The Husbands by Holly Gramazio
signedhardbackYou wait ages for The One . .. then 203 come along at once.
One night Lauren finds a strange man in her flat who claims to be her husband. All the evidence - from photos to electricity bills - suggests he’s right.
Lauren’s attic, she slowly realises, is creating an endless supply of husbands for her. There’s the one who pretends to play music on her toes. The one who’s too hot (there must be a catch). The one who makes a great breakfast sandwich. The one who turns everything into double entendres (“I’ll weed your garden”). And the one who can calm her unruly thoughts with a single touch.
But when you can change husbands as easily as changing a lightbulb, how do you know whether the one you have now is the good-enough one, or the wrong one, or the best one? And how long should you keep trying to find out?
signedhardbackYou wait ages for The One . .. then 203 come along at once.
One night Lauren finds a strange man in her flat who claims to be her husband. All the evidence - from photos to electricity bills - suggests he’s right.
Lauren’s attic, she slowly realises, is creating an endless supply of husbands for her. There’s the one who pretends to play music on her toes. The one who’s too hot (there must be a catch). The one who makes a great breakfast sandwich. The one who turns everything into double entendres (“I’ll weed your garden”). And the one who can calm her unruly thoughts with a single touch.
But when you can change husbands as easily as changing a lightbulb, how do you know whether the one you have now is the good-enough one, or the wrong one, or the best one? And how long should you keep trying to find out?
signedhardbackYou wait ages for The One . .. then 203 come along at once.
One night Lauren finds a strange man in her flat who claims to be her husband. All the evidence - from photos to electricity bills - suggests he’s right.
Lauren’s attic, she slowly realises, is creating an endless supply of husbands for her. There’s the one who pretends to play music on her toes. The one who’s too hot (there must be a catch). The one who makes a great breakfast sandwich. The one who turns everything into double entendres (“I’ll weed your garden”). And the one who can calm her unruly thoughts with a single touch.
But when you can change husbands as easily as changing a lightbulb, how do you know whether the one you have now is the good-enough one, or the wrong one, or the best one? And how long should you keep trying to find out?
