The Year of Taking Chances Read Online Free PDF

you’ll realize when you drink this.’ She added some crushed ice and edible gold glitter – well, it
was
New Year – and shook up the mixture. As she did so, she noticed
that Saffron, the woman from next door, now with dry hair, borrowed make-up and a squirt of Gemma’s Chanel No. 5, was currently trapped in a corner with Spud Morton, the most boring
potato-headed man of Larkmead. Was that an actual
raisin
stuck in his beard? Catching her eye, Saffron made a
Help!
face, and Gemma hurried to the rescue.
    ‘Spud! There you are!’ A wicked idea popped up in her mind. ‘Hey, Sarah Russell was looking for you. Said something about having a big, smoochy New Year’s kiss she wanted
to give you . . . ’
    He left immediately, the raisin trembling with the momentum as he hurried away.
Ha, Sarah Russell, that’s what you get for dissing my house
, Gemma thought with a grin.
    ‘Thanks,’ Saffron said.
    ‘No worries. Sorry you got lumbered with him – pickled-onion breath and all. Now, let me pour you a glass of this gorgeous little concoction.’ She took the lid off the cocktail
shaker and filled three Martini glasses with the dark-red liquid, admiring the shimmering effect from the glitter. ‘Yum! Knock yourself out with
that
, ladies. Not literally,
mind.’
    The dark-haired woman took a long slug of hers and smacked her lips, but Saffron shook her head. ‘Um . . . I don’t drink,’ she said apologetically. ‘Thanks, though. And
thanks for letting me gatecrash your party as well, by the way.’
    ‘Me, too,’ the dark-haired woman started saying, just as a group of basque-wearing footballers burst into the room, chanting a song about beer. One was wearing long turquoise
feathers in his hair for some reason, and the dark-haired woman – who
was
she anyway? Gemma wondered – shrank back self-consciously.
    Despite being three sheets to the wind – four sheets, now she’d just necked that delicious cocktail – Gemma couldn’t help noticing there was something fragile about the
dark-haired woman. She was all long, gangly limbs and held herself at uncomfortable-looking angles, as if she’d never quite grown into her height. Gemma leaned closer as the lingerie-clad
footballers cut a noisy path past them and out the back door for a smoke. ‘I’m Gemma, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met.’
    ‘Caitlin,’ said the woman. Her fingernails were nibbled down and she had a gaunt look about her. ‘Oh. You’re married to Spencer, right?’
    ‘That’s me.’
Caitlin
, Gemma thought, her brain feeling misty. Caitlin? The girlfriend of one of the football crowd, maybe? No. One of the mums from school? Definitely
not. Then she remembered Spencer coming back from the newsagent’s the other Sunday looking shifty, before confessing that he’d invited to their party yet another person Gemma
didn’t know. Ah, got it. She was the one whose mum had died, whom Spencer knew from primary school or something. No wonder she looked a bit shell-shocked.
    ‘Well, bottoms up!’ she said cheerfully, sharing the dregs of the cocktail between the two of them. ‘Glad you’re both here. Have you got anything amazing lined up for the
New Year? Any life-changing resolutions or adventures? Tell me you’re not going on mad diets or . . . I don’t know, competing in triathlons or something sickeningly worthy and
impressive.’
    ‘As if,’ Saffron said, stuffing the last wedge of quiche into her mouth. ‘I can’t think of anything more soul-destroying than cottage cheese and celery sticks. In
January? As if. Bring on the pies and chips.’
    Caitlin smiled. ‘Maybe we should resolve to eat
more
,’ she said. ‘Make some anti-resolutions. I might take up smoking,’ she went on. ‘Pipes, perhaps. Or
cigars.’
    Gemma giggled. ‘Yeah, I might try to do less exercise. If I try really hard, I might not do the London Marathon this year.’
    ‘Oh, I’m going to try not to do that, too,’ Saffron said.