The Ex Factor. Eva WoodsЧитать онлайн книгу.
-cc39-5b1b-87ca-29fa517507a2">
EVA WOODS grew up in Ireland and now lives in London, where she writes and lectures on creative writing. She likes wine, pop music and holidays, and thinks online dating is like the worst board game ever invented.
To Diana Beaumont, who makes me a better writer
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Interrupted Routines
Chapter 2: Pickled Eggs and Popcorn
Chapter 3: The Internet Wizard
Chapter 4: The Accidental Proposal
Chapter 5: A Decaf No-Syrup Low-Fat Soy Latte
Chapter 7: How Everyone Met Everyone
Chapter 8: Four Dates and a Social Funeral
Chapter 9: The Madwoman in the Attic
Chapter 10: Broccoli in the Bathtub
Chapter 11: Drowning in a Vat of Rescue Remedy
Chapter 12: War and Piss
Chapter 13: Bumhead and Eggface
Chapter 14: Undercover Cheerleader
Chapter 15: The Dirtiest Martini
Chapter 16: Triple Word Scores
Chapter 17: The Love Algorithm
Chapter 18: The Leather Ceiling
Chapter 19: Bling the Merciless
Chapter 20: My Miniature Heart
Chapter 21: Jurassic Garden Centre
Chapter 22: Suggestive Topiary
Chapter 23: The Awkward Makeover
Chapter 24: The Final Showdown
Chapter 25: The Incident
Chapter 26: The Dating Dessert Buffet
Chapter 27: How Voldemort met Chewbacca
Chapter 28: Bean Counting
Epilogue
Marnie
‘Will all passengers please fasten their seat belts; the captain has now started our descent…’
She ignored the announcement for as long as possible. After all, when you were running away—when you had nowhere else to go—there was no hurry to arrive. Only when the air hostess came to tell her off did she grudgingly belt up, and take out her headphones and open her window blind. From above, London was grey. Like something shrivelled, shivering in the January air. She wasn’t sure why she was coming back. Not home—she didn’t know exactly where home was right now.
The plane banked lower through freezing winter fog. Around her people began to gather their possessions, crumple up their rubbish, stretch their legs and arms. Looking forward to a new city. Buckingham Palace. The Tower of London. Madame Tussauds.
Not her. She was terrified. But if her mother had taught her anything, it was this: always get your game face on. And so she put on her huge sunglasses, despite the gloom, and brushed in-flight food from her carefully put-together outfit, reapplied red lipstick. Was the cape-coat too much? The dress too bright? No time to change now. She took out her phone and composed a tweet. Hitting the tarmac! Can’t wait to see you all, London! xx.
She had a moment to think of what she’d left, and feel the tears push at her eyes for the tenth time that journey. Game face. She pasted on a smile. The tannoy dinged, and the grey ground came into sight. She was back.
Chapter 1 Interrupted Routines
Helen
How many texts do you get in an average day? How many emails, Facebook alerts, tweets? Most get instantly forgotten—your friend obsessing about their weight or if their boss spotted them on Facebook (ironically), that marketing newsletter you keep meaning to unsubscribe from, a celebrity’s breakfast on Instagram. But sometimes you get a message that’s more than this.
This message might not say anything special. At first you might even ignore it, roll over and go back to sleep, slip your phone into your bag, forget about it. But although you won’t know it at the time, the message is the start of something that means that your life will never be the same again.
Of course, at least 99.99999 per cent of them are total rubbish, but still. You can never quite be sure.
* * *
Helen was woken by the buzz of her phone, shooting upright in bed, groping on the bedside table among the TV remote, the control for the windows blinds, the tissues, the hand cream, and the framed photo of her cat—her flat was somewhere between NASA launch control and the Pinterest board of a forty-something spinster. She blinked at the phone. Read the message again. Emitted a small ‘huh’ to the empty space beside her in the bed, then checked the time: 7.45 a.m. Only a person of deep selfishness would text a freelancer at 7.45 a.m.
The message stayed on the screen, burned behind her eyes. Her first thought