Free The Woman Who Stole My Life by Marian Keyes Page A

pulling off her dress and crawling under her duvet. ‘I just want to go to sleep. And preferably never wake up. But I will. Go home, Stella.’
    I arrange her so she’s lying on her side and she mutters, ‘Wudja stop. I’m not going to puke. Or choke. I told you.’ She’s a strange mixture of extraordinarily drunk and entirely lucid.
    She starts to snore softly and I lie beside her and think about how sad things are. Zoe is one of the most tender-hearted people I’ve ever met, a happy-go-lucky soul who sees the good in everyone. Well, she used to be. But Brendan’s betrayal hit every part of her life – she wasn’t just publicly humiliated by his leaving, she was heartbroken. She really loved him.
    And to make matters worse, Brendan secretly dismantled the contract-cleaning company he ran with Zoe and carved off the big, profitable companies for himself, leaving Zoe to forage for small, unreliable, short-term jobs. She was killing herself trying to make it work.
    And Zoe’s two daughters, a nineteen-year-old called Sharrie and an eighteen-year-old called Moya, despise her. They were the ones who came up with the Bitter Women’s Book Club title and Zoe adopted it in an if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them defiance.
    I look down on her slumbering form. Even asleep she looks angry and disappointed. Will this happen to me? Even though my life mightn’t have gone the way I’d wanted it to, I don’t want to be bitter. But maybe you don’t get any say in these things?
    When the doorbell rings we both jump.
    ‘Who is it?’ Zoe mumbles.
    ‘My taxi driver. I forgot he was coming back. I’ll just tell him to go away.’
    ‘Don’t stay, Stella.’ She sits up.
    ‘Of course I’ll stay.’
    ‘Don’t. Really. I’m fine. We’ll just write tonight off and start everything fresh tomorrow. Okay?’
    I waver. ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘I promise.’
    I go down the stairs and out into the night. The taxi driver gives me a wary look in the rear-view. ‘Good evening?’
    ‘Great.’
    ‘Grand. Home, is it?’
    ‘Yes. Home.’

 
     
    ‘Human touch is as important as water and food and air and laughter and new shoes.’
    Extract from
One Blink at a Time
     
    On my twenty-fourth day in hospital, a man came into my cubicle. He was carrying a file and to my great alarm I recognized him – not from the hospital staff, but from my old life. It was the narky man whose Range Rover I’d crashed into, the one I’d accused of hitting on me. What was he doing here at my hospital bed? Was it something to do with the insurance claim?
    But I’d done everything right – I’d obediently filled in the lengthy forms, then I’d filled in the follow-up forms and I’d rung about it every month, only to be told that they were ‘seeking clarification’ from the other insurance companies involved; basically I’d surrendered myself to the labyrinthine process like any sensible person would.
    Surely your man wasn’t here to pressurize me to hurry it up? Even if I wasn’t unable to speak, there was nothing I could do. I was confused and afraid, then utterly
aflame
with the humiliation I’d felt when he’d told me why he wanted my phone number.
    ‘Stella?’ He wore a white doctor’s coat over a dark suit. His hair was clipped close to his head and his eyes were silvery-grey and weary, just like I remembered. ‘My name is Mannix Taylor. I’m a neurologist.’
    I didn’t even know what a neurologist was.
    ‘I’ll be working on your physical rehabilitation.’
    This came as news. I thought Dr Montgomery was in charge of my care. Mind you, as a ‘stable’ patient, I had little to offer by way of excitement and the only time I clapped eyes on him was when he was en route to one of the thrilling ‘critical’ patients in a nearby cubicle. On one occasion he’d actually said, as he’d sailed past, with his retinue, ‘Ah! You’re still here! Keep her going there, Patsy!’
    But maybe Dr Montgomery had sent this narky-man