Name & Address Withheld by Jane Sigaloff Read Free Book Online Page B

inside of her cranium in Surround Sound. Her joints were aching and her eyeballs were hot and dry in their sockets. It wasn’t a hangover. That meant only one thing…but she couldn’t be ill. In thirteen years of schooling she’d only been absent for a handful of days, postponing any ailments for the lengthy holidays when she wouldn’t be missing out or overtaken by any of her classmates. She knew she was fiercely competitive—whether it was careers, gym attendance or just a Christmas game of Monopoly. It was in her DNA. As she struggled to the bathroom in an attempt to begin her daily routine and kickstart herself into action Rachel knew that today she would be forced to admit that she was human. It was a grand admission.
    At least it was a Saturday. Work could wait twenty-four hours. They wouldn’t have official confirmation until Monday, but she was sure they’d won the account. Rachel smiled into the mirrored cabinet above the washbasin as she imagined telling the partners. She’d be walking on air.
    It now appeared that all that air was in her eyelids; she’dnever seen them looking quite so puffy. A quick prod of her neck and underarm area confirmed that her glands were up, and after sticking out her tongue and making the traditional self-diagnostic ‘aaaaah’ noise she searched the shelves for suitable drugs. Adding a couple of soluble aspirin to a glass of tepid basin tap water, she weakly swooshed the water round in the hope that the resultant whirlpool effect would speed up the fizzing process. It might only be 9:30 a.m. but the day already felt as if it was slipping away.
    Rachel stared into the mirror, pawing in disbelief at the pallor which must have descended in the dead of night—along with the contrasting purple shadows which stretched under her eyes and shaded the sides of her nose. As she downed the grey aspirin suspension she grimaced at the nostalgic familiarity of the bitter bitty aftertaste. From the sad day that she had outgrown Calpol, aspirin had always been administered by her mother at the first hint of a temperature. Rachel shuffled back to bed and, teeth now chattering, crawled under the duvet, her breathing shallow to conserve heat.
    She hadn’t had a sick day for at least a year, and had been working six-day weeks for almost as long. She simply didn’t do colds and minor afflictions. At least she was alone, free to doze in front of the television without interruptions. Her husband had left earlier, to tidy some things up in his office, and she knew where to find him—not that she did the needy wife thing very often. It wasn’t her style—although she did wonder whether he might prefer it if she was a little bit ditsy and less competent occasionally. This was the downside to a day in bed: too much time to think—and there was plenty in her personal life that merited attention. But she’d managed to dodge her problems for months, and she certainly didn’t want to face up to them when she was feeling as shitty as this.
    After channel-surfing for over an hour, Rachel knew she must be seriously ill. Twenty minutes of morning television was usually enough to persuade even the most apathetic couch potato to rise from the cushions and do something with their life other than fantasise about remodelling their neighbour’s garden. Exhausted, she finally succumbed to unconsciousness, and when she next opened her eyes her body was on fire. Feverish strands of hair stuck to her scalp and her cheeks almost stung with the intensity.
    Momentarily disorientated, she soon noticed a note on the floor. She craned her neck in search of the alarm clock: 14:07. Which day and which year she couldn’t be sure. Her brain was definitely lagging behind at the moment.
    Rach
    Didn’t want to wake you.
    Thought these might help while away the afternoon. You might as well celebrate your temperature with an overdose of trash, fashion and recipes!
    Off to Banbury to brainstorm with a client. Back later. You