This Could Change Everything(5)



‘How can I write one of those things?’ Essie cringed at the idea and pulled a face. ‘Just the thought of trying to put one together makes me want to die of embarrassment.’

‘Oh, this is better than brilliant.’ Pointing to the final paragraph, Scarlett cackled with delight. ‘“We can’t wait for the hordes to descend this Christmas for a week of merriment and good cheer! Our children and extended family do so look forward to coming to us so we can all celebrate the festive season together in the traditional way!”’ She snorted. ‘Ha, of course they do. I can imagine how much they look forward to it.’

‘Well according to Paul, Letitia’s so-called yoga retreat was actually a rehab clinic,’ Essie confided. ‘Jonathan’s an insufferable know-it-all who likes to shoot at birds from his bedroom window with his BB gun. And Arabella’s a slutty minx whose favourite hobby is sleeping with other women’s husbands.’

‘See? That’s the trouble with these things.’ Scarlett waved the round robin triumphantly. ‘Why do people always have to pretend their lives are perfect? All it does is make other people feel like failures. Why can’t they be honest about what’s going on?’

‘Exactly.’ Essie nodded vigorously in agreement. ‘Because then we’d like them more. It just makes so much sense!’

‘Right, that’s it. What were we saying earlier about not knowing what to get each other for Christmas?’ Scarlett spread her hands. ‘Well, problem solved, we’ll do this instead. I’ll write a completely honest round robin to you, and you can write one to me. And no one else will ever see them, they’ll be our secret. How about that?’

Entertained by the idea, Essie divided the last of the wine between their glasses. ‘Hundred per cent honest?’

‘No holds barred. Let it all out. It’ll be like therapy, only cheaper.’

‘And it’s just between us?’ she double-checked.

‘Of course. Million per cent.’

‘OK, let’s do it.’ Scarlett trusted her and she in turn trusted Scarlett. ‘It’ll be fun. And cheap!’ Essie held up her glass. ‘The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Cheers!’

And since there was no time like the present, as soon as Scarlett had left the cottage to catch the last bus home, Essie decided to make a start. Sitting with her laptop balanced on her knees and her mind bursting with ideas, she began to type.

How time flew. The words, helped along by the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc they’d demolished earlier, came tumbling out. Gosh, this was fun. And so cathartic! Seriously, though, wouldn’t the world be a happier place if everyone could just relax, let go of their inhibitions and write one of these things? Ooh, it was probably like in the olden days when people kept diaries, except this was way more fun because Scarlett would soon be reading it, shrieking with laughter at the funny bits and appreciating every last—

God, what was that noise? Was there a dolphin in the kitchen?

Essie pushed the laptop to one side and leapt off the sofa, because the unearthly sound was so high-pitched it was hurting her ears. The next moment she yelped and jumped back onto the sofa as Ursula burst into the living room with a panicking, terrified crow in her mouth.

‘No!’ Essie let out a howl of horror because the crow’s eyes were wide open and it was making a terrible squawking noise. Much like herself. It was also flapping its wings wildly in an effort to escape.

Oh God, this was so gross. In the few weeks Essie had been living here, Ursula had brought her the odd present in the form of mice and voles, but they’d all been completely dead.

That had been gruesome enough, but this was worse. Essie yelled, ‘Drop it, DROP IT!’ then realised this would mean having to pick up the crow herself. Urgh, and the high-pitched noise emanating from its gaping beak was getting louder. Launching herself off the sofa cushions, she clapped her hands and attempted to shoo the murderous cat back into the kitchen.

‘Kikkikki!’ shrieked the petrified crow, both wings flailing as Ursula ducked and dived around the living room with its body hanging out of her mouth.

‘OUT!’ bellowed Essie, grabbing a cushion and brandishing it at Ursula. Oh no, and now there were drops of blood landing on the carpet. In desperation, she flung open the window and chased the cat around the living room a couple more times. It was like one of those frenetic Benny Hill sketches her grandfather had loved to watch on TV years ago, except this was less of a comedy romp, more of a nightmare.

Finally Ursula released her grip on the crow. She gave Essie a malevolent look as if to say, ‘This is all the thanks I get?’ before turning and exiting the kitchen via the cat flap in the back door.

Evidently relieved, the crow flew up in the air, circled the living room and did a series of victory poos by way of celebrating having escaped with its life.

‘No, don’t,’ Essie wailed, ducking as it swooped back towards her, just missing her head. Her heart was clattering with panic; she hated seeing any living creature in pain, but the frantically flapping wings were making her feel sick.

Moments later, as suddenly as it had arrived, the crow found the open window and flew out through it, disappearing with an upwards swoosh into the cold night sky.

Thank goodness. At last.

Essie listened to the blessed silence and clutched her still-pounding chest with relief. Then she hastily closed the window before the bird could come blundering back in, and turned to survey the scene.

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