Pompomberry House by Rosen Trevithick Read Free Book Online Page A

too good-looking. Few men can pull off
good-looking without conveying a hint of slime. Yes, that was it — Rafe
Maddocks was slimy. If you put a raw pea on his head, it would slowly slide
down the side of his face, onto his neck and then begin a slippery journey down
his chest, all the while encased in a slug of slimy adhesive. I found myself
subconsciously shrinking away from him.
    Biff popped into my mind. I didn’t find Biff slimy. But then
again, Biff wasn’t lying on a windowsill stroking his hip (would I mind if he
did?).
    “I’m going for a drink,” I said, defiantly.
    “We have sherry ...” tempted Dawn, holding up an almost
empty bottle as I stomped out of the room. “It might even make your ideas flow
a bit better.”
    * * *
    As much as I wanted to get away from Pompomberry House, and
more importantly, the people in it, the prospect of getting lost in the country
lanes, only to eventually drink alone, was not an enticing one.
    I wondered if I should call him . It irked me that he
was in Cornwall the same weekend as me. This was supposed to be about me
getting away, about my freedom. At least I’d declined a lift from him. Car
sharing with your ex is not a sign of independence, even if it does save on
petrol and stop you having to fight over who gets the Lady Gaga CD.
    Still, he’d apparently planned his visit to see his friend
Jack before I booked my place on the writers’ weekend. It was just a
coincidence. Nevertheless, it was one that made me greatly uncomfortable,
particularly now, knowing how close I was to calling him.
    No, I had to be strong. I had to get through the weekend
without him, no matter how much I might fancy sitting with him in a pub,
laughing about Rafe’s ego, Dawn and Montgomery’s secret rivalry, and Danger
picking every possible orifice with anything that happened to be to hand.
    I went up to my room to get my bag. The room was a peculiar
affair, with a four-poster bed. Dusty purple drapes, too thick and heavy to
open fully, blocked any light the room might have had.
    Looking out the window, I wondered whether Biff was out
there. I cursed the remaining sliver of a waning moon, which did nothing to
light up the night. A dark cloud passed in front of the moon and I heard a
thunder clap in the distance. Was it wise to go outside?
    I’d only been here a few hours and already I had cabin
fever. Perhaps I should persevere with these people. Had I really given them a fair
chance?
    Suddenly, the door opened. I looked around and saw a slim
but curvy figure posed in the hallway, one knee slightly angled, like a catwalk
model.
    “Yes, Annabel?” I asked, abruptly.
    “I know why you’re leaving,” she said. What was this?
Perception? I wondered, for one crazy moment, if I’d gotten her all wrong.
    “I’m not leaving, I’m going for a drink.”
    “It’s because of me and Rafe, isn’t it?”
    Well, you’re two-fifths of the way there. “Huh?”
    “The sexual chemistry I mean, obviously.”
    If, by ‘sexual chemistry’, she meant her gawking at him
whenever she thought nobody was looking, then yes, I had noticed, but it was
one of many things that annoyed me.
    “You like him, don’t you?” she said softly, looking at me
with pitying eyes.
    No, he’s a slippery creep. “I hardly know him.”
    “But you do like him.”
    “Not especially, no. Not in the way that I think you think I
like him.”
    “Oh, come on!”
    “I can assure you, Annabel, I have no romantic interest in
Rafe Maddocks.”
    “Fine,” she snapped, stamping her kitten heel against the
wooden floor. Clack. “Have it your way.”
    I turned to pick up my tortoiseshell cap, feeling it was
time for a change in headwear.
    “We could have been BFFs, you and I.”
    “Huh?”
    “Best friends forever !”
    I grabbed my chunky yellow scarf.
    “You’ve chosen your path — your lying path!” she snarled.
Her lips shrivelled like discarded apple peel.
    I tightened the laces on my purple Converse shoes and