Contract With God by Juan Gómez-Jurado Read Free Book Online

this point, as she surveyed the disaster that was her apartment, Andrea had a revelation. She’d clean up the pigsty, sell her clothes on eBay, find a well-paid job, pay off her debts, and make up with Eva. She now had a goal, a mission. Everything would turn out perfectly.
    She felt a rush of energy through her body. This lasted precisely four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, the exact time it took her to open a rubbish bag, fling in a quarter of the leftovers on the table along with a few dirty dishes that were beyond salvaging, move haphazardly from one spot to another, then knock over the book she’d been reading the night before so that the photo inside fell to the floor.
    The two of them together. The last one they’d taken.
    It’s useless.
    She dropped onto the sofa, sobbing, as the rubbish bag disgorged part of its contents onto the living-room rug. LB came over and nibbled on a slice of pizza. The cheese had started to turn green.
    ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it, LB? I can’t escape the person I am, at least not with a mop and broom.’
    The cat didn’t pay the least attention but ran over to the apartment entrance and began rubbing itself against the door frame. Andrea stood up mechanically, realising that somebody was about to ring the bell.
    What kind of lunatic would come over at this time of night?
    She threw the door open, surprising her visitor before he could ring.
    ‘Hey there, beautiful.’
    ‘I guess news travels fast.’
    ‘Bad news does. If you start crying, I’m out of here.’
    Andrea stepped aside without rubbing the expression of disgust from her face, but secretly she was relieved. She should have guessed. Enrique Pascual had been her best friend and shoulder to cry on for many years. He worked for one of the big radio stations in Madrid, and every time Andrea stumbled Enrique showed up at her door with a bottle of whisky and a smile. This time he must have thought that she was especially needy because the whisky was twelve years old and to the right of his smile was a bouquet of flowers.
    ‘You had to do it, didn’t you? The super-reporter had to fuck with one of the paper’s major advertisers,’ Enrique said, going down the hall and into the living room without tripping over LB. ‘Is there a clean vase in this dump?’
    ‘Let them die and give me the bottle. Who cares! Nothing lasts for ever.’
    ‘Now you’ve lost me,’ Enrique said, ignoring the problem of the flowers for the moment. ‘Are we talking about Eva or getting fired?’
    ‘I don’t think I know,’ Andrea muttered, appearing from the kitchen with a glass in each hand.
    ‘If you’d hooked up with me, maybe things would have been clearer.’
    Andrea tried not to laugh. Enrique Pascual was tall, attractive, and ideal for any woman for the first ten days of the relationship, then a nightmare for the next three months.
    ‘If I liked men you’d be in my top twenty. Probably.’
    It was now Enrique’s turn to laugh. He poured two fingers of whisky neat. He had hardly taken a sip before Andrea had emptied her glass and was reaching for the bottle.
    ‘Take it easy, Andrea. It’s not a good idea to end up in Casualty. Again.’
    ‘I think it would be a fucking great idea. At least I’d have somebody to look after me.’
    ‘Thank you for not appreciating my efforts. And don’t be so dramatic.’
    ‘You think it’s not dramatic losing your lover and your job in the space of two months? My life is shit.’
    ‘I’m not going to argue with you there. At least you’re surrounded by what’s left of her,’ Enrique said, waving disgustedly at the mess in the room.
    ‘Maybe you could become my cleaning lady. I’m sure it would be more useful than that bullshit sports programme you pretend to work on.’
    Enrique’s expression didn’t change. He knew what was coming next and so did Andrea. She buried her head in a cushion and screamed with all her might. After a few seconds her scream turned into sobs.
    ‘I