Read Online Lessons in Laughing Out Loud by Rowan Coleman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rowan Coleman
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shoulder.
“Only one, you think, in the whole world?” Willow smiled, touched by the unexpected gesture of girlish affection. “And what if he doesn’t live in Wood Green? What if he lives in Katmandu and he’s a . . . goatherd or something. If there’s only one person for me in the whole wide world, then the odds are that I will never meet him. I don’t believe in true love. It’s just not practical.”
“I know you don’t mean that, I know you don’t. I know that true love exists, just as I know that I will never love again,” India informed her solemnly.
“Oh, you will,” Willow promised her. “Only next time he will be young and have hair and no intermittent erectile dysfunction.”
“How did you know?” India gasped, sitting up and staring down at Willow.
“It’s an open secret. Although probably not much of a secret for much longer if Victoria’s got anything to do with it.”
“It didn’t matter to me.” India sighed. “I told him our love was more than just an erection.”
She said it so seriously, so dramatically, that it took a second or two for her to catch Willow’s eye and to match her smile with laughter.
“Besides, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” Willow reassured her, privately surprised by how raw, how visceral India was, her tender heart beating furiously away on her sleeve. No, she wasn’t the sort of person who endured fame very well at all.
No sooner had Willow closed her apartment door, leaning back on it for a moment with a sigh of contentment, than the phone rang. Holly.
“It’s India Torrance staying in my flat to avoid the press. If you tell anyone I will lose my job,” Willow said, cutting out the small talk that simply wasn’t necessary when you spoke to a person four or five times a day.
“You’re having India Torrance to stay at your flat?” Holly shrieked in a tone so high that luckily only dogs and any passing dolphins would have understood what she said. “You’ll need to clean out your fridge.”
“How do you know my fridge needs cleaning?” Willow asked as she plonked her keys on the table and went to the fridge, peering gingerly into its depths.
“Because I haven’t visited you for over a month and you never do it yourself. Wow, Willow, India Torrance and new shoes! Your life is so exciting.”
Willow smiled. Holly did that from time to time; it was herway of being kind. To pretend that she didn’t adore her husband and children, or her picture-perfect house by the sea, and that Willow’s life, which bounced between the office and her flat, was much more enthralling than hers. Then again she also pretended that she didn’t mind bearing the brunt of caring for their mother, who’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis almost twenty years ago, although Willow knew that Holly thought of it as some kind of penance. By no means did Holly have it all, but of the two sisters she was the one who could still look their mother in the eye.
“I do feel like something has changed, like something’s . . .”
“About to happen,” Holly finished her sentence for her. “As long as it’s got nothing to do with that Daniel.”
Just as Willow was about to protest, the doorbell jangled loudly.
“Who’s that?” Holly asked.
“Don’t you know? Look, I’d better go.”
Willow’s doorbell never rang unexpectedly. It only ever rang if some sort of takeaway was expected or on the rare occasions that Daniel visited. Willow turned around and regarded her closed door suspiciously.
“Hello?” Willow spoke into the receiver, but all she could hear was the rush of traffic through puddles and static bristling in her ear.
“Hello?” she repeated, but there was no reply from the intercom. Perplexed, Willow replaced the phone and went to her window, pulling back the aged net curtain that she hated but had never mustered the energy to remove. She pressed her palms against the cool glass, slick with condensation, and peered down at the street below. Cold,
“Only one, you think, in the whole world?” Willow smiled, touched by the unexpected gesture of girlish affection. “And what if he doesn’t live in Wood Green? What if he lives in Katmandu and he’s a . . . goatherd or something. If there’s only one person for me in the whole wide world, then the odds are that I will never meet him. I don’t believe in true love. It’s just not practical.”
“I know you don’t mean that, I know you don’t. I know that true love exists, just as I know that I will never love again,” India informed her solemnly.
“Oh, you will,” Willow promised her. “Only next time he will be young and have hair and no intermittent erectile dysfunction.”
“How did you know?” India gasped, sitting up and staring down at Willow.
“It’s an open secret. Although probably not much of a secret for much longer if Victoria’s got anything to do with it.”
“It didn’t matter to me.” India sighed. “I told him our love was more than just an erection.”
She said it so seriously, so dramatically, that it took a second or two for her to catch Willow’s eye and to match her smile with laughter.
“Besides, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” Willow reassured her, privately surprised by how raw, how visceral India was, her tender heart beating furiously away on her sleeve. No, she wasn’t the sort of person who endured fame very well at all.
No sooner had Willow closed her apartment door, leaning back on it for a moment with a sigh of contentment, than the phone rang. Holly.
“It’s India Torrance staying in my flat to avoid the press. If you tell anyone I will lose my job,” Willow said, cutting out the small talk that simply wasn’t necessary when you spoke to a person four or five times a day.
“You’re having India Torrance to stay at your flat?” Holly shrieked in a tone so high that luckily only dogs and any passing dolphins would have understood what she said. “You’ll need to clean out your fridge.”
“How do you know my fridge needs cleaning?” Willow asked as she plonked her keys on the table and went to the fridge, peering gingerly into its depths.
“Because I haven’t visited you for over a month and you never do it yourself. Wow, Willow, India Torrance and new shoes! Your life is so exciting.”
Willow smiled. Holly did that from time to time; it was herway of being kind. To pretend that she didn’t adore her husband and children, or her picture-perfect house by the sea, and that Willow’s life, which bounced between the office and her flat, was much more enthralling than hers. Then again she also pretended that she didn’t mind bearing the brunt of caring for their mother, who’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis almost twenty years ago, although Willow knew that Holly thought of it as some kind of penance. By no means did Holly have it all, but of the two sisters she was the one who could still look their mother in the eye.
“I do feel like something has changed, like something’s . . .”
“About to happen,” Holly finished her sentence for her. “As long as it’s got nothing to do with that Daniel.”
Just as Willow was about to protest, the doorbell jangled loudly.
“Who’s that?” Holly asked.
“Don’t you know? Look, I’d better go.”
Willow’s doorbell never rang unexpectedly. It only ever rang if some sort of takeaway was expected or on the rare occasions that Daniel visited. Willow turned around and regarded her closed door suspiciously.
“Hello?” Willow spoke into the receiver, but all she could hear was the rush of traffic through puddles and static bristling in her ear.
“Hello?” she repeated, but there was no reply from the intercom. Perplexed, Willow replaced the phone and went to her window, pulling back the aged net curtain that she hated but had never mustered the energy to remove. She pressed her palms against the cool glass, slick with condensation, and peered down at the street below. Cold,
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