The Debt & the Doormat Read Online Free PDF Page A

then?’ he asks narrowing his eyes at me, as if he’s considering calling the police.
    ‘Oh...of course.  You must be wondering who I am, of course!’ I laugh awkwardly.  ‘I’m Poppy.  I...’
    But then I remember that Jazz said I have to lie.  Have to make my life sound more exciting.  I look around the house for inspiration, but all I can see is a toaster and a kettle.  Then I spot a sombrero hanging up against the door.  Perfect.
    ‘I’m Poppy, Jazz’s cousin from Spain.  I’m staying here for a while and she’s gone to stay with a friend.’
    ‘Really?  You don’t look Spanish?’  He eyes me suspiciously, whilst still managing to wolf down his porridge. 
    I try and stop my face retracting in disgust.  I still feel a bit woozy and the smell of milk isn’t helping to settle my stomach.
    ‘Well, obviously I’m not actually Spanish.  I’ve lived there for a few years and now I’m back.’  Yes that sounds viable, doesn’t it?
    ‘How long have you lived in Spain?  You don’t look very tanned,’ he questions, his face unfriendly and his voice deeply sceptical.  His eyes look over my pale face and body.  I should have put some fake tan on; really committed to it.
    ‘Did I say years?  I meant months!’ I say in unnaturally high tones.  ‘I was only over there to...’  I search desperately round the room and spot some handbags.  ‘To design handbags…for Jessica Simpson,’ I add, looking at the Simpsons advent calendar.  Hang on, advent?  Christmas was six months ago.
    I stare at him a little discomfited.  He stares back, seeming to study me.  Maybe I went a bit too far with the Jessica Simpson thing.
    ‘Oh, well that's random.’ he finally says, seeming no friendlier.  He tips the bowl up to slurp the last remains of the milk.
    Hold onto your stomach Poppy.  Do not vomit.   
    ‘Morning!’ a girl sings, skipping into the room. 
    She’s shorter than me, probably only about 5 foot 2, but her limbs are long and tanned.  Her brown wavy hair has honey highlights through it.  It hangs down to her bum, swishing as she moves.  She’s wearing pink tracksuit bottoms with a white vest top that shows off her tan.  Now, she looks like she could have lived in Spain and designed handbags for Jessica Simpson. 
    ‘Oh, I didn’t know we had company,’ she says, seeming taken aback.  She looks back accusingly at the guy.  ‘I can’t keep up with all of Ryan’s lady friends.’  She smiles and winks.
    ‘Oh – I’m not....I mean, I’m not here for...’
    ‘She’s not here visiting me.’ he grunts.  ‘But if she were you’d have been totally rude.  Thanks for that.’ he says, with another flash of irritation.  He turns to face me, still not smiling.  ‘This is Poppy.  She’s Jazz’s cousin from Spain.  She was there designing handbags for Jessica Simpson.’ he explains. 
    Did I notice sarcasm in his voice?  Does he know I’m lying?  Am I that transparent?
    ‘Oh my God!  How cool is that!  Did you get to meet her?  Could you design me a bag?’ she squeals in excitement, her big brown eyes nearly popping out of her head.  Well, she clearly believes me.
    ‘I...err...’
    ‘Jesus, Izzy, give her a second!  She’s barely walked in the door and you’re harassing her.’
    ‘Oh shut up.  She’s probably dying to tell someone all the gossip, aren’t you Poppy?’ she says, grinning broadly.
    ‘Actually, I am kind of knackered.  Probably jet lag, you know.’  Hopefully now she’ll leave me alone.
    I notice Ryan smirk out of the corner of my eye.  Oh, come to think of it, I probably wouldn’t have jet lag from a two and a half hour flight.  What an idiot.
    ‘Well, I’m Izzy,’ she sings.  ‘Let me show you to Jazz’s room.’
    She picks my bag up and dances out of the kitchen.  Ryan gives me a vicious stare and I stare right back.  Who does he think he is anyway?  I follow her, not wanting to be left in the same room as that