Love Notes from Vinegar House by Karen Tayleur Read Free Book Online Page B

felt messed up, but wouldn’t do it while he was watching me. I didn’t want him to think I cared about how I looked to him.
    “You snore, Shrimp,” he said.
    “I do not,” I said, crossly. There was a bad taste in my mouth like I had swallowed a glue stick. “And stop calling me that.”
    “Ah, yes you do, Shrimp,” he said, ignoring my request.
    I used to like Luke Hart. Idolised him. Felt a warm glow whenever he was around. But this Luke Hart annoyed me, and I was glad we weren’t friends any more.
    “I have a cold,” I said, improvising. Then I sniffed a couple of times to make a point. “And you … you have a zit on your nose. I’m surprised you can see past it, it’s so big.”
    It was the meanest thing I could think of to say, but it didn’t remove the smirk from his face, and I felt a strong urge to lean forwards and push my hand into that smirk until it went away.
    Luckily for Luke, his mobile buzzed and he turned around in his seat to send someone a message. I checked my own phone to see that we were only forty-five minutes into our trip. I texted Isabella and Holly, but there were no quick replies. I needed a drink, then cursed when I realised I’d left my water bottle in the fridge at home.

    I spent the rest of the trip squashed up against a bathroom pitcher and basin that Mrs Hart just couldn’t live without. I thought it was hideous, but she seemed very happy with it. When she asked what I thought about it, I smiled and said it was an amazing colour. And this was true. I was amazed anyone could like the salmon-pink colour with baby blue highlights picked out on tiny rosebuds and swirling ribbons. I knew Luke was onto me, so I resisted looking at him and stared out the window instead. Eventually, the car turned down the familiar gravel road, and we crunched along for another five minutes. As we crested the last hill, the grey shingle roof of Vinegar House suddenly appeared. This was always my favourite part of the trip to the house, because one moment you’re surrounded by dry hilly country and the next the sea is laid out before you like a shimmering secret. I cranked down the window a little to sniff at the salty air.
    I must admit that the house always looked imposing at a distance. It seemed rooted into the very earth it stood upon, its many tiny windows flanked by shutters and its stone bricks made it look like it was carved straight out of the hill. It was only as you drew closer that you saw the cracks. Mortar crumbled between the bricks in the chimneys, some of the window casements were warped from the weather and the roof looked like it wouldn’t last a minor rain shower. Even the trees around the house looked grey and worn that day, their bare branches rattling in spindly defiance against the sea breeze.
    “Here we are,” said Mrs Hart, who was good at stating the obvious.
    It wasn’t until Rumer strolled out to the car as we pulled up that I realised, like I’d been hit with an antique bathroom pitcher, exactly why Luke Hart had come along for the ride.
    “Well, look who’s here,” said Mrs Hart, her eyes wide with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected to see Rumer. “Here we are,” she sang out again. Then she bounded from the car to grab Rumer in a huge hug.
    “Well, look who’s here,” I muttered loud enough for Luke to hear.
    I watched his face turn from red to white and back again.
    “Come on, you twoooo,” sang Mrs Hart. (I would not pay to hear Mrs Hart sing. If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.)
    I climbed out from under the antique treasure, and Rumer removed herself from her torturer to come and give me a fake hug – the kind where you hang onto a person’s arms, lean in, but don’t make any other contact.
    “Hi, cuz,” she said brightly. Then in my ear, “There is nothing to do here. Old vinegar-tongue is driving me nuts.”
    I saw Luke hovering behind Rumer, so I said, “Great to see you too. Luke was just saying, he couldn’t wait to