The A to Z of Us Read online

  About the Author

  HANNAH DOYLE is a bestselling author and journalist. She has written for national magazines and newspapers, spent five years working as a celebrity journalist at Reveal magazine in London and has appeared on TV and radio as a showbiz commentator. Hannah now lives in Sheffield with her husband and twin sons. The A to Z of Us is her third novel.

  @byhannahdoyle

  @byHannahDoyle

  byHannahDoyle

  The A to Z of Us

  Hannah Doyle

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  HarperCollinsPublishers

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  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

  Copyright © Hannah Doyle 2021

  Emojis © Shutterstock.com

  Hannah Doyle 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.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © June 2021 ISBN: 9780008441715

  Version: 2021-04-22

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Art Exhibition

  Bookshop

  Comedy Show

  Dog Walk

  Eighties Disco

  Film Festival

  Garden

  Happy Hour

  Ikea

  Jogging

  Karaoke

  Lunch

  Mini-Break

  Netflix

  Oysters

  Ping Pong

  Quiz Night

  Rock Climbing

  Supermoon

  Train Trip

  Unplugged

  Volunteering

  Wine Tasting

  X Marks the Spot

  Yoga

  Zucchini

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader …

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  For Love

  Art Exhibition

  Alice

  There’s crap everywhere. Hair bobbles. Half a Babybel. A lipstick with the lid missing. In the middle of the mess sits my best friend, frantically excavating the contents of her bag. She seems oblivious to the fact that she’s just silenced an entire art exhibition by shouting ‘YOU ABSOLUTE TOOL’ into the room and yet the once noisy venue is now pin-drop quiet, all eyes turned on her as she props up the bar. I suppose art lovers aren’t used to being interrupted by angry blonde women like this. The soles of my trainers squeak as I rush over to her from the other side of the room.

  Sensing that someone is coming to her aid, the crowd turn back to one another and resume their lofty chat, which is a relief all round because by the time I reach Natalie’s side I can hear that she’s peppering the air with some choice expletives. Even the unflappable bartender looks a bit nervous.

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ I puff, regretting the canapés I stuffed into my mouth before making the mad dash over here.

  My best friend turns wild eyes to mine and then flicks them back in the direction of her phone, nestled in amongst the mess on the bar.

  ‘Alice, I liked it,’ she says, clawing at the sleeves of my dress. ‘I liked it.’

  I take a closer look. On Natalie’s screen is an Instagram photo of her snuggled up to Jake, a couple of backpacks next to them as they stand at an airport’s departures lounge. I note with alarm that it was posted in 2019.

  This is not good news.

  ‘You remember when Jake and I went to Venice not long after we got together? Well I just accidentally liked a photo of that trip. I mean, it was literally taken in a different decade. What am I going to do?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I soothe. ‘Just double tap it.’

  ‘I’ve been TRYING!’ She stabs at her phone so hard I’m worried she’s going to poke a hole through it. ‘The screen has frozen so now this big red heart is glaring at me. Why did the people of Instagram have to choose a heart? It’s so emotional. What’s wrong with the good old-fashioned thumbs up of Facebook? Aren’t they owned by the same company anyway? I’ve basically just told my ex-boyfriend that I love an old photo of us. So now …’ Having apparently run out of words, my best friend holds her bag aloft in exasperation.

  ‘Now you’re searching for your passport so you can leave the country immediately and be free from the shame of it all?’ I suggest.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Right, breathe,’ I rally. ‘You won’t find your passport in there. It’s probably in a box back at my house you’ve labelled “personal” with your label-maker, tucked safely away in a folder called “private docs”, subcategory “travel”.’

  ‘Now is not the time to mock me for being organised,’ she huffs, slightly manic.

  ‘Just trying to lighten the mood. I have never seen you happier than when that label-maker arrived but that’s not the point right now. Let me help you fix this.’ I give her a squeeze and together we restart Nat’s phone, open Instagram back up and finally manage to unlike the pic.

  Natalie slumps her head into her hands. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’ve been my rock through this split. I’m not sure I’d still be standing without you, let alone have somewhere to live. It just sucks that now Jake knows I’ve been deep-sea diving through his timeline like a pathetic ex-girlfriend.’

  ‘You are not pathetic,’ I say firmly, pulling up a bar stool next to her. ‘Look around you, Nat. This entire evening is down to you. You are a brilliant events planner and you should be incredibly proud of yourself for achieving this. I’ve never seen such a busy art exhibition and even the snooty art crowd here are impressed with it. Also the tiny food you organised is delicious. Only successful people organise tiny food. Have you had a tiny taco yet?’

  At this, Natalie starts to cry. Dismayed, I search for a tissue among the contents of her bag which have been tipped onto the bar.

