Read Online Happily Ever After by Harriet Evans - Free Book Online Page A

Elle went to the sinks, wiping her nose and staring at herself in the mildewy old mirror. She looked awful: red eyes, red nose, still puffy and ravaged from a weekend of crying and drinking. She rinsed her face with cold water and patted it dry, because that was what heroines always did in novels when they’d had a shock, but it just made her face even redder than normal and took off the Boots concealer she’d so carefully applied to the spot on her cheek. She looked down at the newly laundered towel on the handrail: it was streaked with light brown.
    She was just giving another shuddering sigh, when there came a knock at the door.
    “Elle?”
    It was a man’s voice. “Hello?” she said suspiciously.
    “Elle, it’s me, Rory. Open the door.”
    “No,” Elle said, not knowing why.
    “Come on. I wee in the men’s loos, don’t worry. Open the door.”
    Elle unlocked the bathroom door and Rory’s head appeared.“Dear me,” he said, looking at her shiny red visage with alarm. “What on earth’s wrong?”
    Elle burst into tears again. “Coffee… Miss Sassoon furious… Poor thing… a punk outside Buckingham Palace, he brought flowers…”
    “What? Who brought flowers?”
    “The punk, he came straight from a night out clubbing and left a wreath.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I cried all day, those poor boys… oh. Then this morning… wasn’t looking where I was going… I probably scarred her, I’m so stupid.” Elle sobbed, her hands over her face.
    Rory patted her arm comfortingly. “It was an accident, Elle. Felicity’s fine. The jacket’s at the dry-cleaner’s already and Elspeth’s bought her some more Elnett, so everything’s OK. Don’t take on so.”
    Elle cried even louder. “Oh, God,” Rory said, squeezing further into the tiny bathroom and putting his arm round her. “What on earth have I said now?”
    “Granny Bee always said, ‘Don’t take on so,’” Elle told him, staring up at him. “It just reminds me of her, and she’s dead now too… oh…”
    Rory squeezed Elle’s shoulders and smiled. “Well, she was right. Elle, please don’t cry. I hate seeing you like this,” he said solemnly. “Now, dry your eyes, and come back out. Felicity wants to see you.”
    Elle felt as if ice had been poured down her back. “Oh. No,” she said.
    “It’ll be about Polly Pearson, don’t worry. She’s not going to yell at you.”
    Elle didn’t believe him.
    “It’ll be fine,” Rory said. “Trust me?”
    “Yes.”
    “There you go. Don’t look so dramatic, sweetheart.” He bentdown and kissed her, only on the top of the head, but Elle stiffened.
    “I’m OK now,” she said, and stepped away, trying not to blush.
    “Sorry,” Rory said easily, after a tiny pause. He patted her arm. “I was channeling your granny again. That’s the kind of thing grannies do, isn’t it? I have no idea. Mine ran off with a bearded lady from the circus when I was a young boy. Ready?”
    “Er, sure,” said Elle. She wished she had some powder—her face was gleamingly shiny—but if she was about to get fired perhaps it didn’t matter. She held her head up high and marched out of the loo, followed by Rory, past an astonished Sam.
    “Don’t let her boss you around,” Rory whispered in her ear. “Good luck, kid.”
    Elle knocked on the door. It’s fine, she told herself. I hate it here anyway. I’ll leave and work in a bookshop, and I’ll never have to read another stupid romance novel again.
    She knew as she thought it that this was a total lie. That she didn’t mind the monotony of photocopying, the fear of failure, if she could just stay a while longer. She liked it here. She liked the feel and smell of a brand-new book, fresh from the printer’s; Jeff Floyd the sales director’s shout of joy when Victoria Bishop went Top Ten; the notion that, unlike school, you went somewhere every day and you wanted to be there so you worked hard, you even enjoyed being bottom