My second novel, Happy Endings, will be released in just seven weeks and so I thought I'd give you a little excerpt to get you in the mood.
The book is written from four first-person perspectives. The main characters are Kate, Ed, Emma and Jack. Over the next few weeks, I'm going to post one excerpt from each character.
Today it's Kate, who is the 'unofficial' lead character. The book is very much an ensemble piece and each character has their own storyline, but as the book evolved Kate emerged as the one with the most to say. I really wanted to make it a true ensemble and I think each story is a little novel in its own right. As with any ensemble, whether it's a film like, Love Actually, or a novel like Mike Gayle's, The Life and Soul of the Party, we always get drawn to one particular story. That's how Kate became my 'unofficial' lead. The funny thing is that my editor loved one of the other stories more, and I hope that is the strength of this book; everyone will have their own favourite storyline - while still enjoying the others.
Twenty-nine year old, Kate Jones, is in a long-term relationship with, Ed Hornsby. They met at university and enjoy a comfortable life together in London. Ed earns good money working in The City, while Kate does well in PR. However, she isn't happy. Kate has yearned to travel the world since she was young, and with her life seemingly set in stone, she feels the need to get away before it's too late. With Ed refusing to go, she sets off alone, the world her oyster, but suddenly she starts to have regrets and wonders whether she's destined to repeat the mistakes of her father.
This excerpt is the first real chapter of the book. There is a prologue before this chapter, but this felt like a good place to introduce Kate's story.
The eBook is released on August 15th and the paperback on October 10th. Enjoy.
Kate
‘Love you,’ said Ed, holding my hands gently in his.
‘Love you too,’ I said. A wash of salty tears, which
I’d been trying my best to keep in check until I was at least on the plane,
suddenly leaked out and slid down my face. I pitied the unlucky person who had
to sit next to me, a blubbery backpacker bound for Bangkok, for twelve hours.
‘I should probably get a move on. My flight leaves in forty minutes and I still
have to go through security.’
We were at the departures gate at Heathrow: the final
goodbye hurdle. People walked past, apprehensive-looking parents with children
who clung tightly to their teddy bears, oblivious solo travellers playing with their iPhones,
businessmen and flight crew, while Ed and I stood motionless, caught somewhere
between the past and the future. It was why I loved airports, because they were
neither a part of where you’d been or where you were going. They were a
separate entity. A sort of purgatory between states of being that held the
promise of adventure and freedom.
‘I just …’
‘What, Ed?’
‘I just wish you weren’t going, that’s all.’
The past week had been the Olympic Games of emotional
blackmail. Ed had been quiet, depressed, loud, obnoxious, loving and every other
possible state in the hope something would break me down and stop me from
leaving. Now
he was being morose. His whole being was dripping with sullenness.
Ever since that blustery November evening when I’d sat
him down and explained I had to go travelling otherwise I’d regret it for the
rest of my life, he’d had the same strained expressions of annoyance and incredulity. He couldn’t understand why I had to do it and,
like a lot of men when placed in an uncomfortable emotional situation, he made
it all about him.
‘Is it something I’ve done?’ were his first words.
‘Is this about me?’ were his second.
‘How can I change your mind?’ were his third.
I tried to explain it had nothing to do with him: I
needed this for me. I conceived the idea after Nan died and left me some money;
it wasn’t much, but sufficient for a year away and just enough left over for my
half of the mortgage. I’d realised that, at twenty-nine, if I didn’t do
something a bit impetuous right away, that would be it. My life would tumble
headlong into middle-age and the usual suspects of marriage, kids and a fridge
door full of mundane lists that would run my life forever. I needed time to
breathe. When I was young I thought I was special and would do something
amazing with my life, and then I grew up. I wanted that feeling back. I wanted
to be amazing again.
The simple truth was I wasn’t completely happy. It
wasn’t one thing in particular, but the combination of every aspect of my life
not equating to a big, happy whole. My job in public relations was stressful
and the initial excitement I’d felt when I started the job after university had
been replaced with depressing feeling of inevitability. I looked at the people
higher up the corporate ladder and I didn’t want to become them: crushed by the
weight of a career that sustained a life I wasn’t even sure I wanted. Every
tiny facet of our lives seemed so depressingly settled in a way I hadn’t ever
intended. I needed to get away. I needed a break. And, of course, there was the
tiny fact that I’d really thought Ed would come with me.
‘I’ll be back before you know it. It will fly by,’ I
said, trying my best to keep our last few moments together as civil and upbeat
as possible. I wanted Ed to be happy for me. I wanted to see a spark of
something in his eyes other than the lingering disappointment and bitterness
that had kept me awake for the past week.
‘It will for you. You’re off travelling the world,
while I’m going to be stuck here in depressing, miserable London, working like
a dog for twelve hours a day just waiting for you to come back.’
‘You could have come too,’ I said, finally losing my
patience as he made the same cloyingly annoying face he’d been making for the
previous two months.
‘You know why I can’t come,’ said Ed in that oh-so-patronising
voice of his.
