Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
I started cleaning out the kids’ rooms, putting in a load of laundry before laying clean sheets on their beds. As always, Imogen’s room was spotless. All I needed to do was vacuum and replace her bedding.
While changing her sheets, my eyes were drawn to the collage of photos on the wall by her bed. They showed Imogen and her friends on trips and days out. Imogen was seventeen, and evidently her friends were the most important thing in her life. She was a good student, too; her mother often spoke about how she was working hard and wanted to study psychology in college.
It felt pathetic, but a part of me was jealous of this seventeen-year-old girl. She had the life I wished I could’ve had at her age. Doting parents, good grades, a close-knit friend group.
I didn’t have many friends when I was growing up, not because I was mean or unkind, but because I was unkempt and dirty. I was the child other children avoided because they didn’t want to be associated with the girl who smelled. I quickly taught myself how to use the washing machine and how to run myself a bath, but by that time, it was too late. I’d already gotten a name for myself as the stinky girl, and no matter how hard I scrubbed, the reputation stuck.
A chill swept over me as I shook myself from the recollection. That wasn’t me anymore. My life was better now. Still lonely, but better.
I finished cleaning the upstairs of the house by lunch time. The kitchen was quiet when I came downstairs. Something bubbled on a low heat over on the stove. I checked the fridge and found a wrap with cheese, steak and fried onions covered in cling film. There was a sticky note on top that said, Microwave for two minutes, but I was too hungry for that. I tore off the cling film and took a big bite. Even cold, it was still delicious.
The back door was open, and I spotted Marco sitting on the bench at the end of the garden smoking his vape. I grabbed a glass of water and headed out to join him.
“Did you even bother to heat that up?” he asked, gesturing to the wrap. I’d already scarfed down half of it. As I said, I was hungry a lot.
“It still tastes great,” I said, waving off his comment.
“Philistine,” he grumped and took a drag from the vape. It smelled overwhelmingly of cloves, and I could never understand how someone who was so obsessed with taste buds and aromas tolerated such a strong and overpowering scent.
“What’s cooking in there? It smells amazing.”
“Beef stew. Mr Connolly’s favourite,” Marco replied and nudged me with his elbow. “It’s where the steak came from for your wrap.”
Helena appeared at the sliding glass door. She cast us an irritated glance, then slid the door over. “What’s wrong with her?” Marco wondered aloud.
“It’s probably your vape,” I said, gesturing to the slim contraption. “She doesn’t like the smell.”
“She’s always so cranky. I don’t get it.”
“Maybe because her job involves raising other people’s crazy children,” I supplied, and he chuckled.
“They can be a handful, all right,” Marco agreed. “But they’re good people.”
“Yeah, they are,” I noted. “Helena’s nice, though. She’s just a little bit uptight.” I fell quiet for a moment before casting Marco a glance. “I think she might have a bit of a thing for you, but you never talk to her.”
Bringing his vape to his mouth, he arched a sceptical eyebrow. “A thing for me? Are you high?”
I chuckled. “Not high. I’ve never done drugs in my life.”
He sucked in an inhale. “Okay, we’re definitely gonna circle back to that. But first, what makes you think she likes me?”
“What’s not to like? You’re handsome, an excellent chef and a very nice man who makes lunches for the lowly cleaner, even though he doesn’t have to.”
“You forgot twenty-five pounds overweight. Addicted to video games. Too many ill-conceived tattoos, including one on my neck.”
“Don’t be so self-deprecating. Your tattoos make you look hip and cool, especially the one on the neck, and I’d describe you as more husky than overweight. Contrary to popular belief, lots of women are into husky men. Plus, we all have our vices.”
He seemed curious. “Oh yeah, what’s yours, then?”
I furrowed my brow, taking a moment to think about it. “Solitude.”
“You’re addicted to solitude?”
“A little bit, yes. Solitude is predictable and safe. I’m addicted to a boring life.”
“Is that a bad thing, though?”
“A part of me feels like it’s selfish. I deny people the chance to know me, so I can live a frictionless existence.”
“I don’t know about that. I feel like I know you pretty well.”
No, you really don’t. “You know me a little. We talk to each other for ten minutes once a week. That’s not enough time to know someone.”