Other People’s Diaries Read Online Free PDF Page A

had your entry forms inside. She entered for both of us.’
    Alice flicked a glance at Claire. Rebecca was clearly here under sufferance, but Claire seemed oblivious.
    Alice ducked her head, stomach clenching. What in God’s name did she think she was doing, bringing these glamorous women here to talk about fixing their lives?
    She concentrated on the mascara smudge on Rebecca’s eyelid and took a breath. But before she could say anything, Rebecca gestured at the sign on the table behind them.
    â€˜I assume that’s for us?’
    â€˜Yes … good idea. Ah – why don’t you follow me?’ Alice stammered.
    She led the way down two steps and toward the table. There was a long padded bench on one side and chairs around the rest of it. Alice took the seat at the head of the table, having thought about this while she was waiting. The other two women looked at her questioningly.
    â€˜There’s no seating plan. Sit wherever you like.’
    Alice waved vaguely at the table and Claire slid into the middle of the bench. Rebecca chose a chair. One of the closest to the door, Alice noticed.
    Claire and Rebecca waited expectantly. Alice looked back blankly, unable to think what was planned next.
    Drinks – that was it.
    â€˜Would you like a glass of champagne?’ she asked.
    â€˜Absolutely,’ Claire answered and there was an answering nod from Rebecca.
    Alice caught the eye of a waiter.
    â€˜Would you mind opening the champagne?’ She gestured at the ice bucket in the centre of the table, in which a bottle of Moët was angled.
    The waiter removed the foil and wire and eased the cork silently from the bottle.
    Alice smoothed her dress over her lap, pushing down hard on her thighs with the heel of her hand.
    There was another long silence as the waiter filled their glasses. Alice suddenly remembered the script she’d prepared so diligently. If nothing else, she’d planned this part meticulously. Stomach still churning, she pictured the words she’d laboured over. She’d printed them on her archaic printer and practised in front of the mirror.
    This was it.
    It was time to start. Even if there were only two people here,who would both decide she was a loser within seconds. It was unfortunate she’d booked such a big space – the empty chairs gave away her high expectations. But there was nothing she could do about that now.
    As rehearsed, she looked at her watch, despite knowing full well it was seven-forty.
    â€˜Let me begin by saying thank you for coming and please – enjoy your champagne. It’s a little strange I know. An invitation to drinks with someone who wrote a book over a decade ago. But if you’ll bear with me, I’d like to tell you a little about myself and then we’ll get to the reason I invited you here.’
    Her words sounded unnatural, as if she was still addressing the mirror. She tried to slow down and relax.
    â€˜It seems like a lifetime ago that I wrote Her Life, My Life . Since it was published I have had three children and my world has been taken over by the practical things that keep a family going.’
    As she spoke, two more women walked toward the table.
    Alice stood up.
    â€˜Hello. I’m Alice Day,’ she smiled, holding out her hand to the older of the two women.
    â€˜I’m Lillian Grant,’ the woman introduced herself. Lillian’s grey hair was short and feathered softly around her face. She held her handbag against her hip, the strap stretched tight. Her lipstick had obviously just been applied, the muted pink precisely covering her lips, the lines at the corners of her mouth accentuated rather than disguised by a dusting of face powder.
    â€˜And I’m Megan Jones.’
    Megan was younger than everyone else – somewhere in her late twenties, Alice guessed. A tiny jewel glittered from a piercing on her nose. She wore tight jeans and sneakers with what looked like an