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The A–Z of Everything: A gorgeously emotional and uplifting book that will make you laugh and cry
Copyright
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2017
Copyright © Debbie Johnson 2017
Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover images © iStock.com (stairs and street light); Shutterstock.com (all other images)
Debbie Johnson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008150198
Ebook Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780008150204
Version: 2018-02-15
Dedication
For my mother – five years gone, and part of me still expects it to be her when the phone rings late at night.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One: The Stage Is Set
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Two: The Curtain Opens: The A–Z Begins
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Part Three: The Final Curtain
Chapter 72
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Debbie Johnson
About the Publisher
Prologue
Andrea
Forty years have passed since my own mother died, and yet I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I can still recall the sounds and the smells and the way her tiny hand felt in mine as she finally gave up the fight, as the light faded from her eyes.
I can remember the hollow feeling inside me as I made my way home to my own children, crying on the bus and ignoring the kindness of strangers as the double-decker trundled across London.
Walking through the door to our flat, overwhelmed with the need to bundle them up and keep them safe and love them so much that no harm would ever come to them. Protect them from the cruel torments of the world.
Four whole decades later, it is still so vivid. When it comes to the people you love, and the people you lose, the passage of time is irrelevant – some things simply stay with you forever.
I’m thinking about this so much more now, because this morning I was told that I am dying. Not in the slow and certain way that we are all dying – but in a two-months-if-you’re-lucky way.
The look of practised sympathy on the consultant’s face as he explained was enough to kick-start my stiff upper lip, and I silenced him with a smile. I’ve been an actress for the whole of my life, and I’ve done many a death scene.
Now, I’ve got to decide how to play my own – and what good can come out of it.
My last diary entry was a reminder to tell my friend Lewis that his ancient dog, Betty, needed a flea treatment, pronto. The one before that seemed to revolve entirely around buying a new hat for our trip to the races.
Funny how quickly things can change.
Now, I have a few weeks left – and I have to make them count. I have to scheme and work and plan like I’ve never schemed and worked and planned before. In those few weeks, God willing, I will be directing my own play – and performing a minor miracle.
Because, of course, I couldn’t actually bundle up my own children for the rest of their lives – no mother can. I couldn’t keep those two girls safe, and I couldn’t protect them from the cruellest torment of all – the way we can hurt the ones we love.
If it’s the very last thing I manage, I am determined that I will make the impossible happen. I will bang my daughters’ heads together, and make them whole. I will do as much as I can to heal them, and their future, as I have time to do.
Because they’re going to need each other, so very much. One day, very soon, they are going to wake up to a world without their mother – and, like I say, I still remember how that feels.
Her tiny hand, holding mine.
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