Read Online Nearly Almost Somebody by Caroline Batten - Free Book Online Page B

electrics. It’s going to cost a fortune to rewire the place.’
    ‘Sorry, Zo.’ Libby fished into her back pocket, taking out the flyer Tallulah had given her. ‘Is it too soon to look for a new job?’
    ‘The only reason I’m going back tomorrow, is so I can make a cup of bloody coffee without getting a dose of ECT.’ Zoë sighed at the sky. ‘I’ve spent the last three hours in a pair of rubber gloves.’
    ‘Sexy.’
    ‘Sparky certainly thought so.’
    ‘Bit young isn’t he?’
    ‘Didn’t stop him trying it on.’
    Libby laughed. ‘Did you let him ravish you over the fuse box?’
    ‘As if. Nice arse, but you’d need to put a paper bag over his head.’ Zoë grinned, elbowing her. ‘Ring it.’
    Reluctantly, Libby took out her phone, still staring at the flyer. It’d be quitting and she’d never given up on anything in her life – anything other than ballet. But she’d get to ride show-jumpers like Tallulah’s horse, Shakespeare. She dialled.
    ‘Hello. Low Wood Farm,’ said a woman with vowels capable of etching crystal.
    ‘I’m ringing about the groom’s job you–’
    ‘The advert clearly stated the closing date for applications was Saturday.’
    ‘Oh, Tallulah gave me the number. ’ Libby cringed. ‘I hadn’t seen an ad.’
    ‘I can’t...’ The snooty woman paused. ‘The interviews are arranged for Wednesday morning. Perhaps I could take your details. If none of the other applicants are suitable–’
    ‘That would be great.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Um... Olivia Wilde.’ She’d rather Tallulah didn’t know she’d failed to get an interview.
    ‘And number?’
    Libby recited her mobile number, desperate to get off the phone, and stared at the dandelion clocks, the flowers already past their best. In one call her hopes had been dashed. There’d be no show-jumpers and no escaping Kim Langton-Browne.
    Where was the idyllic rural dream?
     
    The next evening there were no enticing aromas to greet Libby at the door and the dark grey clouds left little sunlight to creep its way into the house. She sat on the stairs and pulled off her boots, sighing at the clumps of dried mud she’d scattered across the tiles. She ought to sweep up but instead she brushed it to the skirting board with her foot. The dirt settled into a previously invisible crack in one of the tiles. Oh god, had Maggie’s head caused that?
    Goosebumps covered her arms as she rubbed the tile clean with her jacket. Something moved behind her. She glanced up the stairs, her heart racing.
    Hyssop.
    Libby laughed as he padded down the stairs, meowing. ‘Hey, mister. You scared me. But then it doesn’t take much in this place.’
    He rubbed his head against her chin, purring. He was so content, his purr almost soporific. Why did a silly old tabby cat stop her feeling... edgy?
    I have a cat. That’s all I have. A cat. I am Maggie. I’m going to end up old, alone and dead at the bottom of the stairs.
    ‘I suppose you want your dinner? Looks like I’ll be cooking for everyone.’
    After serving Hyssop one of the high end pouches of sardines Grace had given her and spending twenty minutes under the pitiful shower, Libby rifled through the cupboards, searching for gastronomic inspiration. Leftover lamb and… Dried apricots and cous cous? A Moroccan-spiced salad? She set to work roasting red peppers under the grill, slicing the lamb, chopping the mint and parsley from Maggie’s herb garden, but it wasn’t until she’d finally tossed it all together with a healthy sprinkling of coriander and chunks of apricot that Zoë’s text arrived.
    Not home for dinner. Nikki on peacekeeping mission. Later gator. Zx
    She’d created a Middle-Eastern taste sensation and had no one to share it with. Libby switched on the kettle to make a cup of tea, but plunged the house into semi-darkness.
    This house sucked. This life sucked.
    Impulsively, she picked up her phone, glancing at Hyssop as she dialled Paolo’s number.
    Please, don’t tell