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

guilt is immediately shoved aside, and I feel a flare of irritation. It’s eleven thirty and apparently no one has missed me. My reaction makes no sense. It’s better that I wasn’t missed. I’m behaving like a teenager. I call Logan and he picks up after the third ring.

“Hi, having fun?”

“It’s awesome, Mum! Where are you? I’ve been looking for you.”

I smile, grateful that after all I haven’t been completely forgotten. “I had to go out, do something, but I’m on my way back now. Five minutes away. Meet me at the dance floor?”

“We are not dancing together, Mum.” I can almost hear him roll his eyes in despair.

“No, I know. I just want to see you.” I want to hold him, my baby who is now only a couple of inches shorter than me. I suddenly feel a very keen need to be reassured by his solidness, his simplicity. Things are so complicated right now. “Have you seen much of your dad tonight?” I feel wrong asking. I can’t really expect Jake to have been too hands-on, considering I dashed off to be at another party. With another man.

“He’s with me now. We were looking for you and Emily. Neither of you turned up to do the cake-cutting photo thing.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot all about it.”

“You forgot about a metre-high cake!” Logan is still young enough to have an unashamedly sweet tooth and the four-tier cake has been a source of endless discussion for him over this past week. He was the one who had the final say over the layers—red velvet, chocolate, coconut, lime and carrot.

“Does Dad want to cut it now?”

“No, it’s okay, we did it. Jennifer and Fred and loads of other friends just piled in. It’s like a big gang photo now. Not a family one.”

I seethe, but bite my tongue. “Okay, well, nearly there with you.” As I reenter the party grounds I swiftly help myself to a glass of champagne from a tray. Hearing that Jennifer crashed the family photo op somehow means I require liquid fortification. I know it is partially my fault for not being there, but really? Did it have to be Jennifer who stood in for me? The server holding the tray looks bored, and I see her casting longing looks in the direction of the loud party. She’s only about nineteen. I flash her a sympathetic smile. I did a lot of waitressing work for extra cash when I was young—it was basically an exercise in managing older men’s roaming hands and older women’s unreasonable dietary requirements. I hope she hasn’t been met with too much rudeness tonight. I hope everyone has smiled, made eye contact, said thank you.

I head toward the main marquee where the dance floor is. The costumes make it harder to pick out faces I know. Most people are happy in their own cliques now, dancing, drinking, chatting, and no one turns to say hello as I thread through the crowds.

The dry ice smoke swirls, catching the amalgam of lights—dazzling blues, perky greens, loud reds—that are clashing and dashing through the hot, fused bodies. The DJ knows what he’s doing, the songs he’s picking are clear favorites with Emily’s friends, who are all on the dance floor and thrashing their bodies around with wild abandon. Logan’s friends look less sure, many lined up around the edge of the tent, trying not to look self-conscious and therefore looking exactly that. I spot Jake and Logan by the cake and make my way closer. The music blasts at a volume I’ve long since identified as too loud. It reverberates through my chest and spine.

I drop a kiss on Logan’s head. His scalp is sweaty and familiar. He looks about him, checking none of his friends have seen me. It’s just a truth universally acknowledged that parent affection is uncool. I have no idea why being loved is deemed embarrassing. In my experience, loving is the thing most likely to lead to humiliation. I look around for Emily and don’t see her. “Where’s Emily?” I ask Jake.

“What?” he yells back.

“Have you caught up with Emily yet?” I yell again, louder this time. A flicker of annoyance skitters up my spine when Jake just turns to me with a broad, obviously drunken smile.

“Not for ages.”

“You should be keeping an eye on her,” I snap.

“Why?”

“She was drinking earlier.”

“All the kids are drinking.” Jake makes a big, benevolent gesture with his arm, which takes in the entire area. He’s right, no one is sober. Me included. The beer he is holding slops over the glass rim and splashes on the floor.

“Yeah, but it’s her first time. She won’t know when to say when.”

“Anyway, where have you been?” he asks.

“What?” I am playing for time; I can’t tell him the truth. He would never understand why I had to say goodbye to Toma. I hardly understand myself. The memory of the man stroking my forehead with his thumb scalds. I can still feel his fingers tapping on the back on my hand. I rub over the spot he touched, as though trying to wipe away words off a blackboard. Jake doesn’t even know Toma’s name. I really need to tell him about the three million pounds. I’ll do that tomorrow, after we’ve cleared up from the party.

“I saw you take off a few hours ago. I’ve been looking for you all night. Where have you been?” Jake is showing an interest in me that has been lacking of late. However, it doesn’t feel as though it’s coming from a place of concern.

“Oh, we ran out of limes. I thought I could go and get some.” I stop. It’s nonsense. If we had run out of limes—which is unlikely as Sara thought of everything—then why would I be the one to go for them? It’s not that sort of party where the hosts pop out to the corner shop to get more crisps and alcohol, something that did happen fairly regularly at