The Real Rebecca by Anna Carey Read Free Book Online Page A

sophisticated, but as we don’t live in a vast mansion and I am not deaf, I know perfectly well she can be just as tantrum-ish as me when she thinks I can’t hear her. Which I always can.
    Mum seemed genuinely confused.
    ‘What’s so embarrassing about this?’ she said.
    Rachel and I stared at her.
    ‘Mother,’ I said, very slowly, ‘you have written a book that you have just admitted is inspired by us. And people we know will read it. HOW IS THAT NOT EMBARRASSING?’
    ‘I hate to say this, Mum, but Bex is right,’ said Rachel. ‘Seriously, we are going to look like complete fools. I can’t believe you’ve done this to us!’
    ‘I thought you’d like it!’ said Mum. ‘You never want to read my books, so I thought you’d like this one.’
    Against my will, I found myself feeling a bit sorry for her.
    ‘And how do you know you’ll be embarrassed?’ she went on. ‘You haven’t even read it yet! It’s fun! Yourfriends will like it!’
    ‘I don’t need to read it,’ I said, ‘to know that it will be embarrassing.’ She looked genuinely confused and I started feeling a bit bad.
    ‘But I thought …’ she started to say, but then one of her writing pals ran up.
    ‘Rosie!’ she cried. ‘I can’t believe it – I never thought you’d start writing for kids!’ She looked at us in a patronising sort of way. ‘Although I should have known you’d want to write something for your little ones.’
    I stopped feeling bad for Mum then. And she must have realised that the looks on my and Rachel’s faces meant we couldn’t hold in our rage much longer.
    ‘Hmm, yes,’ she said. ‘Hey, have you met Conor Hamilton ? He’s over there, come on …’ And she sort of moved the annoying friend away.
    ‘I’m going home,’ I said. ‘Coming, Rachel?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Rachel. Then we both kind of paused. ‘Um,’ said Rachel. ‘Can we have bus fare, please? I didn’t bring my wallet.’
    ‘No you can’t,’ said Dad, sounding genuinely cross, which is rare for him. He hardly ever loses his temper. ‘AndI can’t believe you’re acting like such silly babies. You’re too old for this. Now, all your mother’s friends and colleagues are here and I don’t want you making a show of yourselves in front of them, it’s not fair to her.’
    ‘It’s not fair to us, more like,’ I muttered.
    Dad glared at me. He’s surprisingly good at glaring when he wants to. ‘I understand you’re a bit surprised,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have to act like a pair of five-year-olds. Okay?’
    ‘Okay,’ said Rachel, but she rolled her eyes so he would know she didn’t mean it. ‘Can I at least have a glass of wine?’
    ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘Oh, all right. Just one. And NOT you,’ he said, looking at me. Not that I wanted wine anyway. I’d probably start trying to drown my sorrows straight away and then I’d become an alcoholic. That’d give Mum something to write about, I suppose. A waiter came along with a tray of drinks, so Rachel took her wine and I took an orange juice and then we went and sat in a corner and ate canapés.
    ‘Just look at her,’ said Rachel. ‘Look at her talking to her ridiculously dressed mates (seriously, what is that manwearing? Is that a velvet bow tie?) like she hasn’t a care in the world.’
    ‘She hasn’t,’ I said. ‘She’s not the one who’s going to be publicly humiliated as soon as everyone she knows reads that stupid book.’
    ‘I can’t BELIEVE I was feeling sorry for her,’ said Rachel. And we sat and glowered at her and tried to eat the canapés without getting bits of diced tomato all over ourselves (all the little tarts and things are surprisingly messy) until at LAST Dad took us home (Mum was staying on, probably so she didn’t have to face us). And then I went to bed and woke up hoping it was all a horrible dream and … well, you know the rest. So that’s it.
    I just rang Alice to tell her my troubles but she was at her mad auntie