Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

Charles, looking relieved. ‘Tough machines, JCBs.’ He smiled at Amy.

Amy looked at what remained in the box. An assortment of mugs, one clearly damaged. Nina followed her gaze. ‘Only one mug broken,’ said Nina cheerfully. ‘No real harm done.’

It was no wonder a mug had been broken. The packaging was a couple of sheets of loose bubble wrap, woefully inadequate. Amy looked at the casualty. It was a beautiful shade of yellow with a pretty sheen to it, like butter melting on a summer’s day. The handle had come off and the mug itself was broken in two. It would always have a hairline scar down the middle, but all the pieces were there. Amy was sure she could fix it.

‘Stop,’ she exclaimed, as Nina went to toss the pieces into a large wheelie bin. ‘I can repair it.’

‘It’s just a cheap mug,’ said Nina. ‘Don’t bother.’

‘Let her,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s easier.’

‘Fine.’ Nina passed her the broken pieces and Amy cradled them carefully. ‘Thanks,’ Nina added, clearly not meaning it.

Amy hurried back to her house. The door was still open, which was lucky as she’d not brought her key. It still made her uncomfortable. What if Smudge had crept inside? It could have been carnage for her birds. She vowed not to forget herself like that again.

But despite her hurry, she could hear Rachel talking to Nina. ‘She didn’t used to be like this, apparently,’ she said, the excitement of gossip audible in her voice. ‘Poor Amy. It’s tragic, really, what she’s been through.’

Amy had no desire to hear her story told by Rachel. She closed her door with a thud.

October 1998

‘Who put the Spice Girls on?’ asked Amy, looking around the room. The house party was in full swing and no one answered, though she suspected it had been the two girls dressed as cats, busy touching up their whiskers with eyeliner as they peered into a small mirror. Amy shuffled through the CDs and selected the new Garbage album. ‘Dance?’ she suggested, skipping to the second track.

Chantel pulled herself up from the sofa and joined her. Amy lifted her arm and Chantel twirled out and then back again, her black skirt swirling up to reveal her stripy yellow and black leggings. It was their signature dance move, so of course it came out at every opportunity, even shoeless on the carpet at this party Seb had thrown for Halloween while his parents were out of town.

‘Take a break?’ asked Chantel, as the CD came to an end and someone replaced it with The Verve. Her voice was already a little breathless and her face sweaty. ‘It’s hot work being a bumblebee.’

‘Sure,’ said Amy as they both sank back into the sofa. ‘You must be roasting in those leggings.’

‘True, but they’re the best bit of the costume,’ said Chantel. ‘If I take them off I’d just look like a naff fairy.’ She gestured to her small wings, designed for a fairy costume.

‘Or a fly for my web,’ said Amy, wiggling her fingers at Chantel in a not very convincing spider impression. She was pretty pleased with the costume she’d pulled together. She’d had inspiration from a black vest top she’d had already, with silver cobwebs printed over it. She’d added a black woven skirt, fishnet tights, and as many plastic spiders as she could sew to her clothes.

‘I can tell you’re an artist,’ said Chantel, looking at the costume. ‘You’ve got that eye.’

‘I can’t wait to start my foundation course.’

‘Your costume is freaking me out,’ said Chantel. ‘I keep thinking you’re crawling with real spiders.’ She shuddered and passed Amy the plastic Coke bottle they’d topped up with the Malibu. Amy took a deep swig and handed it back, feeling the room spin a little. A whiff of cannabis floated through the air. Amy knew that Chantel would be bound to sniff it out and befriend whoever’d brought it.

‘It would have been better if you’d come as a flower,’ said Chantel. ‘You’d match my costume and you wouldn’t be quite so terrifying.’

‘Or a jar of honey,’ mused Amy. ‘Not very Halloween-y though.’

‘I smell the good stuff,’ interrupted Chantel inevitably, sitting up and eyeing the room like a meerkat. ‘Want some?’

‘No,’ said Amy. ‘I’m fine with the Malibu.’

‘Probably a good idea. You’d terrify yourself, wearing those insects stoned.’

‘Spiders aren’t insects,’ she started, but Chantel was gone. Amy looked around the party. Seb, dressed as a cowboy, was fervently snogging a witch on the sofa. The two girls with cat ears and black noses had put Five on the CD player and had taken her and Chantel’s place dancing. She briefly watched them bouncing up and down while counting to the music on their fingers. She took another swig of her drink.

‘I’ve always liked spiders,’ said a boy, in a bright orange T-shirt and black jeans. ‘And Garbage.’ Amy felt he was slightly familiar, but she didn’t think she’d spoken to him before. He had an apologetic slope to his shoulders typical of the very tall, a Noel Gallagher haircut and he was, Amy realised, excessively handsome. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘Sure,’ said Amy, trying to sound nonchalant. Foggily she felt as if he were someone she’d admired at one time. Perhaps he’d been a couple of years above her in school. Or maybe he’d even been on telly.

‘What’s that?’ she exclaimed, the admiration dissipating as she caught sight of something orange and mushy hanging from his earlobe.

‘Damn, is there more?’ he said, his hand reaching for his ear. ‘I thought I’d got it all.’

‘What on earth . . . ?’

‘I’ve blown my cool, haven’t I?’ he said with a grimace. ‘Maybe this will help explain.’ He rummaged through a plastic bag, the ubiquitous royal-blue kind that comes from every corner shop. Amy heard a bottle clink against something, then he produced a shard of pumpkin and a small hammer. Amy took the pumpkin