Three Amazing
Things About You
Jill Mansell
Pub date: October 4, 2016
ISBN: 9781492618065
Hallie has a
secret…doesn’t everybody?
Hallie doesn’t have long to live. And to make things even more
complicated, she’s in love with a guy who’s seriously out of bounds. She’s
never going to let him know, of course; she’s just going to enjoy every
remaining moment of her crush. She’s also determined to spend her last months
helping those who write into her Dear Rose column with problems of their own.
Her doctors can’t fix her, but maybe she can fix a few other people’s dilemmas
before it’s too late.
All our lives are full of choices, for better or worse. The amazing
thing to see is how connected we all are—in ways we don’t even know. On
occasion, we have the chance to see the ways we change one another’s lives for
the better.
Amazon US / Amazon UK / B & N / Kobo / Indiebound
Pleased with herself, Tasha turned
left and headed for the last shop. As she pushed open the door, her favorite
Christmas song was playing and a blast of cool, deliciously scented air filled
her lungs. She overheard a small girl say, “Mummy, look at that lady in the
pink coat, she’s pretty,” and quite suddenly all was right with the world. A
wave of joy enveloped her. This afternoon she was flying off to see her mum in
the South of France and they would spend Christmas together…what could be more
perfect than that?
Twenty minutes later, all was no
longer right with the world and icy fingers appeared to be closing around her
heart, while her own fingers scrabbled desperately for the third time through
her handbag and pockets.
“It’s here somewhere. It has to be
here. I had it in the last shop…”
The line behind her had already
begun to tut with irritation at the delay.
“Better see if you left it there,
then,” said the singularly unsympathetic girl manning the payment desk.
“But I know I didn’t leave it
behind. I had it in my hand…” It was impossible to mentally retrace your steps
when Slade were bellowing MERRY CHRIIIIIIIISSSTMAAAAAS
out of the speakers and you were gripped with panic.
The man behind her in the line
said loudly, “Excuse me, my parking meter’s about to run out. Can I pay for my
stuff?”
“Yes.” The girl behind the till
pushed Tasha’s items to one side and reached for the next customer’s basket.
Oh God, where was her credit card?
What had she done with it? Feeling sick, Tasha searched through her pockets
again. Three days ago, her debit card had snapped in half when she’d stupidly
used it to clear ice from the car windscreen, and the replacement hadn’t
arrived yet.
And now her credit card had
vanished. Nightmare, nightmare. “If it’s been stolen, you
need to cancel it,” a woman in the line reminded her.
Stolen…
Images of the card falling to the
ground and being stealthily pocketed filled Tasha’s brain. They could rack up
so much money on it, even in just twenty minutes. She nodded and said, “I don’t
know the number to ring to report it stolen.”
“Nor me,” said the woman, adding
helpfully, “but I know it’s printed on the back of your card.”
Gathering up her bags, Tasha
turned and hurried out of the shop. When she’d been struggling to carry
everything in M&S, she’d given up trying to fit the card back into her
overstuffed purse. It was all coming back to her now; she’d slid it into one of
the plastic bags instead. Her heart galloped into optimistic overdrive at the
realization that the shopping bag was one of those she’d discarded during her
Tetris-style reorganization.
Which meant, fingers crossed…it should
still be in the trash can.
Out of breath and panting, Tasha
stood and stared at the trash, relieved that it hadn’t been emptied but
slightly put off by the amount of junk that had been crammed in since she’d
left it, not least the upended polystyrene container now dripping the remains
of an unwanted doner kebab over the items beneath it.
Life would be easier too if it
could have been one of those topless cans that were open to the elements. But
no, this was the rectangular kind with an enclosed roof and letter-box openings
around the side. Although luckily a bit wider than an actual letter box.
Oh well, better get on with it.
Tasha put her many bags down on the pavement, removed her pink woolen coat and
rolled up the sleeves of her black dress…
Eurgh, this was truly gross. Within seconds her hand was
gluey with chili sauce, there were bits of shredded lettuce stuck to her bare
arm, and an upside-down McDonald’s cup was spilling melted ice cream over her
too. There were cigarette butts in there, vinegar-soaked chips, and something
repulsively slimy and unidentifiable.
“Hungry, are we? If you’re that
desperate, I’ll buy you a burger!”
Fabulous, just what she needed. A
gaggle of teenage boys with skateboards and micro-scooters had gathered round
to watch.
“I saw an old drunk bloke puking
up in that can earlier,” one of the boys called out.
“He had a piss in it too.” His
friend, joining in, caused the rest of them to crack up.
OK, that wasn’t true, they were
just saying it to wind her up. Pointedly ignoring them, Tasha knelt down and
leaned against the icy cast-iron trash can, pushing her arm further into its
grim depths. The boys were still snickering, other shoppers were stopping to
stare and she was floundering helplessly in the dark, trying to feel for
a lone credit card inside a scrunched-up plastic bag…
“Could you get your hand out of
there?” barked a hatchet-faced woman holding a coffee cup.
“I’m just looking for something.”
“Well, I need to throw this in the
trash, and I’m in a hurry.”
“Sorry, but—”
Too late: the woman had already
lobbed the cardboard cup into the trash, leaving Tasha with an arm drenched in
lukewarm cappuccino.
Under her breath she muttered,
“And a very merry Christmas to you too.”
“I bet there’s dog crap in there
an’ all.” The boys were by this time helpless with laughter, competing to come
up with more and more stomach-churning ideas. One of them had started
skateboarding in circles around the trash can, and the sound of the wheels
whizzing menacingly round her feet, missing her by inches, was making it all
that much harder to bear.
“Right, you lot, that’s enough.
Off you go now.”
It was an in-control voice,
belonging to someone not remotely fazed by a bunch of hoody-wearing teenagers
and effortlessly taking command of the situation. Since it was coming from
directly behind her, Tasha couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but she was
certainly glad he’d turned up.
With over ten million copies sold, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author JILL MANSELL writes irresistible, funny, poignant, and romantic tales for women in the tradition of Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella, and Jojo Moyes. She lives with her partner and their children in Bristol, England.
No comments:
Post a Comment