The A–Z of Everything: A gorgeously emotional and uplifting book that will make you laugh and cry
‘Original and thought-provoking’ Sunday Times bestseller Katie Fforde‘Simply gorgeous’ Sunday Times bestseller Milly JohnsonP is for Paris where it all began. J is for Jealousy where it all came undone. But the most important letter is F. F is for Forgiveness, the hardest of all.Sisters Poppy and Rose used to be as close as two sisters could be, but it’s been over a decade since they last spoke. Until they both receive a call that tells them their mother has gone – without ever having the chance to see her daughters reunited.Andrea, though, wasn’t the kind of woman to let a little thing like death stand in the way of her plans. Knowing her daughters better than they know themselves, she has left behind one very special last gift – the A-Z of Everything.‘Moving and uplifting all at once, I devoured this book about mothers, daughters, sisters and – ultimately – love’ Sunday Times bestseller Jane Costello‘Funny and poignant – a celebration of life and the enduring power of love’ – Carys Bray, bestselling author of A Song for Issy Bradley
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Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2017
Copyright © Debbie Johnson 2017
Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover images © iStock.com (stairs and street light); Shutterstock.com (all other images)
Debbie Johnson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008150198
Ebook Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780008150204
Version: 2018-02-15
For my mother – five years gone, and part of me still expects it to be her when the phone rings late at night.
Andrea
Forty years have passed since my own mother died, and yet I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I can still recall the sounds and the smells and the way her tiny hand felt in mine as she finally gave up the fight, as the light faded from her eyes.
I can remember the hollow feeling inside me as I made my way home to my own children, crying on the bus and ignoring the kindness of strangers as the double-decker trundled across London.
Walking through the door to our flat, overwhelmed with the need to bundle them up and keep them safe and love them so much that no harm would ever come to them. Protect them from the cruel torments of the world.
Four whole decades later, it is still so vivid. When it comes to the people you love, and the people you lose, the passage of time is irrelevant – some things simply stay with you forever.
I’m thinking about this so much more now, because this morning I was told that I am dying. Not in the slow and certain way that we are all dying – but in a two-months-if-you’re-lucky way.
The look of practised sympathy on the consultant’s face as he explained was enough to kick-start my stiff upper lip, and I silenced him with a smile. I’ve been an actress for the whole of my life, and I’ve done many a death scene.
Now, I’ve got to decide how to play my own – and what good can come out of it.
My last diary entry was a reminder to tell my friend Lewis that his ancient dog, Betty, needed a flea treatment, pronto. The one before that seemed to revolve entirely around buying a new hat for our trip to the races.
Funny how quickly things can change.
Now, I have a few weeks left – and I have to make them count. I have to scheme and work and plan like I’ve never schemed and worked and planned before. In those few weeks, God willing, I will be directing my own play – and performing a minor miracle.
Because, of course, I couldn’t actually bundle up my own children for the rest of their lives – no mother can. I couldn’t keep those two girls safe, and I couldn’t protect them from the cruellest torment of all – the way we can hurt the ones we love.
If it’s the very last thing I manage, I am determined that I will make the impossible happen. I will bang my daughters’ heads together, and make them whole. I will do as much as I can to heal them, and their future, as I have time to do.
Because they’re going to need each other, so very much. One day, very soon, they are going to wake up to a world without their mother – and, like I say, I still remember how that feels.
Her tiny hand, holding mine.
