Summer Sky by Lisa Swallow

Author:Lisa Swallow [Swallow, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497508811
Google: G4OloAEACAAJ
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2014-04-03T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Sky

Thanks to Tara's friend of a friend's brother (or someone equally vague); I find somewhere new to live without having to fork out a huge deposit.

I’m pissed off about moving from the modern house in the safe suburb I shared with Grant and into a tiny place in the arse end of town, even though I should be grateful. The musty smell in the lounge is only surpassed by the disgusting state of the kitchen. The cooker looks in dire need of cleaning product, and the cupboards are full of crumbs and goodness knows what from the previous occupants. As the place comes furnished, I don’t have much opportunity to make the place my own and resolve to buy some pictures to cover the ugly brown marks on the bedroom walls.

Two days later and I’m settling in. If that’s what cleaning the kitchen and steam cleaning the furniture means. Something sadistic inside me decides to buy a picture of a coastal scene and hang it over the dent in the lounge wall.

The flat is close to a bus stop, so I don’t bother with my car for work, leaving it parked outside my new home. If I drive anywhere, I again have to battle for a space within a fifty mile radius of the flat when I return. Okay, what feels like a fifty-mile radius, especially in the rain.

I haven’t heard from Dylan. He never appeared outside Tara's again, and I hope he doesn't track me down to here. I replay the last meeting in my mind constantly, and when I'm half-asleep the conversation ends differently. In this version, I allow myself to connect and he holds me while we kiss. One thing is certain, if Dylan Morgan ever kisses me again, I know the fantasy of Broadbeach will become reality because I won’t want to let him go.

Tara comes around with a "house warming" present which is odd on two accounts. Firstly, she's not the sort to waste time and money on frivolities unless they pertain to her. And secondly, she brought me a houseplant, a small Yucca in a brown pot she holds out to me as if she’s carrying a stick of dynamite about to explode. With my horticultural skills, the thing won’t last a week.

I know the real reason Tara is here – she wants the lowdown on Dylan’s and my sexual exploits, which I've so far refused to give her. A part of me worries she may 'out' me to the tabloids but she’s a better person than that, thank God. Some people would sell me out for the money, so I'm glad our twelve-year friendship stands for something. However, I don’t tell her any more details just in case.

I spend a couple of evenings torturing myself searching Dylan on Google, which is ironic - I don't want to see him but I'm spending my evenings with him anyway. Dylan has quite a history: the sex, drugs and rock and roll cliché at its very best.

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