The Disaster Diaries: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Apocalypse by Sam Sheridan Page A

mad with me?’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I know, I should have told you that I was married.’
    ‘Yes, you should have.’
    ‘I never meant to lie to you.’
    ‘So, it just slipped your mind?’
    ‘No. It’s not like that. I-I...’ she stuttered. I
could hear her sniffing on the other end of the phone. Was she crying? Did she
think I was a fool? ‘My husband isn’t a very nice man. He gets angry and he
shouts at me. I have been thinking about leaving him for months now. I went on
the dating site to try to just meet someone nice. I never meant to cheat or
fall in love. I just wanted to talk to someone. I didn’t think I would like you
as much as I did. I never planned for things to go this far, but once it
started I didn’t want it to end. You made me feel so happy.’
    Was this true?
    A tinge of guilt filled my heart.
    ‘I didn’t know your husband was like that.’
    ‘You weren’t to know. I am sorry, Logan. I don’t
want it to end this way.’ I could hear a male voice shouting something in the
background. ‘He has just got back from the shops. Can I call you later?’
    ‘Okay.’ It wasn’t like I could say no. How much of
an asshole would that make me look?
    ‘Thank you, Logan.’
    The phone line went dead. I placed my cell phone
down on my desk and sighed. Had I misjudged Isabella that badly? I thought she
was using me, but in truth she was being honest. Did that make her feelings for
me real? She was still married, though. Did this make me the good guy or the
bad guy? I wasn’t sure how I felt about her. She is lovely, gorgeous, naughty
and sexy, but she is married. I have never cheated on someone. Could I still have
a relationship with her? Did I want one? I was going to start dating Clarissa,
what was the right thing to do?
    The icon of a new e-mail appeared on the top left of
my screen.
    I opened my inbox and looked inside. It was from the
psychic painter Brendan.
    ‘I read your e-mail and I believe what you say. I
have painted us meeting each other. I don’t think this is coincidence or a
random meeting. This is fate. Here is my address.’ He attached his address in
the middle of the e-mail. I couldn’t believe it. He lived in the same small
town as me. Was that even possible? What were the chances of meeting someone
online and learning that they lived ten minutes walk from my house? Our dreams
were right. The world really had to be ending. This was too much for my brain
to handle. ‘I would like to meet you in person and discuss what we have seen. I
have cancelled my plans and will be at home all day. I await your arrival.’
    That was the end of the e-mail.
    Brendan wanted to meet me.
    Finally, after all these years, I would get my
answers.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter
Thirty-Two: The Psychic Painter
    ***
    I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I didn’t
expect to end up at a pretty little cottage on the outskirts of town. The
person seemed to take great care of his front garden, as there were all sorts
of pretty flowers that represented all the colours of the rainbow. This was
what my family called the posh part of town. It was a row of lovely little
cottages that had the forest on their doorstep. Never in a million years would
I be able to buy one of these houses.
    I raised my hand to knock, but the door opened
inwards.
    A man in his late forties, with a receding hairline
and a scruffy beard, stood before me. His eyes widened with a sense of shock
and his lips broke into a smile, which bordered on the edge of insanity. It was
the type of smile a crazy person in an insane asylum would give you.
    ‘It is really you.’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘You look just like you did in my dreams.’
    I shuffled, uncomfortably.
    This was a bit awkward.
    What did you say to something like that?
    ‘Please, come inside.’ Brendan stepped aside and
welcomed me in. I was stood in a small hallway. Family photos covered the
walls. I could hardly recognise the young Brendan. He looked so