Page 6 of The Plan
Chapter Two
“Good morning,”Aunt Addy sings chirpily at some ungodly hour the next morning.
I groan in response and drag the duvet up over my face when she pulls the curtains back to let the early morning sun in.
“How aren’t you hungover?” I ask from behind the duvet.
“I’ve had more years of practice, sweetheart. Tea, breakfast?” she asks as she disappears into the kitchen and starts banging around too loudly.
When the smell of frying bacon floods my nose, I’m up and out of bed. Carbs and fried food…I’m going to be fat by the end of the week at this rate.
“Sleep well?” Aunt Addy asks when I emerge from the bathroom.
“I think I drank enough to ensure I’d sleep well pretty much anywhere. How’re you so spritely this morning?” I complain, making her laugh.
“Here, this should sort you right out,” she says, placing a plate with a giant bacon and egg sandwich under my nose.
My mouth waters and I waste no time in taking my first bite. I moan in ecstasy as the flavour of the smoked, salty bacon hits my tongue. The sound is almost obscene and I can’t help but blush when Aunt Addy looks up at me with a smirk. I haven’t made that kind of noise in a long time and it makes me wonder if that’s another thing I need—something to relieve the stress and tension I’ve been carrying around with me for…well, years. Maybe I need to find myself a sexy Irish man. Jamie Dornan or Colin Farrell will do the job quite nicely, thank you very much. I lose myself in thoughts of sexy men with sculpted torsos and completely zone out.
“Addison? Adds? Woohoo…”
I come back to see Aunt Addy laughing at me, waving her arm around.
“Go somewhere nice?” she asks.
“Hmmm…”
“Anyway, I was saying that I’m sorry but I’ve got appointments all morning, then I’m meeting the ladies this afternoon, so I’m not going to be about. It does mean you have the house to yourself though, so you can make yourself at home, get used to the kitchen or whatever.”
“Is that your way of saying ‘make dinner’?”
“Of course not,” she says with a wink. “I was merely thinking about what you were saying last night about baking again. If you want to start a business, you’re going to need to get back in the swing of it.”
“You’re right,” I agree as images of all the things I’ve seen recently that I’ve wanted to cook replace the images of the men floating around my head. “I need to start looking for somewhere to live as well.”
“Addison, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. No rush.”
“I know, and I’m really grateful, but I don’t want to get in your way.”
“Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart,” she says, getting up to clear the plates. She pauses a couple of feet from the sink.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, damn vertigo,” she complains after a second or two. I had no idea there was anything wrong with her and the knowledge only makes me feel guiltier about my absence from her life.
“Leave those; I’ll sort them,” I offer when she starts filling the sink ready to wash up.
“Thank you. I’m going to go and put my face on, then I’ll be out of your hair,” she says as she sashays from the room, reminding me of her lack of a hangover while mine is gently thumping away inside my head.
While she’s getting ready to go out, I head back to my makeshift bed, rummage around in my handbag until I find a box of painkillers, and take a couple in the hope it’ll sort my head out. Digging down underneath the clothes I packed, I grab onto what I want and pull it out. I sit myself back against my pillows and begin to flick through the pages of my scrapbook/recipe book. It is filled with everything I’ve found over the years that has caught my eye but been unable to cook.
I’m busy writing down a shopping list when Aunt Addy appears with dress bags hanging from her arms.
“I should be back by five at the latest. I’ve laid out some fresh towels in the bathroom for you. Use whatever you need,” she says, trying to wrestle the front door open. Getting up, I help her out and wave her off. I shut the door quickly behind her because, although it might look like a lovely spring morning with the sun out, it’s bloody freezing. I wrap my arms around myself to try to warm back up as I head for my suitcase. I think a nice warm bath’s in order to sort me out for the day. That’ll give the painkillers time to kick in.
I take my wash bag with all my essentials into the bathroom and begin running the bath. Just like the rest of Aunt Addy’s bungalow, it’s in serious need of restoration. The tiles are cream and floral and the suite is a light grey colour. It’s a million years away from what I had in my London flat. Weirdly though, I think I love it more. Steam showers and his and her basins aren’t really a necessity, but just like everything else in the Chapman-Webb bubble I was living in, it was all about showing off.
I find some bubble bath in the cabinet and pour a generous amount in before setting up a relaxing playlist on my phone and placing it on the windowsill, far away from my butter fingers and the tub full of water.
