I Heart London by Lindsey Kelk

Author:Lindsey Kelk [Kelk, Lindsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9780007383733
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-06-30T11:58:21+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘Mum?’

No reply.

‘Dad?’

Nada.

‘Jenny?’

Nothing. The house was completely empty. Tuesday morning was grey and dull, no hint of sunshine behind the heavy dark clouds. I told myself the weather was getting its nonsense out of the way before Saturday, when it would be blue skies and blue birds and lots of other lovely blue things, like − well, I’d think of something. Blue Nun, maybe. Even if it was a fair few hours off cocktail o’clock.

A note on the kitchen table explained that Dad had gone to rehearse with his band and Mum and Jenny were out. No details. No information of any kind. Just out. But Mum had scribbled a P.S. that there were some boxes of my things in the back bedroom cupboard that needed sorting out when I had a minute. Brilliant. Going through boxes of knackered four-year-old Primark T-shirts and that purple pair of BHS culottes I’d clung onto since 1997 was exactly what I felt like doing.

I’d had no word from Alex. Being the wonderfully trusting girlfriend that I was, I assumed he was hanging out at his friend’s house and not wallowing up to the eyeballs in English groupies, but I sent him a quick text anyway just to make sure he knew how much I loved him and to let him know I was going out for coffee with a friend. I just casually forgot to add the words ‘ex’ and ‘boy’ to that sentence. I’d tell him later. It wasn’t a text-appropriate conversation and besides, he trusted me like I trusted him.

It was pretty easy to convince myself that the two hours I spent primping before Mark’s arrival were hours well spent. It was good pre-wedding prep − essential conditioning and moisturizing that couldn’t be overlooked.

I went for a simple look − loose, softly waved hair and very delicate make-up, just enough to make me look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The outfit was more trying. When Mark and I were together, I existed exclusively in jeans, T-shirts and knackered Converse so I didn’t want to show up in Alexander Wang glitter trousers and a leather corset, but I did want to show him how much I’d changed. Since the weather was threatening to be rubbish, I went for a little grey Paul & Joe Sister bird-print dress, a gift from Erin’s pre-baby wardrobe, and a pair of my mother’s black tights. Thank God she always kept spares. I added some ballet flats, the knackered old denim jacket I’d systematically destroyed through two years of sixth form and my equally knackered Marc Jacobs bag, which I had managed to destroy in under two years, looked in the mirror and declared myself ‘OK’. The dress was pretty but the jacket played it down. The bag was clearly designer but the battering it had taken told you I wasn’t precious. Or careful with my things. I just hoped it was OK enough to get me through.

The doorbell rang and I held myself back, trying to ignore my racing heartbeat.

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