Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 120326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Here’s hoping he’s got more of a mild antisocial personality disorder rather than being a full-on sociopath.
“Let’s shake on it,” he says.
I take his hand as firmly as I can and shake it once. If this goes badly wrong, then at least I’ll have a crazy story to tell the grandkids someday.
If Robert and I don’t end up murdering one another before the summer is out, that is.
Six
We manage to maintain our truce for the rest of the week. He comes into Baccino’s on Wednesday for lunch, and although I get stuck serving him again, he doesn’t try to embarrass me or do anything weird.
Sasha is surprised that I don’t mind him staying with us. She asks me lots of questions like “have you gotten a brain transplant?” and “is Robert blackmailing you?” before she finally accepts that I’m telling the truth and that nothing untoward is going on.
I don’t blame her for being confused by our sudden decision to get along. But I continue to remind myself that we’re grown-ups now. This living together thing doesn’t have to end in tears like it would have when we were teenagers.
The day out to Brighton comes quickly, and Sasha lets slip on Friday evening that Kara and Gary are going. Robert tightens his jaw at this piece of news, but he doesn’t comment on it.
He ends up driving Sasha and me on the day, with everyone else being driven by Alistair. The journey takes about two hours, so I make sure to pack some snacks.
On Saturday morning I put my swimsuit on under a cream cotton dress, to save myself getting changed on the beach in front of everyone. My suit is a plain black one, with a flattering ’50s vintage cut and a built-in bra. Packing a towel and a few other necessities in my bag, I head downstairs, where Sasha’s filling up a cooler box with drinks.
I go outside and throw my bag in the boot before hopping in the back. Robert’s already in the front seat with all the windows open, blasting “Uprising” by Muse through some pretty impressive speakers. His eyes fix on me as he taps the beat out on the dashboard; this, combined with the song, causes goose pimples to rise on my skin.
“Looking fine, little red,” he says to me, turning the music down for a second before switching it right back up.
Enjoying the remark but not wanting him to be aware that I am, I roll my eyes and stare out the open window. This is the first compliment he’s paid me since Tuesday, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t missed them.
When Sasha finally emerges, putting the last few items in the boot and sliding into the passenger seat beside Robert, we set off. With the back all to myself, I slip off my sandals and put my feet up. I catch Robert watching me in the overhead mirror, but he doesn’t make any comments. As expected, he doesn’t look away until the moment reaches a sufficient level of tension.
It takes a while before we get onto the motorway. A few minutes later there’s a horn honking noisily behind us. I turn around to see Alistair and Sandra sitting in the two front seats of a black people carrier. They speed up so they’re on the other side of Robert’s car, and I can now see that Victor, Jacob, Kara, Gary, and a blonde girl I don’t know are in the back seats.
A minute later Sasha’s phone starts ringing. It’s clearly Alistair, since I can see he has his own phone held up to his ear, his other hand resting on the steering wheel. My mum would go crazy if she were here to witness him driving while on the phone. She’s always catching people doing it when she’s on duty back home.
“Hey, Al, you stalker,” Sasha answers on loudspeaker, laughing.
He laughs back and quips, “Have you not heard of group stalking? It’s the new big thing.” His voice streams clearly through Sasha’s top-of-the-range iPhone.
I notice Kara is in one of the window seats, staring daggers at Robert. He seems to be ignoring her as he taps a few buttons on the iPod dock that’s set into the dashboard. Sasha’s still chatting with Alistair when the familiar intro to “She Fucking Hates Me” by Puddle of Mudd starts playing. Looking at Kara, I see her eyes widen when she realises what song it is. When it gets to the chorus, Robert turns the volume right up and begins singing at the top of his lungs. He actually doesn’t have too bad of a voice. He sticks his hand out the window, giving her the finger, and increases his speed, zooming past Alistair’s car and a scowling Kara.
He’s laughing when Sasha hangs up the phone and shoves him in the shoulder.
“That was rude,” she says, reprimanding him.
Robert continues singing, now turning from the road for a second to croon into Sasha’s face. My lips turn up at the ends as I try not to laugh.
“Ugh, stop fucking singing, Rob, it’s terrible.”
It’s not terrible at all, but I’m not about to go disagreeing with her.
He keeps on singing into her face until she finally gives in and laughs. “You’re an idiot.”
He’s on the second chorus now, and he slams his head back against his seat, shouting the lyrics out alongside the Eddie Vedder–wannabe lead singer.
“Sing with me, sis. Come on, you know you want to,” he encourages her, mid-lyric.
Sasha shrugs then and starts singing, a grudging smile on her face.
Robert meets my gaze through the mirror. “And you, Lana. I need all the support I can get if I’m going to be spending the day with that bitch and her lapdog.”
My heart stops at his request. I never sing in front of people. It’s just not something I do. In an effort to change the subject, I say, “I can’t believe you have this song in your collection. That’s shameful, Rob.” I ignore his comment about Kara being a bitch and Gary being a lapdog.