Vince and Joy by Lisa Jewell Read Free Book Online Page A

rolling her head on her shoulders after too much studying. She didn’t have to pretend to be cool, pretend to be clever, pretend to be interested,pretend to be aroused, pretend to be anything. It was a relief.
    ‘I think you’re great,’ she said, bringing her knees up to her chest and turning to smile at Vince.
    He started, and a shy smile spread across his face. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes. You. Really’
    She pulled his hand off his lap and, without even a moment’s hesitation or awkwardness, brought it up to her lips and kissed it.
    ‘I think you’re great, too,’ he said. He smiled again, picked up her hand and brought it to his lips and, as his mouth connected with her flesh, Joy’s whole body tingled like a sneeze.
    And then they both laughed, reached for each other’s faces and kissed to the distant sound of teenage Hunstanton girls singing along to ‘Venus’ by Bananarama.

Five
     
    Vince was awoken the next morning by the sound of wood pigeons cooing from the trees.
    He wiped away the thick condensation that covered the letterbox-shaped window, and as the view came into focus he considered the mist fogging the corresponding window of the next-door caravan. Was it the sweet, tangy morning breath of Joy Downer? Was it the visual accumulation of her night’s dreams, thoughts and movements, every droplet a moment’s sleep? Was she there now, on the other side of the brown aluminium siding, murmuring gently in her sleep, one leg outside the covers maybe, bent slightly at the knee? Or maybe she was just waking up, rubbing her eyes, stretching her arms, tousling her silky hair with bunched-up fists?
    He brought his own fist to the window to wipe away the new layer of condensation he’d created, and as he did so the curtain opposite shot open, a meaty hand cleared the opaque mist from the window and a large, greasy face appeared, squinting into the morning sunshine.
    Barbara.
    Vince pulled his curtain closed and let his head fall upon his pillow, shuddering gently at the terrifying image left lingering in his mind’s eye.
    He got out of bed and wandered through to the livingarea. Chris was eating freshly baked bread spread with thick peaks of peanut butter, and Kirsty was still in her dressing gown, suggesting that Chris had been up first to do the breakfast run. There was a fresh pot of tea on the side, and Vince poured himself a mug and sat down. Half the curtains at the far end of the caravan were still closed against a dazzling sun that cast a dank orange light through the interior, highlighting the clouds of smoke from Kirsty’s cigarette. Radio 1 was on, some overexcited DJ shouting about the wonderful weather and introducing ‘Living Doll’ by Cliff Richard and the Young Ones.
    ‘Bread?’ said Chris, reaching for the bread knife.
    ‘Nah,’ said Vince, eyeing the crusty loaf and finding it strangely unappealing.
    ‘Lovesick?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Lovesick,’ Chris repeated, nodding at Kirsty.
    Vince tipped a teaspoon of sugar into his mug and grunted.
    ‘So, what time did you two crawl back last night, then?’
    ‘I dunno. One, two, something like that.’
    Chris laughed. ‘One or two, my arse!
Three-thirty –
that’s what time it was. What the hell did you two find to do in Hunstanton until three-thirty in the bloody morning? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
    ‘We just talked – that’s all.’
    ‘Aaaah,’ said Chris, gouging another large knifeload of peanut butter from the jar and flopping it on to a slice of bread. ‘Talking, eh? That’s the ticket – best way into a girl’s drawers, that. Up all night talking – you’re halfway there, mate.’
    Vince watched Chris’s peanut butter merging with the oily yellow butter already pasted on to his bread and felt his stomach wriggle. ‘It’s not like that,’ he muttered.
    ‘Course it’s like that.’
    ‘It’s not. Honest. Joy’s – she’s not that kind of girl. We’re just friends, that’s all.’
    Chris shook his