Three Words: A Novella Collection (34 page)

Oh, this was
going to be good.

I nodded, not
trusting that voice inside my head to keep the sarcasm at bay.

“
The girl you saw me with was my sister, Jemima. I thought,
seeing as how you were so freaked out by the big family Christmas
thing that you might like to meet her one on one. She’s been dying
to meet you.”

I didn’t know
whether to be flabbergasted by the fact Johnny had spoken about me
to his family or that the girl I’d assumed was some random chick
he’d met at the bar was actually a member of his family. He hadn’t
lied.

Great. Talk
about want to find a hole and jump in it.

“
You told your sister about me?”

“
I told my whole family. They must think I’m tapped in the
head, I talk about you so much.”

Oh, this was
getting weird now. He was making it sound like we’d been a couple
for ages. And we weren’t really a couple. I’d be lucky if he’d even
want to be in a relationship with me now that I’d flown off the
handle over nothing. Again. I hoped he’d be able see past it.

“
You really told them? All of them?”

“
Mum can’t wait to meet you. She’s gonna be pretty upset when
I tell her we’ve broken up before we even got started. You’re the
first woman, outside of Beyoncé, I thought I might like to
introduce to the family.”

Shit. He was
going to make me cry at this rate.

Johnny stepped
around the sofa and moved close to me. His arms went around my
waist. “Do you still want me to leave?”

I sniffed.
Bugger him. “No. Can you forgive me for screaming like a
fishwife?”

“
Yes. If you promise to only rant like that at the rugby in
future. You were a bit scary, frankly.”

Johnny was a
big lad. I couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anyone. Maybe what
Millie said about him being a teddy bear in the inside was true.
There was a lot I was learning about him that was the antithesis of
his public persona.

“
Okay. I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything. Womble drives
me to drink at times.”

He pulled me
closer, kissing the tip of my nose. “Merry Christmas, my turtle
dove.”

“
Merry Christmas.”

“
Nice outfit, by the way. But if you’re going to brave the
gauntlet and meet the olds you might want to think about putting
something over it. I mean, I’m not complaining in the least but Dad
had heart surgery a few months back. You’d send his blood pressure
through the roof if you turned up like that.”

It was about
then that I realised I’d been walking around in my new lingerie for
the past half an hour. With all the disruptions at the front door,
I’d completely forgotten I was half naked — which was not like me
at all. No wonder that delivery boy had looked at me so oddly.

“
And who said I was going anywhere with you? Besides, I
promised Kirby, I’d have lunch with her. I can’t go back on my word
and I’m already late as it is.”

Johnny kissed
me again. It made my knees go weak and for possibly the first time,
I started to believe there could be a future for us — one that
didn’t involve me getting Johnny out of some ridiculous scrape on a
Saturday night.

“
All right,” he said. “Go to Kirby’s. But don’t expect that
I’ll ever let you out of my sight again.”

“
I like that idea,” I whispered. “I really do.”

THE END

Seven Days

(#SEVENDAYS series Book 1)

Chapter 1

A tear wells
and spills over, running down my cheek until it reaches the tip of
my nose. It drips onto my knee, making a tiny splash of liquid on
my skin and I smear it away with my finger.

A year. It’s
been a whole year and I still can’t get past the fact that I’m
alone in this world. An orphan. No family; no one who’ll come when
I call for help in the middle of the night. No one to tell me how
brilliant I am, even when I suck. Which I do. Often. Like right
now, for instance. Sitting here on the beach, howling like a baby.
That’s major suckage.

Sniffing back
the tears. I attempt to rally. I’m an adult, I tell myself. I
shouldn’t need the constant validation of those around me to prove
I am a worthy person. I can do life by myself. I don’t need a
mother.

Yeah,
right.

I sigh and
begin to cry again. While that might be true, it’s simply not the
point. The point is, I feel alone, abandoned, deserted. And even
though it’s been twelve months since Mum died, I’m especially lost
today, on the anniversary of her death.

