My Big Greek Holiday by Lisa Darcy

Author:Lisa Darcy [Darcy, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books

Chapter 21

Dishevelled. Mascara down around my chin. Bruised cheek and wearing a very short T-shirt that read Bad Girl. I wasn’t looking my best. Then again, I hadn’t been expecting company.

While I was in the bathroom, trying to rectify some of the damage with a hot shower, Tara slipped me two magic headache tablets and fifteen minutes later I felt much better. Alive, at least.

What was he doing here? Through my bedroom window, I could see and hear Jack laughing on the patio as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Didn’t he know I was in the middle of a crisis?

No one should ever make an impromptu visit to a person’s house the morning after a huge night out. A night out where said person had been partying and now just wanted to recover by lying in the sun and feeling sorry for herself. It wasn’t fair. On top of everything, Marcus had been texting about his precious bloody package.

I brushed my hair over the bruise on my face, but I couldn’t figure out what to wear. I had absolutely no clothes. All I knew was that I had to wear flat shoes, but that was silly, because I didn’t have any apart from the thongs I’d bought at a street stall. I glanced into the cupboard. Thongs it was.

Stay calm. Think rationally. What could I wear, given that I was feeling fat, untidy and unwell? The shorts? No. They’d expose too much thigh. Singlet? No. That would emphasise my upper arms. Skirt? Definitely not. Skirts cut my waist in half and made me look short and pudgy—

Tara flung open the bedroom door and barked, ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

I jumped. ‘What are you doing in here, more like it? You scared the bejesus out of me.’

‘Speed it up, girlie. Put this shirt on.’ She tossed a white T-shirt at me.

‘It’s crumpled. Besides, I’m too pasty to wear white.’

After rummaging in the cupboard, she threw some long pants on the bed. ‘Shut up and put it on with these culotty type things.’

‘Culottes? These are not culottes.’

‘Whatever you want to call them, put them on and get downstairs now.’

It would have been far better had Sophie burst into my room. At least she would have thoughtfully advised me about what to wear, rather than throwing anything into my wretched puffy face.

Finally, I was ready. As ready as I’d ever be this morning, considering that today was up there with one of the worst days in recent memory. I edged down the stairs, holding the handrail for support.

‘Hi, Jack,’ I said in a bright voice when I’d finally made it to the lounge room.

He didn’t turn around. No one did. All four of them were glued to the TV watching yet another report about Ivanka Trump. Why wouldn’t she disappear? I slouched against the wall and closed my eyes, waiting for a fresh wave of nausea to pass. Then I jumped to the sound of an ear-piercing cymbal clanging.

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