Page 16 of The Reno
Call Mum back (plan what to say!!!)
New light fittings
Cast iron radiators
Arched bookcases in alcovesShelves in alcoves
Fitted dining nook? Research prices
Bifolds? Research prices
Sockets that don’t spark (electrocutionis not a vibe)
A loud bang echoed from downstairs, and my crusty eyelids flew open. My mouth was bone dry, and my head pounded. I craned my neck, listening. Had I imagined the noise? Was it in my dreams? I lifted my body. I’d slept face down on the half-deflated mattress. I glanced down to see my boob hanging out of my pyjama top. I wiped my mouth where spit had dried on my cheek and rose to my feet.
My head was pounding, full of blurry memories of Lydia and me drinking prosecco from plastic cups, burning scented candles and dancing to Taylor Swift.
My head whipped towards the door as the soft mutter of “Ow, fuck” floated upstairs. My palms began to sweat out last night’s prosecco.
Who the fuck was in my house?
My heart jumped as another shuffle sounded from downstairs.
I wasn’t losing my bloody mind, no matter how hungover I was.
Someone had broken into my dad’s house.
My house.