I reach into
my pocket, pulling out a photo. It was taken the Christmas before
last on my auntie’s instant camera, one of those cool vintage ones
that are hip again. Mum and I standing in front of the old maple
tree in our garden. She has her arm around my shoulder like she’s
never going to let me go. I think about how Mum always loved that
tree. Every autumn when the leaves decorated the street and annoyed
the crap out of the neighbours, she loved it even more. It used to
make her laugh that Mr Jenson got so riled up he felt compelled to
rant while using his leaf blower. Nobody could hear a word he
said.

I run my
finger over the spot marking Mum’s face, studying it. I’ve looked
at this photo a hundred times, more even, yet I never saw until now
how alike Mum and I look. We have the same eyes, round and blue.
Our smile is identical, wide and friendly and sort of like Julia
Roberts in
Pretty Woman
. And our noses, well they most
definitely match, right down to the tiny bump on the bridge I hate
so much. Mum’s hair was darker than mine but that’s probably
because she used to dye it. Mine’s auburn if we’re being polite,
carroty red if we’re not.

It was the
middle of the night when I got the news that Mum was gone. I was in
the university bar celebrating the end of another year. The ting of
my phone interrupted me at the very moment I was about to make a
complete tit of myself — ironically — by taking off my t-shirt and
running around the bar with it over my head for a dare. I loathe
dares. I don’t like being out of control, not knowing what will
happen but, hey, we had one year to go. Two semesters of study.
Three practical placements. It was a big night. I’d also been the
recipient of just about every award for my year group. It didn’t
dawn on me until after the funeral that I had nobody to share my
achievements with anymore. Well, nobody to say how proud they were,
at any rate. Slamming back a few celebratory tequilas isn’t quite
the same thing.

As the news
was imparted, I remember dropping my phone and everything going
numb. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t make sense of what the voice had
said and it wasn’t because I’d had fifteen Dark and Stormy’s. My
ears simply lost their ability to hear and my brain to comprehend.
There’d been an accident. A body, believed to be my mother’s, had
been found washed up on the beach right near where I sat now.

That was the
night my life changed and not for the better.

I cross my
legs, watching grains of sand sift through my fingers. My tears
plop into the sand making a tiny well of water before they soak
beneath the surface. Mum’s gone. It’s been hard and today is
bringing it back all over again. The horror is as alive and well as
if it was happening right this minute.

“
Excuse me? Is this yours?”

I roll my eyes
inwardly, not wanting to lift my head. I don’t want to converse,
what I want is for whoever it is to leave me alone. Now. Talking is
too difficult today.

“
Excuse me?—”

The voice is
rather persistent.

“—
It’s only that it was almost in the water.” A shadow moves in
front of me, darkening the area around my legs. I look up into the
sun squinting to see its owner. Mum’s sunhat is in a stranger’s
hand. It’s covered in sand and the ribbon is dangling limply where
it’s gotten wet. I feel myself frowning. How did this man get my
mother’s hat? I’m positive I left it on the sand beside me. I
glance down, knowing of course, that it won’t be there and it’s
not. Seriously, I’m losing my mind. I am.

I nod.
“Yes.”

The man hands
the hat to me, his fingers touching mine as he does. His head tilts
slightly, like he’s waiting for something. Why doesn’t he leave?
Can’t he see I’m relishing in my own misery?

“
Are you okay?”

No. Go.
Away.

“
Yes. Thank you.”

“
You’re crying.”

Well, that’s
fairly obvious. I’m also feeling quite antisocial and if he doesn’t
leave I might have to explain that. Forcefully.

“
It’s okay. Really.”

“
Is there something I can do? Someone I can get to help
you?”

Suddenly, my
silent tears turn to sobs. I don’t give a toss that I’m behaving
like this in front of a complete stranger because it’s his fault.
He talked about getting people to help and I have no one. I am
alone. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I put my forehead on them
to hide my face. I sob and sob, my crying making my shoulders heave
and leaving me breathless. My teeth chatter against my knees
because my chin is wobbling in an attempt to quell the tears.
They’re like those wind up joke teeth you buy from the party shop
they’re chattering so much.

