Chocolate Cake for Breakfast by Danielle Hawkins Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes like a hawk.’
    I looked harder. ‘There?’
    Em’s hand flew to the spot I had touched. ‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even notice that one. That’s it; I’m going to have to start waxing my neck.’
    ‘No, you’re not. It’s minute. You’d practically need an electron microscope to see it.’
    ‘Annabel, fetch my tweezers. Or maybe I should just go straight for your father’s razor.’
    ‘Daddy doesn’t like it when you use his razor,’ said Bel.
    ‘She was only teasing,’ I said.
    ‘She does use his razor. It makes Daddy sad.’ She shook her curly blonde head mournfully. ‘ Poor Daddy.’
    ‘Annabel! Tweezers. Now,’ Em ordered. ‘Helen, love, Monique Ledbetter’s having an Intimo party next week. Why don’t you come with me?’
    ‘What, another sex toy thing? No way ,’ I said, leaning against the bench beside her.
    ‘Honestly, Helen, I don’t know where you developed all these hang-ups.’
    ‘I think I got most of them at that sex toy party.’
    My stepmother smiled a small and wicked smile. ‘Sweetie,’ she said, ‘grow up. Anyway, this one isn’t sex toys, it’s really lovely lingerie. Just gorgeous – very feminine and flattering. And she’s putting on wine and nibbles.’
    ‘What night is it?’ I asked. Not that it mattered, because if it was on a night with no prior commitments I was going to invent an engagement on the spot. I love Em very much, but her idea of feminine and flattering and mine are poles apart.
    ‘Wednesday.’
    ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’m going to the movies with Keri.’ It’s so nice not to have to lie. ‘Where’s Dad?’
    ‘At your grandmother’s. Apparently she’s got no water.’
    ‘Poor Dad,’ I said.
    ‘He shouldn’t be far away,’ Em said. ‘You’ll stay for tea, won’t you, sweetie?’

    At ten that night I was reading in bed with Murray on my feet when my phone buzzed beside me. It was a new message received from Mark T (not to be confused with Mark M, a tubby and cheerful classmate currently doing a residency in equine medicine in Ohio). I gave a happy squirm as I opened the phone, and Murray opened one golden eye and glared at me.
    How many calving cows tonite?
    None so far. How is Dunedin?
    Cold. Sleep well x
    I squirmed again, and Murray bit my toe through the duvet. ‘But he sent me an x,’ I explained.
    Murray looked completely unimpressed.
    After four minutes of intense thought I sent back: You too x

    I picked my way through the gumboots and empty swap-a-crates at the back door of Sam’s flat (where they subscribed to the Sky Sport channel) just after seven the next evening, and went into the kitchen to find his flatmates playing cards at the kitchen table.
    ‘You cheating bastard,’ said Will, whose back was to the door. Will was a thoroughly nice bloke. He was thoughtful and courteous and painfully shy, and he could only just bring himself to talk to me.
    Dylan, who was loud and inconsiderate and thought he was far more attractive to women than was in fact the case, lifted one buttock off his chair and farted in greeting. ‘Evening, Helen.’
    ‘Cheers for that, Dylan,’ I said, looking at the floor and deciding not to remove my shoes.
    ‘Better out than in.’
    ‘Dear God,’ I said faintly as the smell reached my side of the kitchen. It was the sort of odour that is depicted in cartoons as an evil green mist. ‘What have you been eating ?’
    ‘Beans and eggs,’ said Dylan. ‘Grab me a beer while you’re next to the fridge, would you?’
    ‘Get your own beer, you low-life,’ Will said, getting up. ‘Come into the lounge, Helen, before you pass out.’
    Sam was lying full length on a battered couch, reading a rugby magazine, a beer on the floor beside him. ‘Here you go, Hel,’ he said, folding it open and passing it over.
    The article was headed Locked and Loaded , with a picture of Mark taking up the rest of the page. It was one of those artistic publicity shots taken from so close up