Read Online Dead Romantic by Ruth Saberton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ruth Saberton
Tags: Humor, Fiction, Chick lit, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Humour, Genre Fiction, Bestseller, supernatural, London, Romantic Comedy, Research, Friendship, Women's Fiction, Christmas, Novel, Egypt, love, Parents, musician, Holidays, Ghost, Romantic, millionaire, Pharaoh, haunted, cat, Celebrity, best seller, professor, spirit guide, rock star, medium, bestselling, physic, spooky, ghost story, Egyptology, top 100, top ten, Celebs, Ruth Saberton, Mummy, Mummified, Ghostly, Tutankhamun, feline, Pyrimad, Ghoul, spiritguide, Tomb, egyptian, Pyrimads, Paranornormal
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thoughts come from? Honestly, since I bumped my head I’m not myself at all. It was just a Christmas kiss between two total strangers on a deserted railway station. I never even found out his name because Dad arrived then and I was swept away into the horror of losing Mum. I scrawled my number onto an old till receipt but I never heard from my Christmas stranger again. It was as though he’d vanished into the snowstorm, and after the funeral was over there was nothing for me to stay in England for. I need to put him out of my head once and for all. A real guy can never measure up to a dream.
Wrapping myself in a snug bathrobe I make a detour into the kitchen, where I pour a large glass of white wine and tip Susie’s flask of tea down the sink. Back in the sitting room I light a scented candle before curling up on the sofa with the cat and my duvet, and scrolling through the Sky menu. The room is warm and cosy, the wine is slipping down a treat and for the first time since I hurt myself I start to relax.
With one eye on the telly and the other on my computer I spend a happy half an hour deleting all the spam from my email folder, catching up with Facebook and browsing eBay. Then I open up my folder on Aamon and study the CT scans and notes until my eyes grow heavy in the warm vanilla-scented room and I end up typing nonsense. Yawning widely I click out of the folder and back to my home page, where I Google “head trauma” and terrify myself by reading about the horrendous side effects that I may soon be suffering from. Personality change, loss of sex drive, trouble with memory, delusions… The list is endless and very, very depressing.
Note to self: stay away from Wikipedia. My next search will involve some serious research papers on the subject.
I wander to the kitchen and slosh more wine into my glass. Is alcoholism another side effect? I don’t seem to remember reading that as I worked my way down the list of doom. Then again, neither do I recall seeing that hallucinating about men called Alex Thorne is common either – and that certainly happened.
Settling down again on the sofa I balance the laptop on my knees and idly type Alex Thorne into the search engine. Without thinking twice I click on the first link and gasp when the screen fills with that achingly familiar face. Green eyes hold mine, dark floppy hair falling over them, and his head is thrown back as he laughs.
My hallucination is pictured large as life on the screen of my Mac. He exists. He really exists.
I lean away from the laptop. My heart’s racing and for a moment I think I’m going to pass out. This isn’t possible. There’s no logical explanation; I’ve never heard of Alex Thorne before.
Reaching for my drink I lean forwards again and read the entire wiki page almost without breathing, not stopping until I’ve absorbed every detail about Alex Thorne. Apparently he was in a band called Thorneand died a tragic death in a hit-and-run accident just outside Museum Tube station.
Hang on, that rings a bell. Museum Tube is where I was nearly attacked and where my would-be assailant claimed to see me with a young man. I laugh aloud at the absurdity of all this. It’s clearly some head trauma I have, to be getting this confused. I must be mixing up all sorts of details and making myself believe them: that’s it. The human brain is an incredibly sophisticated organ, after all. It contains tens of billions of neurons, so who knows what it can do when pushed or jolted?
OK, so I may think I haven’t heard of Alex Thorne before but that could well be my brain playing tricks. Perhaps subconsciously I’ve caught sight of a headline or maybe heard a song. Maybe I even read about his death somewhere. That’s plausible, given that he died only minutes away from where I work. Is that why I imagined seeing him in the hospital?
My head is really hurting now. I take my glasses off and rub my eyes. None of this makes any sense. I’d never even heard
Wrapping myself in a snug bathrobe I make a detour into the kitchen, where I pour a large glass of white wine and tip Susie’s flask of tea down the sink. Back in the sitting room I light a scented candle before curling up on the sofa with the cat and my duvet, and scrolling through the Sky menu. The room is warm and cosy, the wine is slipping down a treat and for the first time since I hurt myself I start to relax.
With one eye on the telly and the other on my computer I spend a happy half an hour deleting all the spam from my email folder, catching up with Facebook and browsing eBay. Then I open up my folder on Aamon and study the CT scans and notes until my eyes grow heavy in the warm vanilla-scented room and I end up typing nonsense. Yawning widely I click out of the folder and back to my home page, where I Google “head trauma” and terrify myself by reading about the horrendous side effects that I may soon be suffering from. Personality change, loss of sex drive, trouble with memory, delusions… The list is endless and very, very depressing.
Note to self: stay away from Wikipedia. My next search will involve some serious research papers on the subject.
I wander to the kitchen and slosh more wine into my glass. Is alcoholism another side effect? I don’t seem to remember reading that as I worked my way down the list of doom. Then again, neither do I recall seeing that hallucinating about men called Alex Thorne is common either – and that certainly happened.
Settling down again on the sofa I balance the laptop on my knees and idly type Alex Thorne into the search engine. Without thinking twice I click on the first link and gasp when the screen fills with that achingly familiar face. Green eyes hold mine, dark floppy hair falling over them, and his head is thrown back as he laughs.
My hallucination is pictured large as life on the screen of my Mac. He exists. He really exists.
I lean away from the laptop. My heart’s racing and for a moment I think I’m going to pass out. This isn’t possible. There’s no logical explanation; I’ve never heard of Alex Thorne before.
Reaching for my drink I lean forwards again and read the entire wiki page almost without breathing, not stopping until I’ve absorbed every detail about Alex Thorne. Apparently he was in a band called Thorneand died a tragic death in a hit-and-run accident just outside Museum Tube station.
Hang on, that rings a bell. Museum Tube is where I was nearly attacked and where my would-be assailant claimed to see me with a young man. I laugh aloud at the absurdity of all this. It’s clearly some head trauma I have, to be getting this confused. I must be mixing up all sorts of details and making myself believe them: that’s it. The human brain is an incredibly sophisticated organ, after all. It contains tens of billions of neurons, so who knows what it can do when pushed or jolted?
OK, so I may think I haven’t heard of Alex Thorne before but that could well be my brain playing tricks. Perhaps subconsciously I’ve caught sight of a headline or maybe heard a song. Maybe I even read about his death somewhere. That’s plausible, given that he died only minutes away from where I work. Is that why I imagined seeing him in the hospital?
My head is really hurting now. I take my glasses off and rub my eyes. None of this makes any sense. I’d never even heard
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