WATTY WINNER!
Life has dealt city girl Olivia Porter a series of bad hands, but just as she's about to fold, fate intervenes and leaves her with a full house. Out of other options, she takes a gamble and moves to the countryside, hoping Lady Luck wi...
"They've only put me on bloody nights again. I barely get to see Dave as it is, and I'm sure that bitch planned it deliberately. The administrator actually smirked when she told me the new rota."
Okay, maybe calling Maddie wouldn't provide the positivity I needed. "I'm so sorry. Could you try looking for a different job? People always need nurses, right?"
"I've started keeping my eye out, but what annoys me most is that I enjoyed working there until she came along. It may sound silly, but the stubborn part of me wants to stick it out in the hope it gets better."
I could understand it—that was how I felt about living in Upper Foxford. Although I didn't have the advantage of having loved it in the first place.
"I don't think it's silly at all. It would be a shame to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire."
"Thank you—somebody who gets it. Dave can't understand why I haven't left already. I can only hope that bitch cracks first. Either that, or I'll get sent down for murder."
"Don't say that. I'm sending virtual hugs."
"How about you bring real hugs at the weekend? Do you remember Valerie from school?"
"The one with the really thick glasses?"
"She had her eyes lasered and married a doctor. Anyway, she's having a party on Saturday, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you came as my plus one."
What would I do if I stayed in Upper Foxford? Sit at home watching an American crime series on channel five? I had quite enough drama in my life already, thank you, and I didn't even want to think about dead bodies. A trip back to the big smoke was just what I needed.
"Sounds great. I'll be there."
And for once, I was glad I'd be reliant on public transport. I could have a glass of wine and maybe a cocktail or two. I'd need them.
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Little did I know that my alcohol requirements were only going to increase the next day. I did my eBaying—a sideline that was turning into more of a job than my actual job—then put on my leggings to take another bike ride. As well as the escape, I needed to burn off a few calories because my clothes were getting tighter. Granted, the pub in Stonystead wasn't the best place to get diet food, but if I ate a bowl of soup and then came straight back, I'd still be able to fit into my jeans.
But I didn't get that far.
"I don't flipping believe this!"
Nobody was around to hear my wail, but when I saw my bike in the woodshed, complete with slashed tyres and red paint daubed on the seat, I couldn't help myself.
It was a testament to how awful my life had become that I didn't burst into tears or run screaming. On a scale of wild rumours to nasty burglary, slashed tyres only rated as a minor irritation.
