Bet Your Life by Casey Jane

Author:Casey, Jane [Casey, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781466836266
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

12

The next morning I woke up early, with a hangover, which was more than unfair since I hadn’t had anything to drink at all. I got out of bed and saw my reflection: pale as paper, lank hair, dark shadows under my eyes. The classic post-break-up look. It wasn’t even as if Will and I had got back together again. All of the misery, none of the fun. It was the story of my life.

Someone had put a note under my door and I bent to pick it up, wincing as my head throbbed. It was from Ella: an apology that she had got back so late from the party. She was going to sleep in, unless I needed her, in which case I should wake her up. I checked the time: she’d had three and a half hours in bed. Not really enough to justify disturbing her. There was an arrow to the other side of the page and I turned it over.

I kissed H! H kissed me! OMG!

In spite of everything I laughed. I was glad someone’s romantic life was working out, even if mine was a disaster.

I went and had a long, very hot shower, ignoring Tom knocking on the door halfway through and shouting abuse through the keyhole. It had been a revelation to me that in a big family you had to hold your ground. I refused to hurry, emerging feeling altogether more human. Makeup helped too—wide-awake eyes, courtesy of mascara, and a healthy glow thanks to some blusher. No one would have guessed that I’d cried myself to sleep, slept badly, and woken up on the verge of tears before I even remembered why. I opened the curtains on a beautiful day, bright blue sky and a veil of frost turning the garden silver-white. Stepping over the hateful black dress, which I’d abandoned on the floor of my room, I found my oldest, softest jeans—the ones that were nearly falling apart—and boots, and a jumper that came down to my thighs. It felt better to be in my own clothes, instead of playing dress-up.

Downstairs, nothing was stirring. It was my day for getting notes: Mum had left one telling me she was going out to take some pictures before work. Tilly taught an art class in a local community center on Tuesdays and had already left. Jack was gone too. Hugo was asleep. Ella was asleep. Petra had eaten, judging by the crumbs on the kitchen table that had her napkin ring in the middle of them, but she had disappeared. Tom was going out to play football and was never exactly sociable anyway. The house was too quiet, and too full of memories. The previous evening haunted me, particularly the last bit. I averted my eyes from the table, standing up by the sink as I ate some cereal without tasting it. I washed the bowl, trying not to think about Will rinsing his mug there two days ago. Everywhere I looked, I saw something that reminded me of him.

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