  She sniffs. ‘Tacos used to be our thing. Jake would make tacos and we’d watch comedies and now …’

  ‘And now you’re living with the current world title holder for Greatest Best Friend. I know it’s tough Nat, but it’s also a brand new chapter. One where you don’t need to check in with Jake, or argue over whose turn it is to buy cereal, or pick up his soggy towels from the bedroom floor. Who needs a man anyway? You’re operating on your own schedule!’

  She brushes a tear away with a manicured finger and pats me fondly on the cheek. ‘Oh you. My breezy, free-spirit of a best friend. So busy living life to the max that the thought of settling down or having kids isn’t even on your radar. I know the idea of coupling up is awful for you. But we’re all different Al and for me that stuff is important. I want the whole monogamy, marriage, and multiple children thing. Only it turns out that
the guy I thought I was going to share it all with has decided that he’s scared of commitment. After all this time together! I never thought at thirty I’d be back to sleeping in my best friend’s spare room and pity-scrolling through photos of my old life.’

  Not for the first time lately I find myself harbouring Very Bad Thoughts about Jake. I pull Natalie in for a cuddle. ‘Heartbreak is gut-wrenchingly shit, I know, and I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this. But please don’t let what Jake did make you give up? You are a strong and brilliant woman and you will be happy again, I promise you. That is not going to happen if all you do is sit at home getting snot on my PJs while we cry at The Notebook, though. It’s time you started to look forward again. Put your hot damn phone away, stop mooning after the past and start living in the present.’

  ‘Brutal.’

  ‘Brutal but true. Or some may say, truetal,’ I grin.

  ‘You’re a buffoon,’ she says, the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.

  ‘I know. And I love you. You will find what you’re looking for, you just need to get through this messy bit first and the good news is, I’m here to help! So put that half-eaten Babybel in the bin, stop hiding at the bar and go be proud of all the hard work you’ve put into tonight.’

  I usually spend my nights drinking with friends, eating with friends, dancing with friends or all of the above. Art exhibitions are a bit off-brand for me, though I rarely say no to a night out because I suffer from clinical FOMO and tonight I’m very much here for Natalie. I cast another glance in her direction to make sure she’s doing okay and set about mingling myself. I relish a challenge and I’m determined not to be intimidated by the aloof arty bunch here. It’s the first showing of an up-and-coming artist’s latest work, apparently, so Natalie and her company have hired out this event space for the occasion. Everyone in attendance is wearing black or grey so I do stand out a bit in my canary yellow dress but I will not let a muted colour palette put me off. Tonight I’m going to transform into a high-brow appreciator of the arts! Take this black square hanging on the wall, for example. So square-like! Just jam-packed with right angles.

  A woman with gold-rimmed glasses and a severe haircut moves next to me.

  ‘This one is practically unctuous,’ she marvels. ‘I’ve never felt closer to the Amalfi Coast. It’s as if I’m sat by the sea, eating ragu and drinking an earthy red. What’s the piece called?’

  I peer at the tag underneath. ‘Black Square.’

  ‘Wow. Have you ever seen a less square-like square?’

  I try to make informed, appreciative hmming noises but they come out as a splutter. So maybe my transformation into aesthete isn’t quite complete. You’d think, as a florist, that I’d have an innate appreciation for all the arts. After all, most of my days are spent arranging bouquets, styling my little flower shop and taking pictures of commissions for social media. Stylish photos, I can do. Abstract art? Not so much. I’m not convinced Gold Glasses and I will have masses in common so I make my excuses and potter off to the loos, stopping at the entrance to take a shot of the beautifully arranged ivy hanging along one wall.

  I tinker with the light and sharpness of the picture before uploading it to my flower shop’s Instagram account and tapping in a caption.

  Prettiest trailing ivy we ever saw! For the less green-fingered among you, there’s good news. Ivy makes the perfect houseplant as it’s practically unkillable. Want even more good news? Our houseplants are back in stock soon so stay tuned for more!

  I add the usual hashtags and it doesn’t take long before the likes start coming in, giving me a familiar buzz of pride. I set up an account when the shop opened so that I could share pictures of our displays, the shop itself and anything flower-related, really. It took off and I have a big following now which is amazing. My shop has featured on interiors influencers’ blogs and I work on large displays for lots of Sheffield’s independent shops, too. Customers can DM with enquiries and whenever I’m not in the shop, I’m usually to be found hunting for social media content.

  However, flower inspo is not the main reason I’m here tonight. I’m on very important best friend business and I keep glancing over at Natalie to check she’s okay. She’s fighting hard to be her professional self, I can tell, but underneath it all she’s still so sad. My last check-in confirmed that she’s just had a peek at her phone and is now on the verge of tears. I’m so mad at Jake, I hate that he’s done this to her. And I can confirm that pretending to be absorbed in the art (the piece I’m standing in front of now is called ‘Red Circle’) is not easy when you’re actually plotting your first murder. Jake, frankly, is going to have to meet a sticky end and soon. When I look across again, Natalie is walking towards me, looking sheepish.

