Sweet Damage by Rebecca James Read Free Book Online

the two adults, beaming straight at the camera, her two front teeth very prominent. The man, grey-haired and nondescript, smiles too. The woman, blonde like the girl, and beautiful in a cold way, isn’t smiling. Her chin is lifted and she stares off to the side. I assume it’s Anna and her parents.
    Lilla flicks to the next photo. It shows a group of people standing around a table with a cake sitting on it. A girl stands directly behind the cake, looking as if she’s just blown the candles out. She’s grinning at the camera, her head is tipped to one side. There’s a strand of hair caught in her mouth.
    â€˜Look at her,’ Lilla says. ‘What a stunner.’
    Lilla’s right, the girl is stunning. The strange thing is, she looks just like Anna, only there’s none of the slouching, twitchy shyness of Anna. In fact, the provocative smile on her face reminds me more of Lilla than Anna. But it is Anna, it must be. I turn the photo over.
    17th birthday is written on the back.
    â€˜So that’s who you’re living with?’ Lilla says, nudging me. ‘You didn’t mention she looked like that.’
    Because she doesn’t , I think to myself. At least, not anymore.
    â€˜Let’s get out of here,’ I say. ‘We shouldn’t be looking through her stuff.’
    I put the photos away and drag Lilla out and across the hall, towards the ballroom.
    â€˜Go on,’ I say, gesturing towards the closed door. ‘Have a look in there.’
    She opens the door and takes a startled step back. She looks at me and grins, then rushes inside, spins around, lets out a noisy yelp.
    â€˜Shut up .’
    She puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry. Sorry. But, Tim. This is so. Fucking. Awesome. This house. It’s just unbelievable.’ She frowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘You know, of course, that you’re going to have to organise a party here. There’s no way you can get away with living here and not having one. It would be criminal.’ And then she looks at her watch. ‘Shit. I’ve got to get going.’
    She pulls on her shoes, rushes over and gives me another kiss. I follow her to the door and watch her go down the garden path, get into her crappy old Laser and drive away. Lilla’s always like that, fast and chaotic and disruptive, like one of those strong, cool winds that can make you confused and disoriented, but can also wake you up and make you feel alive in a way that nothing else can. I wish I found it easier just to think of her as a friend. I wish her sisterly kisses didn’t remind me of the way we used to kiss, didn’t fill me with a miserable sense of having lost something precious. She knows the effect she has on me, and she enjoys it, enjoys the power. She wouldn’t kiss me the way she does, stand so close, dress that way, if she didn’t. I always knew she enjoyed creating a stir, being at the centre of things. Now I sometimes wonder if she enjoys hurting me.
    It’s already hot outside. I decide to make the most of it and head out for an early-morning swim.
    Fairlight Pool is quiet when I get there. I sit on the edge, dangling my calves in the water, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my back. There’s one old man swimming the length of the pool in a slow breaststroke, a woman doing a leisurely sidestroke and another doing a brisk freestyle. She’s as fast and as slick and as smooth in the water as anyone I’ve ever seen. At each end of the pool she does a neat flip and heads back the other way without pausing. I always feel an urge to race against people who swim well, so when she comes close I slip into the water and swim parallel to her, trying to match her pace.
    For the first three laps I stay ahead of her, but after that I have to slow down, and I swim the rest of my laps in her wake.
    â€˜Nice swimming style,’ I say to her later when