Bad Blood
Книга "Bad Blood", автором которой является Julie Shaw, представляет собой захватывающую работу в жанре Биографии и мемуары. В этом произведении автор рассказывает увлекательную историю, которая не оставит равнодушными читателей.
Автор мастерски воссоздает атмосферу напряженности и интриги, погружая читателя в мир загадок и тайн, который скрывается за хрупкой поверхностью обыденности. С прекрасным чувством языка и виртуозностью сюжетного развития, Julie Shaw позволяет читателю погрузиться в сложные эмоциональные переживания героев и проникнуться их судьбами. Shaw настолько живо и точно передает неповторимые нюансы человеческой психологии, что каждая страница книги становится путешествием в глубины человеческой души.
"Bad Blood" - это не только захватывающая история, но и искусство, проникнутое глубокими мыслями и философскими размышлениями. Это произведение призвано вызвать у читателя эмоциональные отклики, задуматься о важных жизненных вопросах и открыть новые горизонты восприятия мира.
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Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
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London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperElement 2016
FIRST EDITION
© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Harald Braun/plainpicture (posed by model); Loop Images Ltd/Alamy (street scene)
A catalogue record of this book is
available from the British Library
Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee assert the moral right
to be identified as the authors of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780008142858
Ebook Edition © July 2016 ISBN: 9780008142810
Version: 2018-07-09
For my wonderful, and ever-expanding family. My parents, my kids Kylie and Scott, and my very patient and loving husband Ben. When I eventually leave this world, I hope that the one piece of advice that sticks with my children is this: Be the best that you can be. The best parent, the best husband or wife, and if you happen to be a toilet cleaner, be the best at that. Always wonder if you could use a bit more bleach or scrub a little harder, because that is what will bring you happiness.
Bailey Boo, Harvey Bear, Tylah Pie, Dylan, Delilah and Tucker, my beautiful grandchildren, you are my world!
Would you turn back time if you had the chance?
Would you run away or stay?
Like the smoker who thinks his time is up,
Then gets news of a clear X-ray.
His promises to God are forgotten then,
He dodged another bullet,
He continues to play Russian roulette,
Trigger finger poised to pull it.
Cross the line, step into the abyss,
Now there’s no going back,
You’ve lost control, you’ve gone too far,
There’s no defence, so attack.
You are no longer you, and you no longer care,
Join the ranks of the depraved.
One thing is sure from this moment on,
The pathway ahead is paved.
But would you change things if you could?
Can you see where it all went awry?
Would you not do that thing that set this course?
Would you really even try?
The past can’t be changed, but the future can,
Starting right here, right now,
You don’t have a lifetime to turn it around,
And no one can teach you how.
Bradford, July 1981
Christine squinted as her eyes met the bright July sunshine, and shuffled awkwardly down the front path to the car waiting in the road. Of all the cabbies in Bradford who could have picked them up, today of all days, it just had to be Imran. Imran who, in the absence of a female to leer at, would probably chat up a pot plant.
‘Lovely day for it, innit, ladies?’ he shouted conversationally, as Christine clambered awkwardly into the back. He had no choice. He was currently competing with a warbling Shakin’ Stevens, because, as was usual, he had his car stereo turned up loud enough to wake the dead.
Not to mention the soon to be born, Christine thought wretchedly, as the next contraction began to build. It was like a giant elastic band, gripping vice-like around her middle, and the panic began engulfing her again. Why hadn’t anyone told her how much it would hurt? Her own mum, for instance. The thought made her tearful. She’d never felt pain like this in her life. Ever.
‘Lovely day for what?’ her friend Josie snapped, as she climbed in beside her and slammed the door. ‘And, Christ, Im, turn that frigging shit down, will you?’
Imran beamed at the pair of them through the rear-view mirror. ‘Keep yer ’air on!’ he said. ‘I was only being friendly. Anyway,’ he added, leaning forward to turn the volume down a fraction, ‘where we off to today, girls? Somewhere nice?’
‘St Luke’s Hospital,’ Josie snapped. ‘And put your foot down as well. Seriously,’ she added, as Christine began to wail. ‘Or there’ll be more than our Christine and bloody Shaky making a racket. Get a move on! She’s already trying to push!’
It was only now, having twisted a hundred and eighty degrees in his seat, that Imran seemed to understand what was happening.
