In Bloom. C.J. SkuseЧитать онлайн книгу.
Monday, 13th August – 14 weeks, 1 day
Thursday, 27th September – 20 weeks, 4 days
Friday, 28th September – 20 weeks, 5 days
Saturday, 29th September – 20 weeks, 6 days
Tuesday, 2nd October – 21 weeks, 2 days
Thursday, 4th October – 21 weeks, 4 days
Friday, 5th October – 21 weeks, 5 days
Saturday, 6th October – 21 weeks, 6 days
Thursday, 11th October – 22 weeks, 4 days
Tuesday, 16th October – 23 weeks, 2 days
Friday, 19th October – 23 weeks, 5 days
Monday, 22nd October – 24 weeks, 1 day
Thursday, 25th October – 24 weeks, 4 days
Monday, 29th October – 25 weeks, 1 day
Wednesday, 31st October – 25 weeks, 3 days
Friday, 2nd November – 25 weeks, 5 days
Saturday, 10th November – 26 weeks, 6 days
Sunday, 11th November – 27 weeks exactly
Wednesday, 14th November – 27 weeks, 3 days
Friday, 16th November – 27 weeks, 5 days
Wednesday, 21st November – 28 weeks, 3 days
Friday, 23rd November – 28 weeks, 5 days
Monday, 26th November – 29 weeks, 1 day
Tuesday, 27th November – 29 weeks, 2 days
Thursday, 29th November – 29 weeks, 4 days
Saturday, 1st December – 29 weeks, 6 days
Sunday, 2nd December – 30 weeks exactly
Wednesday, 5th December – 30 weeks, 3 days
Saturday, 8th December – 30 weeks, 6 days
Thursday, 13th December – 31 weeks, 4 days
Tuesday, 18th December – 32 weeks, 2 days
Thursday, 20th December – 32 weeks, 4 days
Sunday, 23rd December – 33 weeks exactly
Monday, 24th December – 33 weeks, 2 days
Tuesday, 25th December – 33 weeks, 3 days
Wednesday, 26th December – 33 weeks, 4 days
Thursday, December 27th – 33 weeks, 5 days
Friday, December 28th – 1 day post-partum
About the Publisher
Sunday, 24th June – 7 weeks pregnant
KNOCK KNOCKKNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
So there I was, red-handed, red-faced, naked and straddling a corpse. His body is covered in my DNA so even if I did toss him over the balcony onto several parked hatchbacks, the evidence would lead straight back to me.
KNOCK KNOCKKNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
‘Jesus Christ police have got loud knocks. Okay okay okay okay think whatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?’ Prison is a no no. I’ve seen Orange is the New Black. I can’t do all that lesbianing. It looks exhausting.
ANSWER THE FUCKING DOOR!
‘Yeah, I guess I’m gonna have to, aren’t I?’
I fling on my dressing gown and tiptoe across to the bedroom door. The knock comes again and I jump a clear foot in the air.
For crying out loud, Mummy. This isn’t just about you now. You’ve got me to think about. Answer it and tell them you can’t speak to them now.
‘Oh yeah they’re gonna love that, aren’t they? “Sorry, Sarge, could you pop out for a couple of doughnuts while I dispose of this corpse I’ve been sleeping with, then do feel free to come back with your Marigolds on and have a good root around?” It’s not gonna wash, Foetus Face.’
KNOCK KNOCK.
Right well that knocking is getting right on my tits now so just answer it. You’ll think of something.
I’ll admit, I’d have been lost if it hadn’t been for that little voice from beyond my own vagina telling me what to do. I tiptoed across the cold floor.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
The words ‘shit’ and ‘creek’ spring to mind and there ain’t a paddle in sight. ‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!’
Damn stupid to kill him here in the first place. What was I thinking? Must be the start of ‘Baby Brain’. That’s what I’m going to blame it on anyway.
Don’t you lay this shit on me.
How did I think I was going to get a six-foot Australian man-child out of my flat, along the hall, down two flights, across the car port and into my tiny car without being seen by some busy-body with a nose for cadavers? I’ve told you what to do - cut him up! Fortunately AJ wasn’t decomposing quickly – I’d drained him out over the bath before I left for the hen weekend. This slows the process down. I saw Dad do it once through a warehouse window – him and his associates, all in balaclavas.
Not just a pretty face, am I? *wink emoji*
Anyway, my heart’s pounding and my mouth’s all dry but the situation is what it is. There’s no escape. The knock echoes once more, I take in a deep lungful of air, prepare my best ‘shocked and saddened’ face and open the door of the flat.
And it’s Mrs Whittaker.
I let out my deep breath. Our kleptomaniac neighbour who gets more Alzheimersy each time I see her usually annoys the knicker elastic off me with her unsolicited visits, but today I could lick her bristly mouth.
‘Hello, Rebecca,’ she says.
My name is Rhiannon but nobody ever gets my name right. Even at school. Even when I got famous, few news editors could spell it. I get it – people are stupid. I let old Whittaker off a bollocking for the simple fact that she isn’t wearing latex gloves or brandishing a search warrant.
‘I’m popping into town in a bit to do my big shop and I wondered if you wanted anything. I know your young man’s away at the moment.’
The implication being that I, as a young woman alone, can’t cope. Bless. She’s eyeballing the room over my shoulder, as usual, obviously wanting to come in and snoop for unattended objets d’art.
‘Ah