I feel the
stranger sit next to me on the sand. A hand tentatively splays over
my forearm. It doesn’t move. It’s just there; its warmth reassuring
me. I know I should pull away, that it should be creepy, some guy
approaching me out of the blue and putting his hand on my arm but
it’s not. The action has made me sag with a rush of final tears. I
feel comforted. Released from my sorrow.

“
Have you hurt yourself?” he asks.

“
No,” I emphasise, lifting my head at last. “And you don’t
have to sit here. I’m fine.”

The man
removes his hand and slings his arms over his bent up knees. He
gazes out to the ocean. “You don’t look fine. I’d offer a hug and a
shoulder to cry on but it sounds a bit serial killer considering
we’ve just met. Are you sure there’s nothing less stalker-ish I can
do?”

“
Not that I can think of, but thanks.” I press the heels of my
hands against my stinging eyes, give a loud and unladylike sniff
and wipe my nose on my arm leaving a trail of blubbery snot up my
wrist. I slide my arm away quickly, hoping he didn’t see
it.

“
I’m Nicholas, by the way.”

“
Sadie. Thanks for taking the time to stop. I must look so
stupid sitting here on the beach bawling my eyes out.”

“
You look beautiful. Sad but beautiful.”

“
Oh
sure
.” I cast him a disbelieving look and try not
to blush at the compliment. Physical impossibility.

“
Hey, I was trying to be diplomatic. I don’t want you to start
crying again. I’m not good with girls and tears. I never know what
to say.”

His admission
cheers me up. I rally. “So what do I actually look like, then? Go
on. Hit me with the worst.”

He considers
me for a moment. His fingers caress his chin in a comical way and
he purses his lips as if deep in thought. He has very nice lips.
The bottom one is full and almost pouty, the kind you want to suck
into your mouth. And they’re very pink. Rather kissable.

Shit. I’m
perving on the guy’s mouth and I don’t even know him. Fancy being
so easily distracted when I’m meant to be thinking about Mum. I’m
such a tart.

He does have
nice lips, though.

“
Well?” I question.

“
You have a snot trail.” His index finger indicates my
cheek.

“
Noooo
!” I pull my hem of my t-shirt over my fist,
swiftly wiping my cheek. Talk about embarrassing. “How about
now?”

“
It’s an improvement,” he says. “Not that you looked that bad
in the first place. You’re a bit soggy round the eyes, though. Like
your mum died.”

Which is
absolutely
not
what I needed to hear. My face collapses and
with it my restored mood. I suck in air, trying to breath, trying
not to cry again. It’s not working. The sadness is building. It’s
like a ball rising in my throat, choking me.

Nicholas
frowns; the recognition of what he’s said dawning. “Jesus, sorry.
Tell me your mum didn’t actually die.”

“
My mum actually died.”

“
Fuck, I’m such a dickhead.”

“
You… Didn’t… Know.” My words are punctuated by tearful,
choked snuffles. I see the concerned look on his face. I think I’m
scaring him so I try to pull myself together. I mean, it’s been a
year. I was only coming here to remember Mum on the anniversary of
her death, not fall into the depths of misery again. I need to get
a grip and stop blubbering at every tiny thing like a sooky girl.
Mum wouldn’t have wanted that and I’ve never been a fan of the
blubbering girl either.

Nicholas
stares at the horizon for a while, letting me cry.

“
Better?” he asks, at last.

“
Mmm
. Thanks, again.” Somehow it is. His being here is
nice. I feel less lost. His presence seems natural, like we’ve
known each other for the longest time.

About half an
hour goes by as we sit watching the waves lapping at the shore and
the sun going down beyond the horizon. Neither of us says a word
but there’s no need to. Nicholas’ brand of comfort lies in the fact
that he was prepared to stop and sit with me, a girl he doesn’t
know. That says volumes. As the sun finally disappears, he speaks,
“I was heading for a beer and a burger. Do you want to come?”