I could even, I think, see over the brow of the hill marked death. Spy what it would look like, be like. Feel enough life stir within me to stay alive. Start to believe that I might look back, over my shoulder, to the barren brown land where I’d just stood. And maybe I’d feel sorry for the person I left behind, when she’s both everything and nothing to me.
She is the person I leave far behind on the September day I finally leave New York. As the cab speeds towards JFK, she stays, stuck in the shadows of the city. It was either her or me. And it had to be me.
Sixteen hours later, I wake up in a flat in an ex-council block in Bethnal Green. There is woodchip wallpaper, painted white. No furniture other than a bed, one set of drawers and a sofa. As the sun charges in through the branches that tap against the bedroom window, I feel it hit my face. I smile.
Some nights, in my dreams, I stand stock-still in tight city streets. The buildings, the avenues, the windows are black. Silence surrounds me. I’m screaming at the sky but no noise leaves my mouth; the vapours that leave me collect amongst the clouds, filling the lid over my head. I open my eyes. It was just a dream. And now it’s over.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The process of writing this book, of revisiting the very worst of times, was long and often bruising and something I had to undertake entirely alone. Thank you, Daniel, for providing the space, safety and love for me to do so. I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t make it to the pub.
I will always be grateful to New York for gifting me you, Lindsey. You helped me save myself, more than once. Thank God for us (but mainly, thank God for you).
To Phil and Karen for the flowers and every single moment of unconditional support and friendship in the kitchen and beyond. To Mandy and Charli, who kept the faith for the best part of two decades, even when they’d have been entirely forgiven for not doing so.
I can’t fully express my gratitude for my agent Anna Pallai – the smartest, funniest and most patient ally I could have hoped for. Without you, there likely wouldn’t be a book. And certainly not the exact one I wanted and needed to write.
To the entire big-hearted Canongate family but particularly Anna Frame, Leila Cruickshank and my wonderful editor Hannah Knowles for treating my story with such care and consideration. I’ve been in the very best of hands.
Pamela and Bob – for a house that was so often a refuge, unfettered access to brilliant bookshelves when I needed them the most and for telling me twenty-four years ago that one day I’d write a book.
To my very good pals Ted and Sali for endless encouragement and telling me just to write the bloody thing.
To Rachael for the scribbled receipt that kept me going.
Dave, I’m still so sorry about your party. Thank you for being such a generous, beautiful human being.
To Katie, Simps, Joely, Caz, Wiggy, Ellie, Chris, Scar, Matt G, Matt W, Dor and Annie – architects of the good times and navigators of the bad.
To my Empire family – you guys complete me.
And my actual family: Nana, for making me the woman I am today. I hope you’d be proud. Sue, for being so supportive. But lastly and mostly to Roxanne and Graham, who taught me the meaning of family and love. Who were my reason to get better, to be better.
‘Extremely affecting . . . caring, inquisitive’
Scotsman
‘Unusually brave . . . sublime’
The Times
‘An exhilarating memoir’
Cathy Rentzenbrink
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgements
