Pride, Prejudice and Jasmin Field Read Online Free PDF

Matt Jenkins said ‘Rightie ho,’ beamed at Harry, tapped his watch and scarpered from the imaginary stage.
    Lizzy, stunned, angered, confused and exhausted, stood up to start pacing but realised she felt too weak. As Matt Jenkins did a scene-hogging Scoobydoo-tiptoe to the front corner of the room, Lizzy sat down heavily again, put a hand to her heaving chest, closed her eyes, let a tear fall down her cheek and an unexpected sob escape.
    *
    The sound of her sniffing filled the audition room.
    Slowly Jazz took a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose loudly.
    Eventually Harry spoke. ‘Have we got your phone number?’ he asked quietly.
    Jazz looked up at him. He was staring intently at her. ‘No,’ she said dully. ‘I wasn’t asked to give it.’
    ‘That’s all right, we’ll get it off your sister.’
    She waited for a while, and looked at Matt Jenkins. He smiled back and winked at her. Then his shoulder twitched again and his elbow shot out from his body, leaving his hand on his waist. No one took any notice. Good God, thought Jazz, alarmed. Any minute now, he’s going to break into Riverdance.
    She was surprised at how exhausted she felt. Harry was still scribbling but Jazz decided she’d had enough. She didn’t care if he was planning to try and direct her like he had George, she was ready to go home.
    ‘Bye then,’ she said to Matt.
    ‘Ta-ta,’ he said jovially, his nose now the only part of him that was moving out of context. ‘You were rather good.’
    Jazz thanked him, knowing she was not enough of an actress to return the compliment. She looked at Harry. He was still writing. She walked out, humming determinedly, without glancing at Sara Hayes.

Chapter 3
    ‘Anyway, thanks for the mango, George,’ said Mo and they all started chortling weakly. Jazz could still taste toffee at the back of her teeth and Mo had just eaten most of a packet of chocolate eclair sweets. George, who had polished off the marshmallows, joined in guiltily.
    They all looked at the unpeeled mango that Georgia had brought round. It lay on the coffee-table, surrounded by lots of brightly coloured sweet wrappers. They just couldn’t be bothered to peel it.
    ‘A mango is like a man,’ decided Mo.
    ‘Why?’ asked George.
    ‘Because it’s too much effort to open up and has a heart of stone.’
    Jazz smiled. ‘You forgot “And it tastes like shit to swallow and it’s always you who has to wipe up afterwards”.’
    Mo snorted the remains of the last eclair up her nose.
    ‘I love mangos,’ smiled George happily.
    They all turned to watch the mute TV for a moment.
    The flat in West Hampstead belonged to Mo. It was bright, cosy and well-worn. She’d bought it five years ago, just before the latest boom, when her mother had died and left her a substantial amount of money.
    Jazz loved living there. She could be in the heaving metropolis of central London in fifteen minutes and in Brighton in half an hour on the Thameslink. And she could be “with Mo when she needed good company or stay in her room with its sofa and heaving book shelves when she needed space. What’s more, George lived five minutes away in the next road. Jazz was delighted with her home.
    George pulled her face away from the TV screen.
    ‘Did you see that gorgeous blond bloke at the auditions?’ she asked.
    Mo shook her head. ‘Nope. I was too busy wondering when, how and where I was going to be sick.’
    Jazz knew exactly who George was talking about. Maybe Action Man was on his way out, she thought hopefully. She turned her gaze away from a tap-dancing tube of toothpaste and a happy set of sparkling white teeth doing a Busby Berkeley number. It wasn’t easy. She looked at her sister.
    ‘Why don’t you chuck Simon?’ she suggested bravely.
    George grimaced. ‘I’m too scared.’
    ‘Of what?’
    ‘I don’t want to hurt him.’
    Jazz wasn’t sure if that was an answer or a new thought. She suspected the latter.
    ‘How many bastards have hurt