Wasted Read Online Free PDF

maybe it will not be bad luck but something more clearly caused by his actions. Perhaps there is one moment where we can say, “No, please, Jack. Not
that
.” Something obvious, like an actor in a horror film going downstairs in the middle of the night, in a storm, on Hallowe’en,
and not putting the lights on
.
    â€œAnyway, here we are.”
    Jack’s house is seriously big.
OK, so we’re talking major money here
, thinks Jess. On the gravel driveway, a car sits, black and lean and low and panther-like. The gravel crunches softly and is unusually easy to walk on. It welcomes the foot instead of repelling it with jaggy edges. Sea moss and pinks tumble from stone urns. Through the window to the porch, a surfboard leans.
So, is he a surfer, then?
    Jack is turning his key in the front door and opening it. He calls to his dad but there is no answer. The hall is bright, halogen and chrome coming from the huge kitchen that she can see to the right. Jess takes everything in, with difficulty. She feels like an intruder. Maybe she should be quiet in this house, so smooth and elegant, so clean and shiny and with an enormous bowl of pink and white roses on a table, which she thinks is mahogany. Jack throws his key on another table and goes back to the door to pull her in. He guesses what she is thinking.
    â€œYes, I know” – he says, with that smile – “it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I know – I’m very lucky. Et cetera, et cetera. Now, do you want a drink?”
    â€œUm, yeah.” Her lips have stopped moving properly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat do you have?”
Like, is this a tea/coffee situation or some other drink altogether?
    â€œWe have everything.”
    Yes, you probably do,
thinks Jess. “What are you having?” she asks.
    â€œLime and sparkling water.”
    â€œI’ll have that too.”
    â€œWant something in it?”
    â€œNo, thanks.” Actually, she kind of does but she is confused. This whole place. This situation. Her senses are overstretched. She’d probably need a drink before she could have a drink in a place like this.
    â€œNot while we’re working?” he says. She gives him a look.
    He begins to lead her upstairs.
    A man comes out of a room downstairs and they both turn round at his voice. “Jack? Sorry, I was on the phone when I heard you come in.”
    â€œHi, Dad. This is Jess. I told you I’d find a singer. Well, here she is. Jess, my dad. Dad, Jess.”
    Jack’s dad comes up the stairs and shakes her hand. It’s a firm handshake. A nice smile, the blue eyes friendly, the skin tanned. She smiles back as best she can and says hello. She knows he’s searching her face to see what he finds there, whether he approves. Her mother does it to any boys she’s ever been seen with. “Pleased to meet you, Jess,” he says and he looks pleased too. “Hope you can help Jack out – he’s talked about nothing but band problems – and if you can stop him talking about it you’re welcome to him. Oh, and I’m Sam, by the way.”
    And he walks back down the wide staircase and disappears into the kitchen. Jess follows Jack up some more stairs, narrower this time. At the top, there’s a small landing and two doors. He opens one and leads her in. She is overwhelmed by impressions. It’s a huge loft space with beams. Lots of sloping ceilings. Dark, but in a warm way, with deep-blue walls, until he turns on one switch and different lights come on, and alcoves come to life. He has a double bed, which she doesn’t want to look at. A lot of books. A seriously professional keyboard and a guitar, amps, other stuff with leads all over the place. The room is cluttered but organized. It’s not tidy but there are no horrible things like dirty underwear or brown apple cores. Mind you, he’s had time to tidy it. This could all be an act. He could in fact be a slob