Liverpool-born ABBEY CLANCY is one of the UK’s most in demand models. She successfully combines being a wife and mother with her career as a presenter and model. She is a UK brand ambassador for many top brands including Matalan, Reebok and Avon. Abbey is married to Premiership footballer Peter Crouch and has two small daughters.
Remember My Name is her debut novel.
For Neale – gone but never forgotten.
I love you.
Table of Contents
Liverpool, a few years ago …
Jess could feel the heat of the spotlight; the glare of the multi-coloured strobe flitting over her face as it criss-crossed the stage. She could feel the sweat oozing its way through her make-up, the strain on her lungs as she recovered from that last note. She was blinded by the dazzling glow, deafened by the sound of applause hammering in time to her own frenzied heart. Her legs were weak from dancing, her throat was sore from singing, her stomach was cramping with effort and nausea, and she felt like she might collapse at any second.
It was, quite frankly, the best moment of her entire life.
She blinked her eyelids a few times to try and get rid of the droplets of sweat that had gathered on her long lashes, and stared out at the audience. She knew they were there—she could hear them, feel them, and, thanks to the hot dogs that had been served at the interval, even smell them—but the spotlight turned them into a mass of dark blobs. Dark blobs that were all standing up, shouting and cheering and clapping. Even people that weren’t related to her by blood were joining in—although she could definitely hear her dad yelling louder than everyone else. All she could see was the dark outline of bodies, silhouetted hands waving in the air.
All those people. Cheering. For her.
Panting, exhausted, on the biggest high she’d ever known, a wide smile cracked her face in two. She’d done it. She’d played the lead role in the biggest show of the school year, and she’d played it well. So well that the whole place was on its feet.
So what if she passed out afterwards? And who cared if the fright wig she was wearing tore her own hair out in clumps when it was removed? And what did it matter that she might have broken her big toe during that last routine? It was all worth it.