Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

and that he’d understand. I can’t say I’m surprised he ditched his job. I hope now he’ll finally find something that he really wants to do with his time. Whilst he doesn’t need to work for a salary, he could find something in the voluntary sector, or maybe set up a business. I can’t think of anything worse than endless days that need to be filled stretching out in front of him.

When Jake graduated, he landed a temp job in a glitzy advertising agency based in Carnaby Street. The work he did was menial, the hours long and no one ever remembered his name, but he learned such a lot. He loved every moment of his six-week contract and it was his dream to get a position on a graduate program in one of the big agencies. No, not just his dream—back then, it was his ambition.

It didn’t happen. He applied to at least a dozen ad agencies and was not offered a position. There was rent to pay so he got a job working for the sales department in an electrical company; he thought it would be good experience, a CV builder. He didn’t plan to stay forever, but time passed. Not a lot of time, just long enough to somehow disqualify him from following a career path into advertising because when he reapplied for jobs in advertising, he was told his experience was irrelevant, not helpful, if anything a hindrance. “We’re looking for innovation.” “We’re looking for fresh.”

His next job was selling branded appliances into large retail accounts. It wasn’t a terrible job. We got huge discounts, and the washer-dryer we owned when we first married was top-of-the-line. But he didn’t love the job, so after a couple of years he moved again and started selling software. It required some retraining. At first, he found that interesting. Then boring. Next it was office supplies, and then physiotherapy and sports equipment. Jake has sold something different every three years. He has not progressed to an international position or even a senior position here in the UK because he simply cannot retain the love of his products.

He still comments on clever adverts. He often gets excited about electronic billboards.

Obviously, as I am passionate about my work, I realize he has been in an unenviable position. He was good enough to be paid enough, but not ambitious, fulfilled or content. Maybe with this win, and the freedom it affords, he’ll find satisfaction. That’s my hope. I’m pinning a lot on that.

The kids trail into the kitchen, their arrival home quieter than usual, and before I even see their faces I know something is up. “Oh no, Emily! What happened?”

My baby girl is black-and-blue. Her lip is bleeding and her right eye is cut, bruised and swollen. My first thought is that she’s been injured at hockey training and we need to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, and then promptly bursts into tears.

I can’t believe what she tells me next. Megan and Ridley beat her up. They threatened her. Her best friend, her first love, the babies we’ve known since birth, punched and kicked and slapped her. As she recounts what she’s been through, I feel like I’ve been assaulted. I wish I had been, me rather than her. Every parent feels this when their child is hurt, either emotionally or physically. They’d do anything to take that pain. But this is worse because we’ve caused it. This fight has come to her door because of the trouble between us and their parents. I also can’t help thinking this might not have happened if she hadn’t taken designer handbags to school, which she has confessed to. I want to thump someone. Maybe the kids who have hurt her. Maybe Jake. Maybe myself. Instead, I hold her in my arms and let her sob. I try to find the words that will comfort her, but there are none. I am silent, my head is full of the blood on her shirt, the bruises on her face and legs. When she finally stops crying, I lead her upstairs, run her a bath, add lots of soothing bubbles, and then I leave her to soak. The minute I’m out of her sight my wrath—which I’ve been suppressing whilst I comforted her—erupts. “Those bastards are going to pay for this! Those animals! I’m going around there right now and I’m going to have this out. Fuck Jennifer and Fred’s deal. They are not getting a penny. Not one of them.”

“Hang on, Lexi. This isn’t really anything to do with Jennifer and Fred, or even Carla and Patrick. Ridley and Megan did this to Emily, not their parents,” says Jake with a reasonableness that only fans my fury.

“They are animals and they have bred animals,” I spit.

“Okay, well, let me just check.”

“Check what?” I stare at him, confused. Why isn’t he just reaching for the car keys?

“Check that Jennifer has spoken to Gillian. That she has amended her testimony.”

“What?” My blood freezes.

“I’m not saying you can’t speak to them at some point, but the important thing now is that Jennifer has changed her story. Then, even if she changes it back again, or Fred does, they will look like unreliable witnesses.”

“Fred won’t,” I snap.

“But if he does, if this ever goes to court, they will be doubted for shilly-shallying. We don’t want to upset them before we know that the revised testimony is in the bag. Hang on, I’ll call Gillian.”

“Jesus, Jake. Are you listening to yourself? Ridley and Megan beat up Emily. Your daughter is bleeding. I’m going to their houses. I’m going to the school. I’m going to the police! They are not getting away with this.” I am raging. Sounds are whooshing in my ears and I think it is actual fury whipping up a storm. This means it takes a moment for me to realize what Jake is saying. “I think we should just pull her out