The Real Rebecca Read Online Free PDF Page B

hotel, and she met all these glamorous men who were staying in the hotel, and the last one was a nurse and she was very saintly.’
    ‘Really,’ said my mother. ‘Which one was your friend’s aunt?’
    ‘Um,’ I said. ‘The nurse. No, sorry, the teacher. Anyway, over the years they all went their separate ways, and then they met up again and shared their stories. Oh, and they went on holiday together and the nurse found love for the first time. And the teacher learned to follow her dreams and see all the places she’d taught classes about.’
    ‘Fascinating,’ said Mum. ‘What about the hotel manager?’
    ‘She decided she liked just, like, flirting with all the menin the hotel. So she was pretty happy.’
    ‘Wow,’ said Mum. ‘That’s quite a story.’
    ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Just thought you’d be interested.’ And I gave her a meaningful look. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was sort of looking off into the distance with a funny expression on her face. Could I have inspired her already?
TUESDAY
    I don’t think I have inspired Mum. I heard her on the phone to Joscasta this evening. First of all she was laughing in a sort of mad sniggering way. Why doesn’t she ever laugh like a normal person when she’s on the phone? She sounds like a horse. Maybe she has a special phone laugh like some people have a special posh phone voice. Although you’d think if she went to the trouble of coming up with a phone laugh she wouldn’t sound like a farm animal. Then she was saying ‘no, Jocasta, they don’t know. It’s not a big deal!’ Then she saw the door into the sitting room was open and went upstairs to her and Dad’s room so I couldn’t hear anything else. What is she going on about now?
    Could she be sick?
    I am a bit worried.
WEDNESDAY
    This evening I sort of cornered Dad when he was making the risotto and hissed, ‘Dad, do you know what’s wrong with Mum? Why isn’t she writing her new book?’
    Dad sort of looked at me and then he said, ‘Bex, are you really, seriously worried about this?’
    ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘I’m worried she won’t be able to write any more and then she’ll be miserable and …’
    And then, to my shame, I burst into tears. Dad was very nice and even though normally these days whenever either of my parents try to hug me I just go ‘gerrof’ and escape from their annoying clutches as fast as I can, I didn’t actually mind being hugged this time. He told me seriously not to worry and that Mum didn’t have writer’s block and that soon she would have a nice surprise for all of us. ‘Especially nice for you,’ he said, which cheered me up a bit. Maybe Mum is writing a film, and maybe there will be a part forme! Or maybe one of her books is being made into a film, and someone really famous and cool is going to be in it. I’m quite looking forward to the stupid book party now.
THURSDAY
    It’s Mum’s book party tomorrow and she still hasn’t started a new book. At least, if she has, she’s not telling us about it, which just isn’t like her at all. She’s off at the shops now, looking for a bag to go with her book-launch dress. I really am worried about her, although Rachel pointed out (in quite a kind way, really, not her usual horrible, patronising way) that if Mum really was suffering from writer’s block, she wouldn’t be so cheerful. She’d be sobbing and wailing in frustration, according to Rachel. I couldn’t imagine Mum wailing, and it wasn’t a very nice thought, but I suppose Rachel is right about the writer’s block thing.
    ‘But then what do you think is wrong?’ I asked.
    ‘I don’t think anything’s wrong,’ said Rachel. ‘ Seriously , I think she’s working on something. She’s in her study every morning, as usual. And she seems fine.’
    ‘But if she’s working on something, why won’t she tell us?’ I said.
    ‘Maybe it’s something she doesn’t want to tell us about,’ said Rachel. ‘Maybe she’s changing direction.’