Read Online 183 Times a Year by Eva Jordan - Free Book Online Page A

good for the soul. They’re quite cool and like a lot of chart music. Mumford and Sons is their favourite band at the moment, although Grandad quite likes some dance music. They also like a lot of the music Mum grew up with in the 80’s but they say the 60’s were the best. It’s thanks to them I have a real dyslexic (or is it electric? Whatevs) taste in music.
    When they stop dancing I make us all a cup of tea (or Rosie Lee as Grandad calls it) and Nan cuts us a slice of her homemade bread pudding. Grandad gets some of Bob Dylan’s songs up on the computer. He says he wants to show me Bob Dylan coz he knows I like Adele and he knows Adele sang a Bob Dylan song. It’s the one that always makes Mum cry. The one she says she dedicated to me and Connor. She should bloody well listen to the words of that song then sometimes when she’s like nagging at me.
    I talk with Nan and Grandad for a while, listening to some Bob Dylan and then to some of the early stuff by Grandad’s favourite band, The Rolling Stones. I dedicate
Paint It Black
to Maisy and
19th Nervous Breakdown
to Mum coz she always acts like she’s having one. I make the dedication in my head though of course. Not out loud coz I have to respect that Mum is Nan and Grandad’s daughter, after all. It’s not their fault they made such an idiot.
    Nan looks tired; it’s the radiotherapy I think. Thankfully the Doctors have caught the cancer early so she doesn’t have to have chemotherapy which I’m like well pleased about coz Nan has lovely hair and it would be like well bad for her to lose it. I told her I’d chop all my hair off too if she did lose hers to make her feel better. So I’m like well chuffed she hasn’t. It would be like sooooooo embarrassing if I had no hair. No boys would
ever
fancy me then.
    Nan lies down on the sofa and Grandad covers her up with a blanket. He kisses her head and tells her to rest for a while. He also tells me I can stay for a few more minutes, and then I have to go, so Nan can sleep.
    Grandad goes outside to his laboratory in the garden – well, it’s an old garage converted into a room with hundreds of books really. He’s not a scientist or anything but he is a bit mad I suppose. Eccentric Nan says.
    LIZZIE
    Can someone please tell me who, when writing the rulebook for teenagers, felt that slamming doors was compulsory and should be adhered to at all times? And we’re not just talking the front door or their bedroom door. Although they are often the preferred choice and never more so than when trying to make a statement of sorts. But teenagers are not picky.
    It can be the bathroom door:
    â€˜I’m taking a shower.’ Bang!! ‘Arrggghh, get it out, get it out, get that bloody spider out.’
    Or the front door:
    â€˜I’m going out.’ Crash!!
    Alternatively, there’s the back door:
    â€˜For god’s bloody sake, why do
I
have to get the washing in?’ Whack!!
    There’s the washing machine door:
    â€˜For god’s bloody sake, why do
I
have to put the washing on?’ Thud!!
    Let’s not forget the car door:
    â€˜What? Oh yeah, thanks for the lift, I suppose. Don’t forget to pick me up.’ Slam!!
    And last but not least, the bedroom door:
    â€˜I bloody hate you. You never let me do anything.’ Smash!!
    I contemplate a life without doors? Not practical. I contemplate a life without teenage daughters? Not possible, at least not just yet, but I am working on it. I contemplate a glass of wine and chocolate. Very practical, very possible. Happy Days!
    CASSIE
    Nan has fallen asleep so I pull my phone out to check the time. One hour until my final exam. If I leave now I can take a slow walk to school.
    Pheebs has texted and asked me to meet her but I’ve made up an excuse about not being able to coz I’m here with Nan. She’s with Chelsea and her lot and they’re probably all smoking and I