Pictures of Lily Read Free

You?’
    ‘Eighteen.’ Pause. ‘I thought you were older.’
    ‘Damn, you’ve rumbled me. I’m actually thirty-five.’
    ‘Is that right?’ He raises one eyebrow.
    ‘Yeah. Stuck in a fifteen-year-old’s body.’ I discard my half-eaten pizza and put my bare feet up on the coffee table, wishing I’d had the foresight to give myself a pedicure before I came away. Josh’s eyes skim over my legs and up to my breasts where they pause for a few seconds.
    ‘Lucky thirty-five-year-old,’ he murmurs.
    ‘Are you taking the piss?’ I immediately bite back. He snorts with derision as I take my feet down, cross them underneath myself on the sofa and fold my arms. He lazily gets to his feet.
    ‘I’m going out in Stirling tonight with some mates,’ he says, reaching backwards to scratch one of his shoulderblades. I catch a glimpse of his tanned, fit stomach.
    ‘Have fun.’ I look away and pray he doesn’t see me blushing.
    ‘Come if you want,’ he says casually.
    ‘No, thanks.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I’m knackered.’
    ‘Lightweight.’
    ‘Do you know what time it is in England right now?’ I ask hotly, my mind racing as I try to calculate the time difference in my head.
    ‘Suit yourself,’ is his reply as he saunters from the room.
    It takes me about fifteen seconds to work out that it’s nine-thirty in the morning in the UK and, minus my little nap earlier, I’ve effectively stayed up all night. I’m on the verge of shouting this fact down the corridor to Josh, but realise in time that I’ll only sound like a tit. Getting to my feet, I pick up the takeaway boxes, switch off the television and go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A car horn toots outside. Josh appears in the doorway as I’m filling my glass from the tap.
    ‘I wouldn’t drink that,’ he says. ‘There’s rainwater in the fridge.’
    I glance down at my glass. ‘Oh, okay.’
    ‘That’s my ride,’ he says as the horn sounds again.
    ‘Who is it? Bruce? Sheila?’ Josh doesn’t look amused. Well, I thought it was funny.
    ‘See you later.’
    ‘Not if I see you first!’ I call after him, idiotically. The front door slams.
    I pour the tapwater down the sink and sigh as I realise I’m alone in the house. Helping myself to water from the jug in the fridge, I pad barefoot down the corridor to my bedroom. I screw up my nose at the sight of the green and brown curtains and matching bedspread. Maybe I will do something about my bedroom, after all. I decided earlier that I’d leave it as it was because there’s no point customising it when this will never feel like my home. But on second thoughts, I don’t think I can live like this, even for a short time. Perhaps I’ll get a few posters or something, change the bedspread if I can find something cheap and cheerful.
    I go to the window and look out. The view looks up into the hills. I notice for the first time what looks like a castle at the top. Weird. I pull the curtains closed.
    My suitcase is still sitting on the floor by the window. It didn’t take long to unpack; I was only allowed to bring one case, which is something Mum and I fought tooth and nail over before we came away. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and then I return to the bedroom and change into my PJs before pushing the suitcase under the bed so it’s out of the way.
    ‘AAAARGH!’
    I let out a bloodcurdling scream and leap onto the bed as a freakishly huge spider shoots out from under it and scurries at breakneck speed in the direction of the door. As I wobble on top of the mattress, fear clutching my stomach, the horrible realisation sinks in that if I don’t get rid of it, I’ll have to sleep in the same room as it. Tensely I crane my head in the direction that it fled.
    They’re more scared of us than we are of them, they’re more scared of us than we are of them, they’re more scared of us than we are of them . . . It’s a mantra that worked well enough back home, but here the spiders can