One Day (English Edition) und über 1,5 Millionen weitere Bücher verfügbar für Amazon Kindle. Erfahren Sie mehr

Neu kaufen

oder
Loggen Sie sich ein, um 1-Click® einzuschalten.
oder
Mit kostenloser Probeteilnahme bei Amazon Prime. Melden Sie sich während des Bestellvorgangs an.
Gebraucht kaufen
Gebraucht - Gut Informationen anzeigen
Preis: EUR 2,73

oder
 
   
Jetzt eintauschen
und EUR 0,55 Gutschein erhalten
Eintausch
Alle Angebote
Möchten Sie verkaufen? Hier verkaufen
Jeder kann Kindle Bücher lesen  selbst ohne ein Kindle-Gerät  mit der KOSTENFREIEN Kindle App für Smartphones, Tablets und Computer.
Beginnen Sie mit dem Lesen von One Day (English Edition) auf Ihrem Kindle in weniger als einer Minute.

Sie haben keinen Kindle? Hier kaufen oder eine gratis Kindle Lese-App herunterladen.

One Day [Englisch] [Taschenbuch]

David Nicholls
4.5 von 5 Sternen  Alle Rezensionen anzeigen (94 Kundenrezensionen)
Preis: EUR 7,90 kostenlose Lieferung Siehe Details.
  Alle Preisangaben inkl. MwSt.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Nur noch 12 auf Lager (mehr ist unterwegs).
Verkauf und Versand durch Amazon. Geschenkverpackung verfügbar.
Lieferung bis Samstag, 22. November: Wählen Sie an der Kasse Morning-Express. Siehe Details.
‹  Zurück zur Artikelübersicht

Produktbeschreibungen

Pressestimmen

'A big-hearted, beautiful book - there is not one single page that doesn't abound with warmth, wisdom and laughter...David Nicholls has written a totally brilliant book about the heartbreaking gap between the way we were and the way we are...ONE DAY is the best weird love story since THE TIME TRAVELLER'S WIFE. It really is as good as that. Every reader will fall in love with it. And every writer will wish they had written it.' -- Tony Parsons on ONE DAY 20090129 'The funniest, loveliest book I've read in ages. Most of all it is horribly, cringingly, absolutely 100% honest and true to life: I lived every page.' -- Jenny Colgan on ONE DAY 20081202 'A comic genius' -- Maria Beaumont on David Nicholls 20050211 'Brilliant... we would recommend it to anyone' -- Richard Madeley and Judy Finnigan on STARTER FOR TEN 20050211 'I laughed a lot' -- Jeremy Paxman on STARTER FOR TEN 20050211

Synopsis

HE is Dexter Mayhew, tall, dark and (she can't deny it) handsome, largely naked and somehow in her single bed in her tiny room on the very last day of four years of education. SHE is Emma Morley, bottled red hair, wilfully badly dressed, all principles and no action. And very, very surprised to find herself kissing Dexter Mayhew. A simple one night stand, at the dawn of the rest of their lives? Or are Dex and Em living proof that -- despite an unlikely beginning -- men and women really can be just good friends? -- Dieser Text bezieht sich auf eine vergriffene oder nicht verfügbare Ausgabe dieses Titels.

Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende

David Nicholls trained as an actor before making the switch to writing. His TV credits include the third series of Cold Feet, Rescue Me, and I Saw You. He was co-writer for the film adaptation of Simpatico, which starred Nick Nolte, Jeff Bridges and Sharon Stone. David's bestselling first novel, STARTER FOR TEN, was selected for the Richard and Judy Book Club in 2004, and David has written the screenplays for film versions of both STARTER FOR TEN (released in 2006, starring James McAvoy) and THE UNDERSTUDY (not yet released). Also, for BBC TV, David wrote a modern version of Much Ado About Nothing and recently adapted Tess of the D'Urbervilles. He is currently working on an adaptation of Far From The Madding Crowd.

Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

CHAPTER ONE
'THE FUTURE'

