Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

and saw Liam, grinning at her. ‘Thought any more about my offer?’ he asked.

‘Is Carthika not giving you the feedback you need?’ replied Amy, slipping the photograph back into the envelope.

‘Touché,’ replied Liam. Amy smelt extra-strong mints on his breath. ‘You know what I mean.’ He winked at her, in case she needed an extra clue.

Amy took a step backwards. ‘I don’t socialise with people from the office,’ she said.

‘Perhaps you could make an exception?’ asked Liam.

‘Sorry,’ said Amy.

‘Offer still stands,’ he said, undeterred, ‘if you change your mind.’ Amy went back to her desk without replying and sat down, the envelope in front of her. She took out the letter again, and read the words that she could. Love. Run. Sorry.

Everyone had thought it at the time. Jack had been convinced. The police said they couldn’t say for certain, but she knew they thought he was right. She’d been betrayed.

And not just betrayed. Tim and Chantel had left everything to be together. Without her. And she’d not been on a date since.

A message popped up. Changed your mind yet?

Amy typed the words quickly, before she had a chance to think about it.

OK, she wrote. Let’s have that drink.

The spare room in her house hadn’t always been spare. Renting the house, the three of them, had been Chantel’s idea. She’d viewed properties until she found a little two-bedroom place they could afford to rent. Amy and Tim were happy to oblige: their previous flat-share had reached the end of its shelf life. It wasn’t till years later, when their landlord wanted to sell, that Amy had bought the house. She felt like she had no choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to move all her precious belongings. And she needed to stay in that house. If they came back, she wanted them to be able to find her.

Amy had kept Chantel’s room as it was for several months after they’d gone. She’d hoped Chantel would come back with a reasonable explanation, and want her things again. Then Amy kept her shoebox of memories in the room, then larger boxes, until eventually it was uninhabitable. She stood in the doorway now and surveyed what was in front of her.

She’d barely made a dent in it the last time she’d tried to clear out, and she’d acquired a black eye in the process. Amy paused. It was as if Chantel didn’t want her in there.

Chantel didn’t have a choice, decided Amy, thinking of the letter. Amy wanted that shoebox with her diaries. Perhaps there was a clue there, something she’d missed all those years ago. A clue about what they were planning.

Amy clenched her teeth until she heard them grinding together, and grabbed a large cardboard box. She wasn’t going to sort through it and she wasn’t going to throw anything away. All she needed was a pathway. Where was the shoebox? She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to picture it. Was it in the wardrobe? Under the bed? Only one way to find out.

She took a mirror and carefully leaned it against the box behind her. She’d block off her hallway again at this rate, but she had to find it. She hauled out another box. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a tiny dark shadow darting across the room. Her imagination, she decided. Certainly not a mouse.

She could see the corner of the wardrobe now. She stopped putting boxes in the hallway and just began to pile stuff behind her. Finally she had one of the wardrobe doors clear. She opened it.

The wardrobe was full, every inch of the space used for storage. Amy remembered now, she’d hidden treasures in there at first, before she gave up and let belongings take over everywhere. Amy took out the possessions stored there carefully. It was like rediscovering old friends. She placed her finds on top of the boxes behind her. There were lots of shoeboxes in the cupboard. But not the special one. It had originally housed a pair of Adidas trainers that Tim had treated himself to. These boxes were all Chantel’s.

As were the clothes. Amy looked at them, hanging there like ghosts. The sparkly top Chantel had worn to Tim’s disastrous gig when he’d ended up in tears in the loo. Now she looked at it, she noticed how low-cut it was.

And there was the vest top Chantel had worn to the festival. Glittery. And there was the tight red jumper Chantel had worn when she joined Amy and her grandmother at Christmas one year.

Amy rummaged through the clothes, wondering when it began. How long had they been deceiving her for?

Her hand stopped at a silky blue dress. That was hers. She’d not lent it to Chantel, she was certain of it. Chantel would have come into her room, their room, and taken it.

Suddenly Amy found herself pulling off her black T-shirt and her jeans. The dress was over her head. It was the colour of the midsummer sky; full length with short sleeves and a neckline that made Amy feel naked.

Amy pulled the band from her ponytail and leaned over, running her fingers through her dark hair. She flicked her head back and felt a momentary head rush. She turned around.

A dozen mirrors reflected her image.

This was how she used to look. Older, much sadder, but for the first time in years she recognised herself.

Amy twirled around, the shoebox forgotten. She decided that she would force herself to clear a path to her own wardrobe. She used to enjoy wearing beautiful colours. The yellow of spring daffodils, purples reminiscent of the evening sky, the blue of a hazy morning. She’d painted with those same colours, plus the terracotta oranges of Florence and the green of freshly mowed grass. She had never liked black – perhaps that’s why she’d started wearing it when they had gone. Joy seemed wrong.

Amy clambered back over the boxes and went downstairs to experiment with