About the Book
Jennifer Jones' life began when her little sister, Kerry, was born. So when her sister dies in a tragic accident, nothing seems to make sense any more.
Despite the support of her husband, Ed, and their wonderful children, Jen can't comprehend why she is still here, while bright, spirited Kerry is not.
When Jen starts to lose herself in her memories of her sister, she doesn't realise that the closer she feels to Kerry, the further she gets from her family.
Jen was never able to say goodbye to her sister. But what if she could?
Would you risk everything if you had the chance to say goodbye?
For Jackie . . . who had to say goodbye.
Acknowledgements
What a journey this book has been on! And before I start to thank all of the wonderful people who have helped form Jen and Ed’s story, I would firstly like to thank you. Over the past three years, I have been overwhelmed by the responses to my books. We all lead such busy lives and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am to the readers who take the time to leave a review, who drop me a message on my social media platforms or recommend my books to friends and family. You are the reason I keep writing on the days when I would rather be eating chocolate and watching Netflix. So thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.
Now on to my team. As I always do, I shall start by thanking my agent Amanda Preston, without whom, this book would never have been written. It may surprise you to know that this book started off as a short story for a magazine. I sent it over to Amanda, made a cup of coffee and when I picked up my phone there were three missed calls and an email saying, ‘call me now!!’ The phone call that followed, and began with, ‘It’s not a short story . . . this is your next book. I’m a little in love with Jennifer Jones’, transformed what had been a short story scribbled in a notebook while Mr Emma sorted out a leaking toilet in our caravan, into the book you have in your hands. To say I would be lost without her is an understatement, she is my rock. Wider thanks go to the whole LBA team, thank you for your advice and votes, you make my decision making a whole lot easier!
To the dream team at Headline. A huge thank you to my editor, Jennifer Doyle. I honestly couldn’t have written this novel without your instinct and guidance as well as your constant patience and understanding. You go above and beyond with your endless support, always replying to my emails even when the contents of which can often be an incoherent stream of ideas and questions, thank you for everything. Thank you to Katie Sunley, editor extraordinaire, who is a constant support and works incredibly hard to keep my books on track. I’m in awe of your calm and considered approach . . . I want to be you when I grow up! To Alara Delfosse, I would be lost without your brilliant publicist magic, and box-set recommendations – you are amazing. Thank you to Ellie Morley, champion of When Harry Met Sally gifs. I’m so grateful to you for your creativity and support and for answering my ‘suggestions’ with enthusiasm, even when I need reigning in . . . just a tiny bit.
To Emma Rogers for my breath-taking cover, it will always hold a very special place in my heart, thank you for capturing the essence of Jennifer’s story.
To all at ILA who work so hard on my behalf, seeing your book being translated into so many different languages is one of the most wonderful feelings a writer can have, thank you for everything . . . you changed my life.
I have to give a very special mention to my wonderful friend and writing buddy Nicki Smith, who has had her own incredible writing journey culminating with a book out with Oxford University Press this year. Thank you for always being there for me, for your endless generosity and company. Long shall we forget each other’s birthdays and continue to have the same topics of conversations – which celebs we currently have a crush on and how much weight we have put on/lost – long into our eighties. I truly would be lost without you.
To the writing community whose unwavering support and companionship keep me sane. A special thanks go to The Fiction Café, The Savvy Writers’ Snug and the Chick Lit and Prosecco Facebook groups.
The biggest of squeezes go to the book blogging community. These wonderful people spend hours and hours of their own time, writing reviews and sharing book love. The publishing business would not survive without the generosity of book bloggers and I am hugely grateful to them all. A special mention goes to Anne Cater, Linda Hill, Rachel Gilbey, and Em Digs Books, thank you.
I’m raising a large gin to Josie Silver, Kim Nash, Caroline Hulse, N J Simmonds, Emma Jackson and Claire Ashley who are always there to listen, cheer and support . . . thank you, you all blooming rock.
At the time of writing these acknowledgements, we are currently under lockdown. Never have I missed the hugs of my friends and family so much. I miss you all, I know virtual hugs are not the same but here’s one from me anyway.
Lockdown does mean that I have all four of my children and Mr Emma at home. It is probably the only time in my life that I will have you all to myself and for that I am very grateful; you’re all my favourites.
Prologue
Jennifer
I always knew that I was different from the rest of my family.
They’re all tall, blonde, waif-like. Mum doesn’t walk . . . she glides. She is the type of woman that you would presume had been to finishing school, except for when she watches the football, when her true roots tend to fly from her mouth in a flurry of expletives. Even Dad has this elfin king look about him: gentle, elegant, commanding; it often feels that time slows down when you’re around him, his words are always precise and measured, words that should be savoured. And then I came along. Their adopted daughter. I am short, dark, I don’t glide, I’m heavy footed; my words don’t need to be savoured, they generally tend to skitter and slide across the room like a puppy on a polished floor.
I know this description might make it sound as if I felt that I didn’t belong, and that’s not the case. I have always felt like I belonged to the Hargreaves; what I’m trying to say, is that when I look back on those early days of my childhood, the days where it was just the three of us, my memories don’t quite feel . . . whole; those memories always feel like they are missing something, like I wasn’t fully alive. I suppose my memories only feel whole from the day my sister was born, when my life truly began.
My younger sister is enigmatic and beautiful but also quirky and lovable. She is the perfect mix of both Mr and Mrs Hargreaves.
Kerry is the name I gave her. Mr and Mrs Hargreaves – or Brian and Judith to their friends – wanted to call her Beth, but I had insisted, and for the first week of her life, she bore two names: one from her father and the mother who had given birth to her, and one from me. Kerry suited her much better: there is a perfect balance to her name, the beginning and ending lean against each other, just as she has always leant towards me. If you take the first part away from the second, there is no whole, just two parts that don’t make sense when they stand apart. That was the first compromise I forced on my parents, the first step in our new dynamic as a foursome, right from the beginning . . . Kerry was more mine than she was theirs.
Kerry is one of those people who other people want to be. She’s tall, beautiful but unusually so, like a model but more like one of the models where they make the headlines because they have an odd-shaped nose or really wide-apart eyes. Her blonde hair turned to grey when she was fifteen – there is no explanation why, no massive shock or trauma, it was as if her body just decided that she is different from the rest of us, that she should stand out. Kerry has always cut her fringe herself – poker straight – and has always worn the rest in a plait.