When I Ran Away, Ilona Bannister [read 50 shades of grey TXT] 📗

panic-attack-in-the-playground days; paralyzed-and-sweating-in-the-pharmacy-because-I-can’t-find-the-baby-shampoo days; Stefka-sitting-with-me-all-afternoon-because-I’m-crying days. Terror-that-I’ve-thrown-my-life-away-and-will-never-get-it-back days. Brittle days of shame and sleep deprivation. Days when Johnny eats leftover pizza for breakfast and dinner. Days when nothing changes and nothing will ever change again. Days when the steel gray sky of London is the color of my heart and I just want to go home.

But there are other days too. And I start to count them, and they are not every day, and they are not most days, but they do happen. The day I take Rocky to playgroup. The day I call Tracy and we go for a walk. The day I meet Charlie for lunch after the third time she asked and Rebecca babysits and I’m grateful to her and I don’t say anything passive-aggressive. And neither does she. The day I write my résumé. The day Harry calls a sitter without me asking or telling and he just does it and we go out and it’s awkward because we forgot how to talk to each other but then he does it the next week and the next and we start to remember. The day we sleep in the same bed. The day I take the medication. The day I don’t have time to reach for wine because I’ve been busy taking care of my kids and looking for jobs online and I start to feel better.

One day I open the closet and try on clothes that aren’t leggings and oversized sweaters. Most of them don’t fit. Fuck it. I throw them on the floor. I fold up the old jeans and tops, the suits and pencil skirts, and put them in garbage bags for donating. I’ll drop them off on the way to Sainsbury’s to get dinner and then I’ll go pick up the boys. As I turn away to take the bags downstairs, a sleeve of the red patent leather coat hanging on the back of the closet door catches my eye. I pull it on, tie the belt and pop the collar. I go downstairs, step over Harry’s shoes and take a last look in the mirror. I smile at my reflection, with my eyes, just like Tyra and Stacy taught me. Then I open the door, one bag in each hand, and lock it behind me. I take a deep breath. And I start walking.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are many people whose support, time and energy made this novel possible and to whom I will always be indebted.

I am beyond grateful to have had the honor and privilege to work with two extraordinary editors, Jocasta Hamilton and Jenny Jackson. Jocasta, whenever we spoke about Gigi it felt less like editing and more like a concerned conversation about a real person, our girlfriend going through a rough time who we were both worried about. She came alive on these pages because of you. Jenny, thank you for your big-picture thinking and positivity, and for caring about Gigi as much as I did. You have both made this an infinitely better book, but I thank you most of all for how you have made me a better writer.

I am very grateful to have the support and guidance of two stellar agents. Thank you to Alice Lutyens at Curtis Brown for reading my words, for getting Gigi, for understanding me and for taking a chance on us both. Thank you for your vision, your belief and your tenacity. I am so lucky to have you in my corner. My thanks also to Zoe Sandler at ICM Partners. Thank you for believing in this book before you even met me, for knowing exactly what to do with it and for always being the reassuring voice of reason on the other end of the phone.

My gratitude to Tom Bromley, my tutor at Faber Academy, for your encouragement, expertise and insights when this book was in its infancy. Thank you also to the lovely group of writers whom I met on Faber’s Work in Progress course where this book was born. Without your honest critiques, Gigi would not be the woman she is in these pages. Special thanks to Su Lynch for your advice early on.

Thanks and love to Elaine Davenport for reading my manuscript multiple times, for your feedback and for allowing me to borrow from our shared memory of 9/11. My loving gratitude to Lesley Bourns for your insights, advice and calm reassurance at many stages of this process. Huge thanks and love to Lesha Merley Hill, for your thoughtfulness, honesty, perspective and for sharing all your knowledge about books.

Thank you, Addie Haler Burke, for your time in answering my questions and helping me with my research into the technical aspects of adoption in New York State.

Thank you, Barry O’Leary, for fact-checking the legal and immigration aspects of this story and for your encouragement.

Many thanks to those who gave me their valuable time to answer questions and provide critiques, feedback, notes and suggestions at various stages of writing: Jessica Alexander, Diana Baxter, Deborah Bial, Nicolle Brooks, Carlos Carela, Amy Denton-Clark, Sarah Rose Gregory, Jessica Jones, Maleeha Kirmani, Julian Lewyckyj, Tia O’Flaherty, Mariah Pizzano, Jen Rachman, Alexandra Rella, Justine Schettino, Nicola Waskett Bannister and Emily Williams.

Thank you to the casts of Real Housewives of New Jersey, New York City, Atlanta, and Beverly Hills as well as to the cast of Mob Wives. I have never met any of you but I, like millions of other women, feel as if I know you. You have been a light during some of my darkest times.

Much of this book was inspired by my observations and experiences during the births of my sons in London and the many women and mothers I crossed paths with during my early years of motherhood. Thank you to them. Some are my friends to this day. Some are women I may have met only in passing, but with whom I shared a glance of mutual understanding. Some had a courage I have never