  ‘Don’t be cross, but Jake’s just asked to meet,’ she says.

  ‘I hope you told him where to stick it.’

  Natalie coughs. ‘Um, no, I’ve agreed to go. Will you be okay here by yourself?’

  ‘No I will not! You can’t meet him now Nat, we’re in the middle of an event you organised and you should stay ’til the end. Also, it’s just not a good idea. He’s made you sad enough, he doesn’t deserve any more of your time.’

  Natalie sighs. Her bag is already on her shoulder and she looks so lost that I want to bundle her into my arms forevermore. This is exactly why you should never fall in love, I remind myself. It opens you up to all kinds of emotional distress.

  ‘I’ve checked with my boss and he’s happy that everything is running smoothly.’

  ‘Of course he is. He just turns up, drinks wine and takes all the credit for your hard work!’

  Nat bites her lip. ‘He does do that,’ she concedes. ‘But for once I’m grateful for it. I just need some answers.’

  ‘Let me come with you to make sure you’re okay? Maybe push Jake under a bus as we say our goodbyes? You know, by mistake,’ I say, making finger quotes around the last two words.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she smiles. ‘Stay, enjoy the art or at least enjoy the free bar. I’ll see you later.’

  Propping up that makeshift bar an hour later, I realise I’m quite drunk and have abandoned all hopes of “enjoying” the art. I take a sip of my third glass of wine. Or fourth? Can’t be sure, the bartender just keeps topping me up now. The good news is that I’m fully invested in the conversation I’ve struck up with myself.

  ‘And then she said something about ragu and the Amalfi Coast and earthy reds. I mean, talk about pretentious. It was a black square. It was even called ‘Black Square’! Want to hear the best bit? It cost four hundred and fifty quid! The artist must be laughing all the way to the bank. I could literally have painted that myself,’ I snort.

  It dawns on me that the man on the bar stool next to mine has been listening for some time, his deep green eyes looking at me intently.

  ‘That’s interesting, because ‘Black Square’ was inspired by the Amalfi Coast. My family are Italian,’ he says.

  I’m confused. Who is this absolute snack sat next to me?

  ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ he smiles, holding out a hand. ‘I’m Zach and this is my exhibition.’

  I blink. Surely …

  ‘I’m the artist,’ he clarifies.

  ‘Oh god. I’m so sorry,’ I cringe, taking his hand and shaking it a little too enthusiastically. ‘I’m Alice and as you can tell, I really don’t know anything about this kind of art. I’m sure your work totally is full of … ragu?’

  Zach laughs and I find my gaze lingering on the tangle of dark hair framing his handsome, angular face. The intense eyes peering through inky lashes. I beam back, enjoying the way his laugh makes me feel like I’ve just stepped into the sunshine.

  ‘This is the first time I’ve displayed my work like this, with a big opening night I mean,’ he’s saying. ‘Or, it was. We’re the last people here now.’

  I peer around us and realise that he’s right. ‘Well, congratulations! Did tonight go well?’

  Can art
exhibitions go “well”, I wonder.

  ‘I think so …’ He pauses, looking deep in thought as he drains the last of his drink.

  I’ve upset him. Natalie’s going to kill me! She’s always telling me off for being bullish and now I’ve offended the artist who’s employed her to plan his first big event.

  ‘I’m clearly a philistine and really didn’t mean any offence,’ I backtrack. But as he catches my eye I see there’s an unmistakable glint in his.

  He laughs, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take heart from the fact that I made a couple of sales tonight, so hopefully not everyone took one look at my work and decided they could do something similar at home with a pot of paint.’

  ‘I’d say a piece of paper and a sharpie would do the trick,’ I tease.

  ‘Oh I see,’ he grins at me, clutching at his heart and pretending to be wounded. ‘Will my tortured soul and bruised ego ever recover?’

  ‘Poor soul,’ I wink, enjoying the rush of adrenaline you get when you meet someone new. Chatting to new people is one of my favourite things and I’m not sure I’ve ever had the pleasure of hanging out with a hot-yet-brooding artist before. ‘Perhaps I could help with the recovery process?’

  ‘I’m not sure I can take any more of your searing art critiques, Alice.’

  The way he says my name.

  ‘I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you made some sales so you should be celebrating. Why don’t we nick a bottle of prosecco before the caterers leave? I don’t want to brag but I did get an A for my art A Level and if you’re lucky, I might give you some tips for your next exhibition.’

  Zach shakes his head, his eyes staying on me the entire time, and I realise that I’m very much here for the way his eyes train on mine. It’s incredibly sexy and full of possibility.

  Damn the mix of a free bar and tiny food! I must remember to give Natalie some feedback before the next event she plans, that free bars should be accompanied by regular sized food to soak it all up with and stop everyone getting too drunk. I might be a bit tipsy. But at least I’m only still here for selfless purposes, namely cheering up this tortured artist. I’m categorically not still here because I think he’s kind of handsome. Nope.