Friday 15TH July 1988
Rankeillor Street, Edinburgh

'I suppose the important thing is to make some sort of difference,' she said. 'You know, actually change something.'
     'What, like "change the world", you mean?'
     'Not the whole entire world. Just the little bit around you.'
     They lay in silence for a moment, bodies curled around each other in the single bed, then both began to laugh in low, pre-dawn voices. 'Can't believe I just said that,' she groaned. 'Sounds a bit corny, doesn't it?'
     'A bit corny.'
     'I'm trying to be inspiring! I'm trying to lift your grubby soul for the great adventure that lies ahead of you.' She turned to face him. 'Not that you need it. I expect you've got your future nicely mapped out, ta very much. Probably got a little flow-chart somewhere or something.'
     'Hardly.'
     'So what're you going to do then? What's the great plan?'
     'Well, my parents are going to pick up my stuff, dump it at theirs, then I'll spend a couple of days in their flat in London, see some friends. Then France-'
     'Very nice-'
     'Then China maybe, see what that's all about, then maybe onto India, travel around there for a bit-'
     'Traveling,' she sighed. 'So predictable.'
     'What's wrong with travelling?'
     'Avoiding reality more like.'
     'I think reality is over-rated,' he said in the hope that this might come across as dark and charismatic.
     She sniffed. 'S'alright, I suppose, for those who can afford it. Why not just say "I'm going on holiday for two years"? It's the same thing.'
     'Because travel broadens the mind,' he said, rising onto one elbow and kissing her.
     'Oh I think you're probably a bit too broad-minded as it is,' she said, turning her face away, for the moment at least. They settled again on the pillow. 'Anyway, I didn't mean what are you doing next month, I meant the future-future, when you're, I don't know...' She paused, as if conjuring up some fantastical idea, like a fifth dimension. '...Forty or something. What do you want to be when you're forty?'
     'Forty?' He too seemed to be struggling with the concept. 'Don't know. Am I allowed to say "rich"?'
     'Just so, so shallow.'
     'Alright then, "famous".' He began to nuzzle at her neck. 'Bit morbid, this, isn't it?'
     'It's not morbid, it's...exciting.'
     ' 'Exciting!' ' He was imitating her voice now, her soft Yorkshire accent, trying to make her sound daft. She got this a lot, posh boys doing funny voices, as if there was something unusual and quaint about an accent, and not for the first time she felt a reassuring shiver of dislike for him. She shrugged herself away until her back was pressed against the cool of the wall.
     'Yes, exciting. We're meant to be excited, aren't we? All those possibilities. It's like the Vice-Chancellor said, "the doors of opportunity flung wide..."'
     '"Yours are the names in tomorrow's newspapers..."'
     'Not very likely.'
     'So, what, are you excited then?'
     'Me? God no, I'm crapping myself.'
     'Me too. Christ...' He turned suddenly and reached for the cigarettes on the floor by the side of the bed, as if to steady his nerves. 'Forty years old. Forty. Fucking hell.'
     Smiling at his anxiety, she decided to make it worse. 'So what'll you be doing when you're forty?'
     He lit his cigarette thoughtfully. 'Well the thing is, Em-'
     '"Em"? Who's "Em"?'
     'People call you Em. I've heard them.'
     'Yeah, friends call me Em.'
     'So can I call you Em?'
     'Go on then, Dex.'
     'So I've given this whole "growing old" thing some thought and I've come to the decision that I'd like to stay exactly as I am right now.'
     Dexter Mayhew. She peered up at him through her fringe as he leant against the cheap buttoned vinyl headboard and even without her spectacles on it was clear why he might want to stay exactly this way. Eyes closed, the cigarette glued languidly to his lower lip, the dawn light warming the side of his face through the red filter of the curtains, he had the knack of looking perpetually posed for a photograph. Emma Morley thought 'handsome' a silly, nineteenth-century word, but there really was no other word for it, except perhaps 'beautiful'. He had one of those faces where you were aware of the bones beneath the skin, as if even his bare skull would be attractive. A fine nose, slightly shiny with grease, and dark skin beneath the eyes that looked almost bruised, a badge of honour from all the smoking and late nights spent deliberately losing at strip poker with girls from Bedales. There was something feline about him: eyebrows fine, mouth pouty in a self-conscious way, lips a shade too dark and full, but dry and chapped now, and rouged with Bulgarian red wine. Gratifyingly his hair was terrible, short at the back and sides, but with an awful little quiff at the front. Whatever gel he used had worn off, and now the quiff looked pert and fluffy, like a silly little hat.
     Still with his eyes closed, he exhaled smoke through his nose. Clearly he knew he was being looked at because he tucked one hand beneath his armpit, bunching up his pectorals and biceps. Where did the muscles come from? Certainly not sporting activity, unless you counted skinny- dipping and playing pool. Probably it was just the kind of good health that was passed down in the family, along with the stocks and shares and the good furniture. Handsome then, or beautiful even, with his paisley boxer shorts pulled down to his hip bones and somehow here in her single bed in her tiny rented room at the end of four years of college. 'Handsome'! Who do you think you are, Jane Eyre? Grow up. Be sensible. Don't get carried away.
     She plucked the cigarette from his mouth. 'I can imagine you at forty,' she said, a hint of malice in her voice. 'I can picture it right now.'
     He smiled without opening his eyes. 'Go on then.'
     'Alright-' She shuffled up the bed, the duvet tucked beneath her armpits. 'You're in this sports car with the roof down in Kensington or Chelsea or one of those places and the amazing thing about this car is it's silent, 'cause all the cars'll be silent in, I don't know, what - 2006?'
     He scrunched his eyes to do the sum. '2004-'
     'And this car is hovering six inches off the ground down the King's Road and you've got this little paunch tucked under the leather steering wheel like a little pillow and those backless gloves on, thinning hair and no chin. You're a big man in a small car with a tan like a basted turkey-'
     'So shall we change the subject then?'
     'And there's this woman next to you in sunglasses, your third, no, fourth wife, very beautiful, a model, no, an ex-model, twenty-three, you met her while she was draped on the bonnet of a car at a motor- show in Nice or something, and she's stunning and thick as... -- Dieser Text bezieht sich auf eine andere Ausgabe: Audio CD .
‹  Zurück zur Artikelübersicht