Coconuts and Wonderbras by Lynda Renham Read Free Book Online

prick.’
        ‘Let’s not have a scene, Toby,’ Bryant responds quietly but there is the undercurrent of a challenge in his voice.
        ‘How could you Toby? You’ve made a fool of me. I’ve only ever tried to be a good girlfriend to you. I hate you,’ I say and before I know what I’m doing I have emptied the glass over his head.
    Issy pulls me gently by the arm.
        ‘Thank you Alex, I’ll take care of her. Come on Libby, we’re going home.’
    I give Toby a two finger salute as I am dragged from the‘fantabulous’ party. I look to Alex Bryant who is watching us with a serious expression on his face. The last words I hear are Toby’s.
        ‘At least she doesn’t belittle me… and she isn’t fat.’
    What a bastard. And you know what; I think I still love him. There must be something seriously wrong with me.
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
        It is seven-thirty the morning after the party, and my brain is in turmoil. Okay, I am suffering from a mild hangover, and to make matters worse I have started my period, and all I have in the house is one measly panty liner. Why did Hobnobs have their ‘fantabulous’ party on a Sunday night? It’s all I can do to get out of bed, let alone go to work. You remember the fantabulous party, the one where I dumped Toby.
    I fly out of the cottage, coat flapping and tights slipping to the bottom of my buttocks. I get that uncomfortable feeling that my sanitary towel is creeping upwards and will soon be residing between the crack in my bottom. Don’t you just hate panty liners? They never stay where you put them. How could I forget to buy tampons? I know diets are important and all that, but hell, did I forget all things hygienic at Tesco? I turn to lock the door and realise I don’t have my keys. A quick fumbling in my handbag just produces a four letter word and an apology to the milkman. If only he sold tampons. He sells everything else. I notice his flies are undone and turn away to fumble in my handbag again. A quick thrill from the milkman is the last thing I need. I rush back inside and dash from room to room looking for my keys. I punch Hobnobs number into my Blackberry while crawling under the bed.
        ‘Good morning, Jamie Murray’s office,’ says a cheery voice.
    Christ, how does Jane manage to sound so chirpy at seven-thirty in the morning? More importantly, what does she swallow with her Weetabix that propels her there at such an unearthly hour? And how can she sound so bright and breezy the morning after the fantabulous party?
    I pull the keys from under the bed along with a solitary contraceptive pill. Ah, that’s what happened to Wednesday.
        ‘It’s me,’ I mumble while banging my head. ‘Shit.’
        ‘Right,’ responds Jane somewhat dully.
        ‘Running late…’ I mutter.
    God, I am appalled at the layer of dust under the bed. How did that get there?
        ‘You don’t say?’
        ‘I have a meeting with Jamie…’
        ‘I will tell him the bad news myself.’
    I blow a raspberry, hang up and fly out of the door knocking over a bottle of milk.
        ‘Shit.’
        ‘Not what you wanted?’ asks the milkman with a broad smile on his face.
        ‘Leave me skimmed in future. Don’t make me smash another.’ I smile and run to my car, where I skid and bump into it. The sanitary towel rises up and lands in the middle of my back. I sigh and limp round to the driver’s side.
        ‘You make my mornings,’ he laughs. ‘Where’s that ginger cake you promised me?’
    A vision of the ginger cake sitting on my kitchen counter flashes in front of my eyes. Damn it.
        ‘Tomorrow, remind me,’ I call back before driving off with a wave in the manner of a celebrity. Twenty minutes later I mount the kerb and park on a double yellow line by the cash machine in a manner very unlike a celebrity. I wonder what Madam Zigana is spending my money on. I check my balance and gasp.