Escape to the Tuscan Vineyard (HOLIDAY ROMANCE #2) by Carrie Walker EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Carrie Walker
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.1 MB
- Price: Free
Sunday 28
th July
‘Quick. She’s freaking out,’ Chris said, as he ushered me in through the
front door and straight up the stairs. My brother wasn’t great in a crisis, and
neither was my dad.
‘Morning,’ I shouted through to the kitchen, where Dad was pacing back
and forth.
‘Thank God you’re here!’ he called up, after me. ‘It must be bad, she
won’t even let me in to see.’
I wasn’t worried. This wasn’t the first time I’d been brought in on a hair
and beauty rescue mission.
‘Abi? Is that you?’ Mum squeaked as I knocked.
‘Yes, it’s me.’ I peered round the bedroom door to find my mum lying in
bed, looking terrified. An orange face with bright white eyes, and a rubber
duck shower cap covering her hair. A fake tan disaster of Oompa Loompa
proportions. Much worse than I’d expected.
‘It won’t come off,’ she said, miserably, holding up her arms. ‘And the
toner was supposed to pep up my peroxide, but it’s given me a purple
rinse.’
‘Show me,’ I said, gently, one hand on my hip.
She took a deep breath and lifted the orange beak, a large pair of ducky
eyes sliding backwards. Her hair was fag-ash grey, with a hint of lilac, and
there was no other way to say it – she looked like a drag queen.
‘Mum! What happened? What were you thinking?’
‘I told you it was bad!’ she wailed, frantically. ‘I wanted a fresh look. To
reimagine myself for the next ten years. I won’t hold on to your father if I
don’t, you know.’
I thought of Dad downstairs, in his cardigan and slippers, barely a
whisker on his head. A man who did The Times crossword every morning
and took three sugars in his coffee, and tried to imagine a sex-crazed gaggle
of OAPs wanting to snatch him away.
‘Harry Mason, lover-at-large. You’re right, Mum, he’s hot stuff, you need
to watch out,’ I said, with a giggle.
‘This isn’t the time for jokes, Abigail,’ Mum snapped. ‘What am I going
to do? We’ve got to be at The Ritz for 2 p.m.’
She peeled back the duvet to show me the full extent of the damage. Her
skin was a sickly muddy orange, and she looked an absolute state. I glanced
at the clock. 11 a.m. We had time. Chris and I had treated Mum and Dad to
afternoon tea at The Ritz for their fortieth wedding anniversary and they’d
been looking forward to it for months, but there was no way Mum could
leave the house looking like this.
‘Did you put the baby oil on like I said?’
‘Yes,’ Mum said, despondently. ‘An hour ago. Will it work? Please, God,
say it will.’
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