spoke lowly into my beer as I
sipped.
Fuckwits!
“Sorry?” said Jenny.
“Oh no, nothing.” I smiled in good humour,
my eyes ticked over her shoulder at Dumb and Dumber.
“Miranda!” Rory clicked his finger. “Max’s
hot sister.”
“Ugh! She’s not that hot,” said Jenny’s
friend.
“Do you know her?” I asked, causing all
eyes to land on me.
“Um, yeah. She’s a total fucking bitch.”
Jenny winced as if embarrassed by her
friend’s outburst. “Yeah, we went to school with her.”
Rory’s mate leant heavily on the bar. “I
heard she got some modelling contract in Paris and that’s why she left,” he
said conspiratorially.
“Oh please, everyone knows it’s because she
was pregnant; everyone knows she was whoring around, that’s why she got sent
away.”
My brows lowered as something stirred
within me. Miranda Henry wasn’t exactly my favourite person in the world, but
hearing her be called a whore got my back up. I went to say something and felt
Jenny’s hand back on my thigh.
“The real reason she got sent away,” she
said lowly, “is because of the accident.”
I leant closer, intrigued by what Jenny was
saying. “What accident?”
But before she could answer, a shrill burst
of laughter sounded from across the room that caused us all to take notice; my
eyes shifted towards the sound, the sound that instinctively made my blood run
cold.
“Oh, my God. Speak of the fucking devil,”
said Jenny’s friend.
And as there was a shift in the crowded
room, there she was, drink in hand, sitting on a sofa. Miranda Henry.
Chapter Eighteen
Miranda
“Hey, who’s Jenny Madden talking to?”
I broke off
mid-discussion with Tom Hilton to glance over to where Jenny stood at the bar
with Ruby Dalton. Whoever she was talking to, the poor soul was probably dying
of boredom, I mused to myself, until the one thing that was blocking my
vision—a drunk Rory McKenzie and his pool cue—stumbled to the side, and only
then did I see exactly who Jenny was talking to.
My heart stopped.
“I don’t know, but he
looks like a smooth bastard.” Tom Hilton slid closer to me on the couch,
snaking his arm around me as if claiming his property. “Hey babe, what’s wrong?
Your beer gone flat?” He laughed.
I watched as Jenny bent
her head towards Ringer so she could listen to what he was saying, even though
she was as good as sitting on his face, she was so close. My eyes dipped to
where her hand touched his leg. She smiled, all coy and sweet, as she tucked a
blonde lock of hair behind her ear.
Vomit!
Watching the scene play
out before me was enough to make anyone’s beer flat. I had been having as good
a time as I could possibly manage at the Commercial. I had looked forward to
making a grand entrance, being ‘that’ girl who had returned home from Paris. I
had quite enjoyed the spectacle of old and new faces elbowing one another, more
so with the likes of Tom Hilton and his mates, whose mouths sat agape when I
had sauntered up to them with confidence that no local girl would ever be able
to manage.
“So are you going to
stand there and stare or buy me a drink?” I smiled. It had been rather comical
watching Tom almost fall over himself to get to the bar and whip his wallet out
to buy me a drink; in fact, I hadn’t paid for a drink all night and nothing
tasted so sweet. I took in the horde that surrounded me, mainly all the boys
that were a year above me, the ones I usually crushed on but they didn’t even
know I had existed until I started coming out to the Commercial on the sly and
drinking with them. They were also, incidentally, the ones that had never left
town. They were born here and would die here and even though all those years ago
when I would have given anything for a young, charismatic Tom Hilton to pay me
an ounce of attention, now looking him over in his creased dress shirt,
blundstone boots … and was he thinning slightly on top? … seeing him pore
sipped.
Fuckwits!
“Sorry?” said Jenny.
“Oh no, nothing.” I smiled in good humour,
my eyes ticked over her shoulder at Dumb and Dumber.
“Miranda!” Rory clicked his finger. “Max’s
hot sister.”
“Ugh! She’s not that hot,” said Jenny’s
friend.
“Do you know her?” I asked, causing all
eyes to land on me.
“Um, yeah. She’s a total fucking bitch.”
Jenny winced as if embarrassed by her
friend’s outburst. “Yeah, we went to school with her.”
Rory’s mate leant heavily on the bar. “I
heard she got some modelling contract in Paris and that’s why she left,” he
said conspiratorially.
“Oh please, everyone knows it’s because she
was pregnant; everyone knows she was whoring around, that’s why she got sent
away.”
My brows lowered as something stirred
within me. Miranda Henry wasn’t exactly my favourite person in the world, but
hearing her be called a whore got my back up. I went to say something and felt
Jenny’s hand back on my thigh.
“The real reason she got sent away,” she
said lowly, “is because of the accident.”
I leant closer, intrigued by what Jenny was
saying. “What accident?”
But before she could answer, a shrill burst
of laughter sounded from across the room that caused us all to take notice; my
eyes shifted towards the sound, the sound that instinctively made my blood run
cold.
“Oh, my God. Speak of the fucking devil,”
said Jenny’s friend.
And as there was a shift in the crowded
room, there she was, drink in hand, sitting on a sofa. Miranda Henry.
Chapter Eighteen
Miranda
“Hey, who’s Jenny Madden talking to?”
I broke off
mid-discussion with Tom Hilton to glance over to where Jenny stood at the bar
with Ruby Dalton. Whoever she was talking to, the poor soul was probably dying
of boredom, I mused to myself, until the one thing that was blocking my
vision—a drunk Rory McKenzie and his pool cue—stumbled to the side, and only
then did I see exactly who Jenny was talking to.
My heart stopped.
“I don’t know, but he
looks like a smooth bastard.” Tom Hilton slid closer to me on the couch,
snaking his arm around me as if claiming his property. “Hey babe, what’s wrong?
Your beer gone flat?” He laughed.
I watched as Jenny bent
her head towards Ringer so she could listen to what he was saying, even though
she was as good as sitting on his face, she was so close. My eyes dipped to
where her hand touched his leg. She smiled, all coy and sweet, as she tucked a
blonde lock of hair behind her ear.
Vomit!
Watching the scene play
out before me was enough to make anyone’s beer flat. I had been having as good
a time as I could possibly manage at the Commercial. I had looked forward to
making a grand entrance, being ‘that’ girl who had returned home from Paris. I
had quite enjoyed the spectacle of old and new faces elbowing one another, more
so with the likes of Tom Hilton and his mates, whose mouths sat agape when I
had sauntered up to them with confidence that no local girl would ever be able
to manage.
“So are you going to
stand there and stare or buy me a drink?” I smiled. It had been rather comical
watching Tom almost fall over himself to get to the bar and whip his wallet out
to buy me a drink; in fact, I hadn’t paid for a drink all night and nothing
tasted so sweet. I took in the horde that surrounded me, mainly all the boys
that were a year above me, the ones I usually crushed on but they didn’t even
know I had existed until I started coming out to the Commercial on the sly and
drinking with them. They were also, incidentally, the ones that had never left
town. They were born here and would die here and even though all those years ago
when I would have given anything for a young, charismatic Tom Hilton to pay me
an ounce of attention, now looking him over in his creased dress shirt,
blundstone boots … and was he thinning slightly on top? … seeing him pore
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