Don’t Trust Me | Chapter 44 of 60

Author: Joss Stirling | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1657 Views | Add a Review

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Chapter 37

Emma, 25th December 2007

M

y Christmas gift to myself is to tell the truth in this diary. My life has so little room for honesty but if I can’t think this out somewhere I’m going to explode. I’ll make sure he never finds it – put it at the bottom of the Tampax multipack I smuggled in – that’s as good as a ‘no fly’ zone to a man like him.

As well as the carbon-guzzling ‘luxury’ of tampons, he doesn’t believe in celebrating Christmas. He has hauled in what he calls a Yule log from the forest and thinks he’s recreating some midwinter pagan festival in our garden as he sets it on fire. I can see him now from the upstairs window, standing with Biff, Gerry and Sparrow, all watching the sparks fly. Biff turns around and gives me a look. Thank God for her. She is my sanity. I’ll have to go down eventually and pretend to enjoy it but I need a few moments after having just thrown up my dinner.

OK, diary, here’s the thing: I think I’m pregnant. Shocked as I am? You bet. It was probably that bout of food poisoning in November when we had that undercooked rabbit he had snared. I’d forgotten that profuse vomiting can stop the pill working and he doesn’t believe in suiting up for sex, the selfish git. Says he doesn’t want to add to the landfill, and I as his equally committed girlfriend go along with that, but did he stop to think how much an extra human life adds to the waste mountain? That’s these environmental purists for you. It’s all about them and their perfect lifestyle. They’re like a modern form of Jesuit getting a kick out of standing apart from the rest of us sinners. Holier than thou.

What am I going to do about this though? My Catholic upbringing is making a horribly timed appearance. I haven’t even been to mass since I was twenty and still it has a grip on me. My instinct is that this life is innocent even if her parents are fuck-ups. And forgive me, bun-in-the-oven, selfishly, it would cement my place with this crew – a very astute strategic move. He’s been looking at me with suspicion recently. I know I’ve made too many dashes up to London to keep the bosses happy and had too many whispered conversations with Biff. Neither of us have adapted well lately. We’re not sure we’re on to anything here and the sacrifice of sleeping with these guys suddenly seems – just tawdry. Biff and I agreed we’d have to bend the rules but somehow we’ve bent ourselves out of shape.

My mother would certainly see it as whoring. I can hear her voice now, her Irish coming out with her emotion. ‘What do you think you’re doing, Emma, a nice girl like you?’

Ma, I was never a nice girl. She was afraid that I would turn out more like my dad, the charming actor who drank himself into an early grave when work dried up. As a kid, I always wanted to be a kick-ass superhero, but that didn’t go down well in the world of dollies and cake bakes that Ma inhabited. If breast cancer hadn’t got her, she would be in her element now, knitting baby clothes and dishing out advice.

And Ma, I’d have finally listened.

I’m getting maudlin. I’m in a fix. I have to carry on until there’s a sign for the exit because the fallout if I left now would be career-ending. Living the life I do is like being a Christmas present – a shiny wrapper around the box with a secret inside. And boy, do I have one hell of a secret. Sometimes I can trick myself into thinking I’m all foil and box, and forget what’s hidden, but then something rattles me and I remember. This isn’t my life. My life is missing.

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Alice
Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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