Читать книгу The Map of Us - Jules Preston - Страница 13

The cause of Trish’s constant expression of irritated malevolence was the subject of much discussion and conjecture in the office.

Most speculated that it was the result of botched plastic surgery around the eyes in an attempt to make her look younger. The high heels and vertical stripes seemed to support the hypothesis. She already went to a great deal of effort to look taller and thinner.

Another, smaller contingent suggested that the blow-up cushion on her chair was not just to enable her to reach her phone but hinted at some chronic problem with her unmentionables. It was hard not to laugh at this one. For lots of reasons. None of them kind. I am a bad person. I admit it.

A third group thought that she did actually have a wasp jammed in her ear. Poor thing. The wasp, that is.

I’m not sure what I believed. It didn’t matter now. I was fairly certain that the current look of squinty-eyed hostility had something to do with the Bearing Foods presentation earlier.

Blaming Helen would be futile. I knew that. Helen was the only bridesmaid at Trish’s lavish destination wedding last year. The venue was a remote island in the Indian Ocean that took 5 hours to get to by small boat. I wasn’t invited. I’m glad I wasn’t. It rained for nine days straight. I’ve seen the rainfall figures. They were the highest ever recorded. A little over 320% of the normal monthly average. It was impossible to get outside. In the end Trish was married in the main guest hut surrounded by overflowing buckets and the sound of palm trees being blown over.

Trish and Helen went to the same prestigious university too. I didn’t. I went somewhere less prestigious that had an infamous nightlife.

On Fridays they sometimes shared a car to work. Neither had ever accepted a lift in mine. I could see their point. It used to belong to my father. It was full of sand. I tried to get it professionally cleaned once. They took one look at it and said no. Then they asked me to leave their forecourt, but the car wouldn’t start because it was damp and it was French, and they had to push me down the road while I tried to bump start it and I only remembered to take the handbrake off when they had to ask more people to come out and help push.

Yup. There was no point blaming Helen. That much was clear. If this was about the Bearing Foods presentation, I was done for.