Read Online Things I Want My Daughters to Know by Elizabeth Noble - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Noble
Tags: Contemporary, Adult
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fluids of all types.
Here . . .” He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Get back into bed. If you’re finished?”
She nodded weakly. “Think so.”
“I’ll get you some water. And let you sleep a bit more. You’ll be fine in a bit. Pisshead.” He pulled the duvet over her, tucking it back, then kissed the top of her head.
She felt less queasy now. But her head still hurt. And that was before she remembered that Andy’s daughter was coming for the day. . . .
Amanda
“Bloody hell, it’s cold!” Amanda opened the door to Starbucks and held it as her flatmate Bex walked through, following her gratefully. There was a long line, but at least it was warm in here. In theory, Amanda objected completely to Starbucks. Today, though, she objected more to being frozen.
She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair. “Remind me again why I’m here and not on some beach somewhere like Goa?”
“For love of temping?”
Amanda made a TV game show nah nah noise.
“For the love of living with me and Josh?”
52 e l i z a b e t h
n o b l e
“Are you having a laugh?” Amanda made balance scales with her hands. “Beach hut in Goa, squalor in Earlsfield, beach hut in Goa, squalor in Earlsfield. Mmm, close . . .”
“Oy! I object to ‘squalor’! It’s not that bad!”
Amanda threw her arms theatrically around Bex. “Okay, I take back squalor. Mmm, you’re warm!” She rubbed her face against Bex’s.
Bex released herself, laughing. “Get off!”
“Coffee is on me—to make up for being so rude about the home I should be grateful to have . . . what you having?”
Bex looked at the board behind the till. “Ew! Eggnog latte! Ginger-bread latte! Ew! Are they still doing a plain latte, or is it mandatory to have some sort of seasonal ‘ew’ syrup in it?”
“Oh, bah humbug, Ebenezer . . . don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.
Go and get us a seat, as far away from the door as possible. I don’t have to be at work for twenty minutes. Should be able to get some feeling back in my feet by then.”
Amanda looked at the customers already seated beside her. A couple of determined-looking Christmas shoppers, scribbling lists while they waited for the shops to open. That reminded her—she hadn’t bought a thing yet. She’d been away last Christmas. A phone call home had been gift enough. Or so she’d told herself. This year she might need actual tangible gifts. A mum fed her baby a croissant, pushing small bites of the flaky pastry into an eager little mouth while talking on a mobile phone wedged under her chin. A guy with a laptop caught her eye. He had red hair, teased and gelled into a fin, and he was wearing a sky blue polo-neck sweater. It made him look like Tintin. She was smiling to herself, wondering whether he knew he looked like Tintin, when she saw him look up from his newspaper—the Guardian —
and follow someone with a long lascivious gaze, his mouth practically hanging open. The object of his undisguised desire was a tall, willowy blonde, wearing skintight black trousers and unfeasibly high-heeled dominatrix boots. Oh God, she thought. How obvious. As Miss Whip-T h i n g s I W a n t M y D a u g h t e r s t o K n o w 53
lash passed and was gone, he looked back toward his paper, but his eyes lighted on her instead. He caught her amused disapproval and almost squirmed with discomfort, coloring pink above the polo neck and giving a small shrug that admitted his guilt. Amanda raised a mock judgmental eyebrow at him, smiled, and shook her head at him.
An hour later, she was reorganizing a filing system to which the last temp had clearly not been emotionally committed. Everything was filed under M for miscellaneous. Fired up by a double shot of espresso and a fervent desire not to be drawn into the office politics that simmered and occasionally boiled over around her, she attacked the task. Who could do this every day?
Barbara’s Journal
The Shop
I’m a bit sad today. We’ve
Here . . .” He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Get back into bed. If you’re finished?”
She nodded weakly. “Think so.”
“I’ll get you some water. And let you sleep a bit more. You’ll be fine in a bit. Pisshead.” He pulled the duvet over her, tucking it back, then kissed the top of her head.
She felt less queasy now. But her head still hurt. And that was before she remembered that Andy’s daughter was coming for the day. . . .
Amanda
“Bloody hell, it’s cold!” Amanda opened the door to Starbucks and held it as her flatmate Bex walked through, following her gratefully. There was a long line, but at least it was warm in here. In theory, Amanda objected completely to Starbucks. Today, though, she objected more to being frozen.
She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair. “Remind me again why I’m here and not on some beach somewhere like Goa?”
“For love of temping?”
Amanda made a TV game show nah nah noise.
“For the love of living with me and Josh?”
52 e l i z a b e t h
n o b l e
“Are you having a laugh?” Amanda made balance scales with her hands. “Beach hut in Goa, squalor in Earlsfield, beach hut in Goa, squalor in Earlsfield. Mmm, close . . .”
“Oy! I object to ‘squalor’! It’s not that bad!”
Amanda threw her arms theatrically around Bex. “Okay, I take back squalor. Mmm, you’re warm!” She rubbed her face against Bex’s.
Bex released herself, laughing. “Get off!”
“Coffee is on me—to make up for being so rude about the home I should be grateful to have . . . what you having?”
Bex looked at the board behind the till. “Ew! Eggnog latte! Ginger-bread latte! Ew! Are they still doing a plain latte, or is it mandatory to have some sort of seasonal ‘ew’ syrup in it?”
“Oh, bah humbug, Ebenezer . . . don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.
Go and get us a seat, as far away from the door as possible. I don’t have to be at work for twenty minutes. Should be able to get some feeling back in my feet by then.”
Amanda looked at the customers already seated beside her. A couple of determined-looking Christmas shoppers, scribbling lists while they waited for the shops to open. That reminded her—she hadn’t bought a thing yet. She’d been away last Christmas. A phone call home had been gift enough. Or so she’d told herself. This year she might need actual tangible gifts. A mum fed her baby a croissant, pushing small bites of the flaky pastry into an eager little mouth while talking on a mobile phone wedged under her chin. A guy with a laptop caught her eye. He had red hair, teased and gelled into a fin, and he was wearing a sky blue polo-neck sweater. It made him look like Tintin. She was smiling to herself, wondering whether he knew he looked like Tintin, when she saw him look up from his newspaper—the Guardian —
and follow someone with a long lascivious gaze, his mouth practically hanging open. The object of his undisguised desire was a tall, willowy blonde, wearing skintight black trousers and unfeasibly high-heeled dominatrix boots. Oh God, she thought. How obvious. As Miss Whip-T h i n g s I W a n t M y D a u g h t e r s t o K n o w 53
lash passed and was gone, he looked back toward his paper, but his eyes lighted on her instead. He caught her amused disapproval and almost squirmed with discomfort, coloring pink above the polo neck and giving a small shrug that admitted his guilt. Amanda raised a mock judgmental eyebrow at him, smiled, and shook her head at him.
An hour later, she was reorganizing a filing system to which the last temp had clearly not been emotionally committed. Everything was filed under M for miscellaneous. Fired up by a double shot of espresso and a fervent desire not to be drawn into the office politics that simmered and occasionally boiled over around her, she attacked the task. Who could do this every day?
Barbara’s Journal
The Shop
I’m a bit sad today. We’ve
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