – he was just a cousin who had saved me from death by Victoria sponge the day before.
    He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling and creasing. “Perish the very thought,” he said, sipping from his coffee cup. “We do