Chapter 1
There are some things that would be so useful in modern life, I often wonder why nobody has bothered inventing them yet. With so many clever people in the universe, surely someone should have come up with more quick fixes? More ways to smooth out the niggles of everyday existence?
For me, this list includes, but is not limited to, the following:
Shoes that come with retractable high heels—one minute you’re all tall and swanky and looking professional; the next, you pop the pointy bit into a cunningly designed compartment concealed in the sole, and you’re walking on air in comfy flats. No more shoving ballet flats in your handbag.
A breathalyzer attached to your phone that automatically shuts it down if you’re over the limit—no more drunk texts or 3:00 a.m. phone calls that you eventually remember the next morning; you know, the ones that come back to you in fragments like a dream sequence and are so embarrassing they make you want to put your head in a blender.
A very specific GPS app that could help you locate things that are missing in the house—for example, “your car keys are in the fridge,” or “the TV remote is down the side of the big sofa,” or “your sanity is in the recycling bin.” You’d be able to choose the voice it used so it could be Chris Hemsworth saying it in his Thor voice, rather than someone who makes you feel like your mum’s nagging you.
Some kind of video game—possibly social-media based, like maybe on TikTok with some cool music?—that gives teenagers points every time they actually manage to put a pair of dirty underwear in the laundry basket instead of leaving them on the floor. It could be huge—likeGrand Theft Autowith boxer shorts instead of guns.
A delivery system—possibly by drone—that can bring an iced coffee and a box of cheesy chips to your car when you’re stuck in long traffic jams. And while we’re on that subject, a car seat that doubles up as a commode for lady drivers—I know, that’s a bit gross, but there’s nothing worse, is there? You’re stuck in traffic, wondering when you’re going to get home, questioning if you’ll ever get off the motorway, and even worse you’re absolutely busting for a wee?
I think I’ve peaked with that last one, now I come to think of it. Anyway—your list might be different, depending on your circumstances, and some of these might even have already been invented without me being clued up enough to notice, but I’m sure you see what I mean. There are just so many ways life could be improved.
I’m the sort of person who struggles to assemble flat-pack furniture, so I’m never going to become an inventor. If I was, though—if I had a sudden change of fortune—I’d give it a go. I have so many ideas.
Even more tempting than the ones on my list, the thing I’d really love to have is some kind of early warning system for what your day is going to throw at you. Like a weather forecast but for living. Not so muchCloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, but stuff like “mainly boring, but with a sudden spike in adrenaline at 8:00 p.m. during the National Lottery draw,” or “predominantly stable but with some tears edging in after dinner.”
We wake up every morning, and we go about our business. We eat, we wash, we dress, we get grunted at by our children, we go to work. We do these things over and over again, without ever knowing what that day has in store for us. How the hours between opening our eyes and closing them again might unfold.
We don’t wake up assuming that something amazing is going to happen, or something terrible, or something so mind-bendingly weird that our lives will never be the same again. If we had some idea, some inkling, some intuition, someone telling us in that Thor voice that we needed to be careful, then maybe everything could be calmer. We could take a different turn in the road and avoid the banana skins lying in wait for our unsteady feet.
I say this, but part of me also wonders:What would we miss out on if we never took the occasional tumble?I think that sometimes, just maybe, we need to lose our balance before we can find it again. That we need to take a few steps back before we can move forward.
The day everything changed for me started like any other day—and it ended with me losing everything I owned, everything I planned for, everything I thought I held dear. Everything I assumed I needed.
Ironically, it turned out to be the best day of my life. I can say that now, with hindsight, and the distance of time and experience. Back then, though, I thought I’d never get up again, never find that balance. Back then, I felt like giving up. Like lying down on the ground in a fetal ball and crying for help that I couldn’t ever see coming, waiting for a cavalry that was never going to gallop across the horizon. I felt alone, and scared, and helpless.
Now I feel none of those things, at least most of the time. If I’m stuck in a small place with a wasp, maybe all three, but only on a temporary basis. Now I am stronger and more confident than I have ever been—and it all started on the day I lost everything. I wish I could go back to then-me and reassure myself, tell myself it would all be okay in the end. Just give myself a great big cuddle. But then-me probably wouldn’t have listened—I was too lost, too closed off. Clinging too hard to the things I thought kept me stable. Maybe that’s another thing I’d like to invent, now I come to think of it. A Hindsight Machine—one that sounds like someone comforting, maybe Oprah Winfrey or Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson or Mrs. Weasley or whoever makes you feel safe—telling you to take a deep breath. Telling you that it’s not as bad as it seems. Telling you that everything will be all right in the end—that when you fall, there will always be someone to lift you back up. That, in a year’s time, this will seem amusing, or irrelevant, or actually exactly what you needed, even if you don’t feel like that right now.
So, this is my story. A story of falling and getting back up again. Of stepping back and moving forward. Read it in whatever voice you like—for me, that will be my own voice.
The voice I’ve finally found, and the voice I finally listen to.
Chapter 2
My name is Jenny James, and I’m having a very bad day. In fact, it’s such a Very Bad Day that it probably deserves capital letters.
It started with my son, Charlie, screaming at me because the internet was down. Charlie is eighteen and, more often than not, the light of my life. He is a thoughtful and gentle soul, empathetic and emotionally intelligent beyond his years—unless something gets between him and the information superhighway. When that happens, he becomes a complete bastard.
Even though it’s not my fault, I somehow end up being the one who gets yelled at. I suggested sluggishly that he try calling the company that actually provides our broadband, but that had about as much effect as when I ask him to pick his own dirty socks up off the bathroom floor—i.e., zero. Isn’t it weird how this current generation is connected to the matrix twenty-four hours a day, but they’re scared of talking to an actual human being on the phone?
From that point on, nothing improved. I pulled a run in two pairs of tights trying to dress myself while exhausted, and had to patch the second pair up with nail varnish. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, but the tights were black and the nail varnish was neon pink.
After that, the fun really kicked in—the milk was sour, I broke a nail trying to hook breakfast out of our ancient toaster, and I discovered when it was too late to retreat that we’d run out of loo roll. There was definitely some there the night before, which meant it had disappeared into Charlie’s room—and that’s something that no sane mother likes to contemplate.
Welcome to my life—8:30 a.m. and already a complete disaster zone.
I open the front door and am greeted with torrential rain. This doesn’t come as a surprise, as I have been greeted by torrential rain every single morning for almost a month. It is early July, and the great British summer is probably leading to a rush on ark-building supplies. It’s the kind of weather that is so bad, it gets its own segment on the local news every evening—Freak Summer Storm Update, with nifty graphics and the weatherman finally getting his shot at the big time.
Up until now, it’s just been rain—but I have a vague memory of there being warnings about today reaching peak crappiness, with strong winds and scary weather symbols pinging up all over his little map.
As soon as I am outside, I feel it. My hair blows up around my face, and I have to hold my skirt down with my hands. The shrubs are shaking, the wind is whistling over the clifftops, and the sea is wild and angry. In fact, it’s furious—maybe because the internet is down again, who knows?
Our little cottage is on the coast in Norfolk, and on less disgusting days, emerging from it always lifts my spirits. It’s perched near the edge of a cliff, far enough away not to be scary, close enough to feel exhilarating. In front of the house, we have a long strip of garden that meanders down to join the coastal path, a cute little gate at the end. When the sun is shining, it’sbreathtaking—endless views out over the sea, dazzling light and shade playing on the waves, the only sounds those of nature. And sometimes Charlie on his Xbox.
