Mothers and Daughters by Kylie Ladd Read Free Book Online Page B

the pool. Fiona, Morag and Amira stood beside her, Fiona swaying slightly. ‘Janey, what are you doing? You’re meant to be in bed!’
    Janey’s companion surfaced beside her, took in the situation and slowly breaststroked away.
    ‘See you, mermaid,’ he whispered.
    ‘Janey, come here right now,’ said Caro. ‘I’m very disappointed in you. This trip was meant to be a treat, but you’ve already let me down.’
    Janey sighed and pushed her hands through her hair, squeezing out the moisture. Silver drops ran glistening down her fingers and back into the water.) She trudged towards the steps, wishing she could join them.
    ‘You could have hit your head,’ her mother was saying. ‘You could have drowned! Where’s Bronte? And who was that boy? Do you even know his name?’
    She was only getting started, but thankfully Janey was spared the full tirade; at that moment Fiona groaned, bent over, and vomited all her cocktails into the pool.

Monday
    Fiona pressed her head against the glass of the troop-carrier window and wished everybody would just shut up. Amira had gone all tour guide on them and was pointing out the paltry sights of Broome, Bronte was dutifully nodding and asking questions, and Caro was still exclaiming—when she could get a word in—over the fucking mango she’d had for breakfast. Fiona stifled a groan. The memory of watching Caro shovelling it into her mouth, juices dripping onto the table, fingers sticky and gleaming, made her stomach contract. All Fiona had been able to force down was a lukewarm coffee, and at every bump in the road she feared that she would soon be seeing it once more.
    She belched cautiously. It had been good of Amira to make sure she had the front seat, though with the fumes coming off her the others would probably have offered it quick smart anyway. Amira had also got her into the shower last night after she’d thrown up by the pool; had hunted around for a skimmer and removed the worst of the floating vomit. Fiona closed her eyes. Sadly, that wasn’t even her most humiliating memory of the evening. That honour belonged to the moment after her third cocktail when it had seemed a good idea to invite one of the locals propping up the bar to dance with her. He must have been about twenty-three, with shoulders as broad as his accent, and he’d certainly been friendly enough when she’d sidled up beside him and ordered a Sex on the Beach.
    ‘Pretty exotic, eh,’ he’d grunted when the bartender had no idea what she was talking about. She’d pouted and cooed that she was on holiday, and there was a beach here, wasn’t there, so with any luck she’d get it anyway. He’d laughed at that, but later, when a Michael Jackson song came on and she approached him again he turned her down flat.
    ‘I’m too bloody young for that shit,’ he’d said, cocking his sun-bleached head at ‘Blame It on the Boogie’. Then, giving her a once-over, he added, ‘And you.’
    Fiona had felt heat and rage rise inside her. How dare he?
    ‘Your loss,’ she’d slurred, yanking down her strappy singlet top to give him a quick flash of her tits, which were still in pretty good shape. Then she’d stormed back to their table and got riotously, recklessly drunk.
    It hadn’t taken long. She’d barely eaten all day, and it was so hot in The Bungalow—the lack of air-conditioning no doubt a ploy to encourage the patrons to spend more on drinks. Fiona didn’t remember much after that, just Amira and Morag trying to keep her upright as she stumbled back to The Mangrove, and the look on Janey’s face when she’d almost chundered over her in the pool. It would have to be Princess Janey, wouldn’t it? Always so perfect, the golden girl . . . not so perfect now though, she thought, smiling for the first time all morning. That look on Caro’s face when she’d realised her precious daughter was breaking the rules—and with a boy, what’s more. Welcome to the real world, Caroline. It sucks,