Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Max sighed. “What did you do to May?”
“I take offense at your assumption that I deserved this.”
Penny stared at her.
Esme sniffed. “I told her that her dress was far too tight, and she looked like a stuffed sausage in a vacuum bag.”
I pressed my lips into a flat line and looked up at the bottles on the back wall. It took all my self-control not to laugh. That was quite possibly the most random insult I’d ever heard, yet it was so utterly brilliant, and the kind of thing only Esme could get away with saying.
Or not, if you looked at her nails.
She tapped her nails against the bar. “It was worth it to see the look on her face, even if I am Wolverine’s second cousin now.”
Max rubbed his eyes in exasperation.
Penny grabbed her grandmother’s hand again and examined the nails. “Are they gel or acrylic?”
“I don’t bloody know, Penelope. Do I look like a show pony?”
“Were they cured under UV or LED?” Penny paused, and when Esme looked at her with confusion riddling her features, she said, “The bright purple light.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Gel. That seems easy enough.” She glanced down again. “She did a shoddy job. I finish at eight tonight. Come home with me, and I’ll take them off for you, Grandma.”
“You can take them off?”
“Yes. You just need some acetone, which I have since I do my own. I can get them off lickety-split for you, then do your nails properly.”
Esme narrowed her eyes. “How do I know I can trust you?”
I picked up her other hand and showed her the green nails. “Can it really be worse than this?”
“I’ll be a bit sad to lose them,” she mused. “I was hoping I could use them to scratch out May’s eyeballs.”
“You’re almost eighty!” Max sputtered.
“So?” Esme looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re never too old to scratch out someone’s eyeballs, Max.”
Pen dropped her hand and turned away to serve someone. “I’m putting that on a t-shirt.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ELLIE
You’re Never Too Old. Unless You’re Drinking. Then You Are.
“Meerow.”
I stretched my arm out from under the covers to bat away my shouty cat. “Shhhh.”
“Merow. Meeeer!”
“Winston. Shh.” I gathered the covers in a ball in my fist and pulled them up over my head. “I’m tired.”
And hungover.
I was quite hungover.
I was never drinking with Esme again. Or Penny, for that matter.
Not that it really mattered. I already knew it wouldn’t happen again because the chances of us ever crossing paths again was really quite slim.
I wasn’t even sure how I’d gotten here. Drunk or to Greygarth Lodge. I had a vague recollection of Esme insisting upon a round or two of drinks for us to ‘send me off with,’ but that was it.
Actually, that wasn’t it.
There were a lot more than two rounds of drinks.
Gosh, I felt dreadful. I really wasn’t twenty-one anymore. It was almost as if my tolerance had gone down as soon as I’d hit twenty-five… or perhaps it was because after that point, I preferred to drink wine in my pyjamas instead of party all night.
Either way, I definitely could not handle hard liquor anymore.
And I was not going to be leaving Windermere today.
Oh, well. My mother had said she didn’t mind if I wasn’t home, and I still had three other days to get there. I had her position in writing, so she was going to have to suck it up.
A bit like me right now. I’d made a dreadful choice in drinking with Penny and Esme with her talons, and now I was going to have to suck it up.
“Meeeerrrrrrahhh,” Winston whined, climbing on top of me.
“I’m getting up, I’m getting up,” I groaned, shuffling him off me gently as I rolled to the side to get out of bed.
I did not want to get out of bed.
At least I had the holy grail of hangover cures in the cupboard: ready salted crisps.
I blew out a breath and looked down at myself. I was wearing a vest top with panties, and it was naturally accessorised by my right boob popping out.
Nice.
I really must have had a lot of wine last night if I’d gone to bed in a vest top.
No woman in her right mind would go to bed in what was essentially a titty showing machine.
“Meeerh!” Winston shouted, making his lower jaw tremble with the effort of his almighty demands.
Demands that would only be known by those who could speak the ancient language of Cat.
I trudged along to the bathroom where I washed my face, removing all remaining traces of yesterday’s makeup, and brushed my hair and teeth. Those little acts alone made me feel ten thousand times better, even if I did finish brushing my teeth by bending over and drinking water straight from the tap.
Look, I never claimed to be classy.