The Villa by Rosanna Ley

supposed she still was – attractive, that was – men still looked at her, she still got noticed and she had great legs. But back then … Their fingers were interlaced, she was leaning towards Ginny’s father and gazing at him with a kind of –
Oh my God, you’re hopeless but I love you
, sort of look.
    He was laughing. Tall, gangly and carefree, just a boy. Her biological father. That had the right kind of distance to it. Ginny frowned. And he’d kept his distance all right. He’d never been in touch – not once.
    If Mum knew what was happening here tonight, she’d go
kerazy
… Ginny felt the Ball vibrate as it gathered a powdering of guilt. She’d already called and sent two texts from Sicily ‘
just to check you’re OK’
. Lolloping lemurs, what was she
on
…? Fact was, her mother knew nothing about her, nothing about her life. Why would she? She was her
mother
, wasn’t she?
    Ginny ducked out of the room and grabbed her iPod from her own room next door. That would sort it. ‘Henrietta’. The Fratellis at full volume. Her mother, she reminded herself, would never know.
    She cleared the living room of all potential breakages with ‘Chelsea Dagger’ in full swing. She heaved the sofa into Jack’s room – a chill-out room for the party – and plugged the iPod into her mother’s music system. ‘Got Ma Nuts from a Hippy’ cascaded into the room. She tried out a few thrusts andtwirls. Scooped up the rug.
Fabulous flamingos
… The wooden floor was perfect for dancing.
    A text came through on her phone. She pulled it out of her jeans pocket. It was from Becca.
Wot U doin 4 food
? Ginny texted back.
Crisps + popcorn
.
    In the kitchen, she cleared the surfaces and organised the drinks. There was wine (from her mother’s stash; she probably wouldn’t even notice), gin (bought by Pops for Christmas day two years ago, practically untouched), Coke and cranberry juice (Ginny’s contribution). People would bring bottles. No problem.
    She put the front door on the latch and went outside. Lisa was in her tiny front garden, weeding, the two girls playing bat ’n’ ball. They shrieked when they saw her. ‘Ginnyeee! Come and play, Ginnyeee!’
    ‘I can’t.’ Ginny pulled a sorry face. ‘I’m cleaning the house.’
    ‘Really?’ Lisa sat back on her heels. ‘Good girl. Your mum’ll be pleased.’
    Ginny smiled modestly, hooked her fingers into the waistband of her jeans.
    ‘I hope you’re taking note, girls!’ Lisa called out to her two. ‘This is what I expect of you in a few years’ time … ’
    ‘Did Mum tell you I’m having a few friends over tonight?’ Ginny asked casually.
    ‘Er … ’ Lisa frowned. ‘No, I don’t think she did.’
    ‘We’ll try not to disturb you.’ Ginny crossed her fingers behind her back.
    Lisa smiled magnanimously and waved her gardening fork in the air. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We’ll just turn up the telly. You have a good time.’
    ‘Thanks, Lisa.’ If things got too raucous, Ginny thought, she could always apologise tomorrow. And with a bit of luck Lisa would have forgiven and forgotten by the time Mum got home. Mum. Ginny shivered at the thought. But she couldn’t back out now – she’d already invited him.
    Before going back inside the house, she snuck round to the side passageway and pulled a packet of cigs from the pocket of her long, grey cardigan. She didn’t smoke much – usually just when she was out clubbing – and at home when Mum wasn’t around. She inhaled deeply. Would he come to the party? She’d texted him and told him to bring a few mates. He’d texted back that he might just do that. All she could do now was wait. And Ginny wasn’t good at waiting.
    Back inside and armed with black binliners, Ginny inspected her own room. She closed her eyes and imagined Ben moving in close, felt his breath warm and sweet on her face, felt his lips searching for hers, felt them fall together on to the bed … Suffering slugs, she was