Serve Cool by Lauren Davies Read Free Book Online

eyes began to fill up with tears of sadness and embarrassment as I sidled past the onlookers and walked unsteadily towards the door.
    ‘Leave NOW, Miss Summer,’ Peregrine hissed. ‘You’re fired!’

Chapter Four
    3rd January, 9:00 a.m.
    ‘Well, yer best bet looks like an easy mornin’ with Richard and Judy. Says here they’re makin’ over some bride-to-be, poor cow, and discussin’ signs of an early menopause. Bloody hell, that Richard knows more about fannies than I do! Then you’ve got three cookery programmes,
Can’t Cook, Won’t Cook,
can’t be arsed to cook, and get the f’kin lass ta cook, probably. Then a cookery chat show, cookery question time and a quiz hosted by a celebrity cook. That’ll make you hungry fer lunch, which’ll be followed by a two-hour run of Australian soaps with mix-’n’-match wardrobes and actors. Then, pet, the highlight of the day, four problem talk shows end to end. Jerry Springer, Sally Jessy Raphael, Jenny Jones and Ricki “Go Ricki” Lake. Now lass, if
that
isny a day to envy, I deen’t kna what is.’
    Maz put the TV guide to one side and gazed curiously at the mound of crumpled duvet that I had moulded into myden of wretchedness. Enough room only for myself, five dozen man-sized tissues, enough calorie-laden food to not only feed the five thousand but give them a weight problem too, and a huge helping of self-pity.
    ‘Jen,’ Maz sighed, ‘you should come to the pub with me, pet. You can sit there an’ chat to us while I pull pints.’
    I grunted and reached for the chocolate Hobnobs. Maz had been great, I realised, staying another night, absorbing my tales of woe and plying me with pizza to slowly ease my post-sacking depression.
    ‘I’m
useless
.’
    ‘No you’re
not,
Jen.’
    ‘I’m no use to anyone.’
    ‘Aye you are, Jen.’
    ‘I may as well die right now.’
    ‘Have another slice of Hawaiian first.’
    ‘OK then.’
    Still, I was in pure, unadulterated self-pitying mode so I had no other choice but to make her feel guilty for leaving me in my hour of need to go off and earn a crust. Rub salt in my fresh, gaping wounds why don’t you? I sighed. ‘Yesterday an up-and-coming city solicitor, today a full-time member of the daytime TV club. A life of gardening tips, recipes and women’s problems. Wow. What a difference a day makes.’
    ‘Howay, at least it’s not Saturday,’ Maz replied. ‘Then you’d only have Des Lynam, a few pocket-sized jockeys, and a bunch of up-their-own-backsides cricketers for entertainment. That’d be enough to make anyone slit their wrists!’
    ‘At least if Des was on there would be someone in this room with worse hair than mine.’
    ‘Ooh I deen’t kna like, I quite like his white flick.’
    ‘Cheers. So now not only am I single, unemployable and suspected of heading a Colombian drugs cartel, I’m also less sexy than a sixty-year-old TV presenter. Thanks very much.’
    Maz shifted the remains of the previous night’s Super Supreme and perched on the arm of the sofa.
    ‘Come on now, lass,’ she said softly, ‘there’s no way you’re unemployable. You’re clever in that intellectual/qualification way, you’re above average lookin’ and you’ve got a great personality. So your hair’s a bit dodgy but, bollocks, if you’re unemployable then I’m about as welcome on the job market as a dyslexic amoeba.’
    Ignoring the ‘dodgy hair’ comment, I felt a sudden pang of guilt. In truth, Maz’s life had been a constant struggle against misfortune yet she had always fought to bring out the positive side of any situation. She was one of those people who would say, ‘Well, the plants needed watering,’ on a bleak, rainy day. I, on the other hand, was an ‘Oh shite, it’s pissing down again’ kind of girl. My world would almost come to an end if Pizza Hut ran out of deep pan dough or if the scales showed nine stone four
and a half
pounds instead of nine stone four
exactly.
I could always be relied on to