Smashed Read Online Free PDF Page B

Land, all thoughts of male bonding swept aside.
    Bloody Rita. If she thinks I’m going to stand up for her next time, the answer’s no. I’ll be in Mum’s bad books now for weeks. Reciprocal altruism might work okay for vampire bats, but applied to pesky little sisters, Darwin really got it wrong.

    Trying to swot while you’re sure your whole social life is about to go down the toilet is not ideal. But I put as much energy in as I can, and by the end of the day I suppose I’m a little closer to understanding the mysteries of human reproduction, evolution and sexuality even if, in real life, I’ve already failed it with a big fat F.
    The atmosphere when I get back home is deadly. Think thundercloud build-up. Think frightening calm. Mum prowls around the kitchen with the same high-tensile anger that her relatives harnessed for the IRA. Both Dad and I know better than to make a peep. Rita’s retreated into her room, and the only positive is that Mum’s so furious with her for refusing to come out for dinner that my presence hardly registers on her killer-parent radar.
    I scoff down the slightly burnt macaroni cheese sofast my stomach barely has a chance to note the fact I’ve filled it, then I leg it to the sink, rinse off my plate and stow it in the dishwasher without a word. Mum’s hissing something poisonous at Dad, and he watches me with hound-dog eyes.
    ‘Your mother would like me to speak to you after dinner,’ he says. It seems so pathetic that she can’t just shout at me herself, I kind of snort. A bad mistake. The thunderclouds and lightning drop their load.
    ‘I trusted you to look after your sister, and the first chance you get you desert her. She comes home late — two hours late — reeking of booze, and you don’t even have the nerve to show your face.’ Mum’s up from the table now and bearing over me. There are big black smudges under her eyes and they stand out against the bright anger patches on her cheeks.
    ‘Mum, I’m sorry. I —’
    ‘Do you think it’s funny that I lay in bed for hours worrying? I had that poor girl dead and buried — all of you smashed up in Don’s car.’ There are big tears boiling up in her eyes now, and I feel like a total jerk. I knew she’d be mad that we were late — and furious that Rita had been drinking — but it never occurred to me that she’d worry whether we both were safe.
    She sniffs impressively and stalks past me, headingfor her painting room. Dad wipes crystals of rock salt off the table into his thin brown palm.
    ‘I really didn’t think, Dad —’
    ‘That’s her point.’ He sighs. ‘It’ll be fine. Give her a moment or three to calm down, then take her in a cup of coffee.’
    Neither of us talks as we clear the dishes off the table, stack the dishwasher and rinse the pots. It’s like we’re both praying that it won’t be long before the sun shines again, now the storm has done its worst.
    Rita’s sure not helping, though. She’s left her dinner plate untouched outside her bedroom door. I consider going in to check on her, but when I tap she bellows out, ‘Go away.’
    Now every female I care about has screamed at me within the last few hours. Stuff them all.
    I throw myself onto my bed and force myself to blank it out. I can’t afford to let them screw up my exam.

    Surprisingly, the following morning passes pretty peacefully, apart from my exam nerves. Rita has high-tailed it off to her friend Sally’s again, and Mum has shut herself into the sun porch to paint. She’s nearlyfinished the cubist image, and is down to the final small brushstrokes for which she’s known. She has this way of painting something so well formed you think it’s finished, then she does a whole extra layer on top of it — these tiny strokes that wiggle and weave across the canvas and transform whatever she’s painted into a living, moving, vibrant thing. She loves this part, so I figure she’s calmed down a bit from yesterday or she’d be