I hated it when I felt like I was talking to city
banker Ed. I imagined him at work in his giant phallic office, shouting at
other miserable-looking suits and telling people to buy this and sell that, while
nervous-looking secretaries served up coffee and biscuits, terrified of being
scolded because the FTSE was down against the Yen. It wasn’t the Ed I knew and the Ed I loved.
‘But don’t you see. All the reasons why you’re saying
no are the same reasons why I have to leave. I know you love me – I love you
too – but it isn’t about that. I can’t keep going along pretending everything’s
fine when it isn’t. I don’t want to wake up at forty and blame you for me not
doing this. I want to be happy and this is going to make me happy.’
‘So what you’re saying is I don’t make you happy
anymore,’ said Ed glibly.
‘Don’t be like that, Ed, please. I know this isn’t
what you had planned for us and you think it’s a giant waste of time, but I don’t. Look,
I don’t want to leave on an argument; can you please just be happy for me?’
‘Promise me one thing,’ he said, a sudden cloud of
vulnerability descending upon his face. He reminded me of one of those
children of the war, fleeing London during the blitz for the safety of the
countryside. A sad little schoolboy standing by a steam engine while his
parents cried and handed him a jam sandwich for the journey. All he needed was
a raggedy old teddy bear under his arm and a pair of short grey
trousers. ‘Promise me you won’t change.’
I suppose what he meant was, don’t cheat on me and not
come back. I had no intention of cheating on Ed though and even if I was I
wouldn’t have needed to go to such extreme measures. Plenty of men at work had
shown enough interest in me and hinted that if I ever wanted to turn public
relations into private relations, they would happily oblige. My trip wasn’t
about men. It wasn’t about sex, Ed or having a quarter-life crisis, it was
about me. It was something I had to do. For me.
‘Of course I’m not going to
change. It’s just a six-month holiday, Ed, not six years in a kibbutz.’
‘Good, you’d better not. I want to marry the girl you
are right now,’ said Ed, forcing a smile.
‘Come here you two,’ I said, turning to Jack and Emma,
who had been standing dutifully behind Ed, waiting for their moment to say
goodbye. We’d done everything with them over the last five years. They were our
couple of choice: the two additional sides who made us a perfect square. They
waded in and we had a group hug. Four late-twenty-somethings at Heathrow
airport; it could have been a Richard Curtis film – except for the distinctly
un-romantic-comedy air wafting towards me from Ed.
Emma had been my best friend since primary school and
the one person who when I said I wanted to go travelling didn’t scoff or look
disappointed, but supported it wholeheartedly. She encouraged me from day one
because she knew what it meant. I would miss her and our chats terribly, Saturday
mornings at Starbucks catching up on the week, bitching about the boys and
gossiping about everything and nothing.
‘I love you all,’ I said, trying to stem the rising mass of
tears that were forming a less-than-orderly queue behind my eyes.
‘Just make sure you’re back in time for my wedding,’
said Emma, tears welling up
in her eyes. ‘You’re a bridesmaid, remember?’
‘I’ll be back by then. Promise. And fingers crossed
for the film.’
I gave Jack a quick peck on the cheek and Emma a long
tearful hug before I took one last look at Ed. I was afraid I’d forget what he
looked like, which was crazy because I’d seen him every day for the past eight
years. But it felt like once I stepped onto the plane his face would be wiped
from my memory forever. The thick, dark hair with the schoolboy haircut I
publicly mocked, but secretly quite liked. The steely blue-grey eyes, the long,
thin nose, the high cheek bones, the slightly narrow mouth and the chin dimple;
the sort of face that would look good on a coin. His weekend-casual outfit,
which wasn’t actually that casual, as though he could never quite let go of his
weekday self: navy blue V-neck jumper over white work shirt, khaki chinos, boat
shoes and a long wool coat. Ed didn’t really do casual. At weekends, while I
would slouch around the house in pyjama bottoms and old T-shirts, Ed
wouldn’t go less than a pair of dark jeans and a freshly ironed polo shirt.
I filed a mental snapshot and gave Ed one last kiss
before I turned around and walked away, too afraid to look back. Too afraid the
life I was leaving behind was not only better than the one I was heading
towards, but also that it wouldn’t be there when I got home.
As the plane turned to begin its take-off, I looked
out of the window. It was a typical drab winter’s day at Heathrow. Sullen
clouds drifted across the runway, making everything seem like a dream. England’s
green and pleasant land was hiding behind a smokescreen of cheerlessness. I
kept thinking back to what Ed said in the airport about not changing. I
promised I wouldn’t, but I knew it was a promise I wouldn’t be able to keep.
As
the plane took off, slowly gaining altitude above London, fighting through the
dark, leaden clouds to the bluer skies above, I began to cry. For months all I
had wanted was to be on that plane. I had been so excited to leave and begin my
adventure, but finally, sitting alone, all I felt was a terrible sickness and a
craving for what I was leaving behind. I had wanted the change. I had wanted to
feel the ripple of its excitement touch me again and move me the way it used
to. I had wanted to travel, but now I was terrified it was a decision I might regret
for the rest of my life.
Until next time,
Hugs,
Jon X
