The Mortification of Grace Wheeler by Colette Dartford

Author:Colette Dartford [Dartford, Colette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indie Lit Limited
Published: 2022-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

Josh ambled into the kitchen in boxers and a T-shirt, purple-grey smudges under his eyes. He yawned so wide Grace saw his wisdom teeth.

‘How’s the hangover?’ she said.

He flopped onto a chair and scratched his stubble.

‘What?’

She put a glass of water on the table in front of him.

‘I assumed,’ she said.

‘Sorry, did we wake you last night?’

‘I wasn’t asleep. Can I get you some breakfast?’

Josh shook his head.

‘Coffee’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll take some up to Millie.’

‘No need,’ she said, appearing in a flimsy cotton dressing gown.

Her hair was wild and loose – her breasts too. Yesterday’s shapeless jumper had concealed their voluptuousness. She hugged Josh from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. The thin fabric gaped, revealing an indecent amount of tattooed cleavage. Grace’s own modest B-cups were hidden under a quilted, ankle-length robe, complete with pockets and a hood. The notion of baring her breasts to a stranger with a tattoo gun was inconceivable. She didn’t know what had happened to young women in the last twenty-five years. They seemed so much bolder, determined to wear their sexuality like a badge of honour. When Grace was a young woman, it was all about being demure – a ‘nice’ girl, as her mum would say. Grace thought back to the waitress in David’s local, and how brazenly she had signalled she was up for a bit of no-strings fun. The way she had offered herself to him was so casual, as though sex was a purely recreational activity – Harry’s excuse to Christina. Was it really that easy to divorce the physical from the emotional? Not for Grace it wasn’t, although she admitted life would be simpler if it was.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked Millie, a question that elicited only a groan.

Grace’s plan, hatched in the early hours of the morning, was to play up the sympathy, selflessly offering to forgo a morning’s fishing so Josh and Millie could stay at home and nurse their hangovers. She had hoped for gales and a downpour, but the sky was stubbornly clear. Bronze autumn sunshine flooded the kitchen, making it a perfect morning for a drive out to Chew. Josh disentangled himself from Millie and made two cups of coal-black coffee, sweetened with heaped teaspoons of sugar. Grace didn’t realise he drank coffee now.

‘Anything to eat?’ she said. ‘Something to line your stomach?’

Was it too much to hope this would nudge them into admitting they couldn’t face food, at which point Grace would gently suggest they go back to bed and sleep it off? Yes, unfortunately it was.

‘I wouldn’t mind some toast,’ said Millie, sitting down.

She rearranged her dressing gown, making only a cursory effort to cover her breasts and thighs.

‘And Marmite,’ she said. ‘If you have any.’

Josh loved Marmite, meaning Grace always had at least one jar in the cupboard. ‘Coming right up,’ he said, dropping a couple of slices of sourdough into the toaster. Grace had scrutinised the ingredients to make sure it was vegan friendly. Millie teased her hair with her fingers, the way femmes fatales do in movies.

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