Just My Luck Adele Parks (if you liked this book txt) 📖

if it is cool enough. And yeah, that means some drink,” he says, smiling encouragingly at Emily, “but dished out responsibly.” He shoots me a reassuring grin. Jake has a way of making everyone love him even when they are on opposite sides of the fence. “This party needs to be awesome. And when I say awesome, I mean awesome. A recognized DJ. For starters.”

“Really!” Emily squeals.

“Yeah, like someone who plays on Radio 1. They gig out at unis, don’t they? We must be able to secure someone your mates will know. We’ll have lights, a dance floor, smoke machines, all of that.”

“Wow.” Emily’s eyes are wide with expectation. “Also a theme. We need a theme.”

“Like Stars Wars!” exclaims Logan excitedly.

Jake and Emily don’t dignify his comment with a direct response. Jake continues, “Like a color theme, or underwater world, a carnival,” and looking around him for inspiration, “The Great Gatsby.”

“A carnival could be good.” Emily is grinning. “We can hire rides, like a Ferris wheel and a merry-go-round.”

“A bouncy castle?” Logan is beaming, enough of a kid to want to bounce on a castle for the sheer joy and giddiness of jumping up and down. I think Emily might caustically shoot him down, but she maybe is still enough of a kid to appreciate that joy, too, because she nods.

Or maybe she just knows impulsive uncontrolled bouncing up and down is a great way to flirt.

Is she even thinking about flirting with someone new? What is she thinking and feeling about Ridley and Megan? I don’t quite know, and I should. Yesterday she was adamant that she hates them, but that sounds too simple to be true. She’s had a strange feverish edginess about her tonight. What does that mean? Does she fear them? Teens are surprisingly resilient and horribly vulnerable, sometimes simultaneously. I can’t help but wonder if she’s purposefully stuffing back emotions she can’t comprehend.

“We could get a candy floss machine, bunting, festoons of lights. A marquee in the shape of a circus big top.”

It’s lovely to see my daughter so excited by something, especially after what she’s been through. I feel mean throwing cold water on the idea, but I just think this is all moving too quickly. I don’t know for a fact that the gifting of the designer bags inflamed Megan and her thugs enough for them to instigate the beating, but I have a feeling that it did. Jealousy is an insidious, pervasive disease. I’m concerned that throwing a look-at-us, full-on, show-off party isn’t going to have the desired effect of getting all our friends, neighbors and associates to celebrate with us; it may just turn into something that will cause further resentment. “We haven’t got room for any of these things. We can’t fit a Ferris wheel in our garden.”

My family turn to me and laugh loudly. Even Logan. “We’ll rent a venue, a field or something, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I down my glass of champagne and make eye contact with the waiter. I think I might need to order a bottle after all. This is likely to be a long night.

CHAPTER 24

Lexi

Friday, May 10

The days of the week explode like fireworks, tumble, shine and then disappear now that we are lottery winners. The days have no order to them, and time seems irrelevant, almost awkward. Routines are abandoned, surprises are abundant. Friday is no longer a day when I see the kids off to school, my husband off to work and then go to work myself, partially excited that it’s a half day (home by two o’clock—the freedom!) and partially panicked (how I will fit a day’s work into a few hours?). Only one of my kids goes to school, and neither my husband nor I work. As my days are no longer divided into thirty-minute appointments, they stretch out, endless and indolent. This Friday I’m pleased to have something to do, somewhere to be. We are meeting with a financial advisor to decide how best to manage our millions. Unbelievable.

Jake and I sit in the huge glass atrium, staring at an eight-metre-long reception desk at which sit four receptionists of exceptional beauty. There is a living wall of plants behind them, reaching up at least ten metres and yet still not hitting the ceiling. There are a number of conversations I want to have with my husband. They hang in the air around us, like overly pungent incense: silent, colorless but intrusive all the same. This morning I received a text from Hugh, Jake’s eldest brother. It detailed how much was owed on Hugh’s mortgage and his bank account number. I wasn’t aware Jake had asked for either thing when he called to share the good news but maybe he did. We do plan to pay off both of Jake’s brothers’ mortgages, but I’m a little put out by Hugh’s expectation that this is a cert, and I’m irritated by the fact that he requested we make the payment in full before the end of the month, as he has apparently already canceled his direct debit. IN FULL was written in capitals.

I loathe texts that are written in capitals.

I have been a lottery winner for twenty days. I had no idea how exhausting it would be negotiating other people’s emotions: the envy, disbelief, incredulity. I constantly feel a degree or two warmer than usual as I absorb the heat of everyone’s gaze.

I want to tell Jake about Toma. All about Toma. Our secret mission to discover who was ultimately behind the deaths of his wife and child, and the relationship that has developed as a result of our shared undertaking. I want to tell my husband about the respect I feel for another man, because if I do that, then surely I disarm the ticking bomb. But I don’t know where to start. Most importantly I have to tell him about the money I gave to Toma. I know Jake will be furious, and he won’t understand. He’ll point out that