New Year’s Day wasnotgoing to be Happy.
2
GEORGIE
Seven hours later, Georgie typed ‘And…’ into a note on her phone, and then paused with her finger in the air. Andwhat? She wassurethere was one more resolution she was missing. She’d obviously put her usual ones down. But then she’d put some more down. She remembered thinking that she was very cunning and that if someone was going to make her stick to her resolutions this year she might as well take full advantage.
She’d definitely written yoga down.
And learning a language, she was pretty sure. She’d thought about holidays. She and Beth had been talking earlier in the evening about camping together in the summer holidays in France, Spain or Italy, and she was sure she’d written down French, Spanish or Italian. Which one, though?
And then there was something else. She had a feeling it had been something to do with her surroundings. What, though? Something related to the pub? The date? What they’d been drinking? The decor? Who knew?
She shook her head in frustration and winced as an invisible clamp seemed to settle around her forehead.
What was she going todo?
It would be a disaster if she couldn’t remember all the resolutions. There was no way Ankita would let any of them get away with this. There was no question that they’d all be sitting in the pub next thirty-first of December reading out their lists, which could be a very bad thing.
Even worse, what if someone somehow opened the envelopenow?
Her mind was whirling from the many possible ramifications – all bad.
She needed so much to work out whether her secret wastrue, and as soon as possible. How, though?
She typedlanguageandsurroundingsinto her phone and then lay back and stared at the ceiling above the bed.
Okay. She needed to clear her head so she couldthink.
She needed to get hold of the resolutions envelope and check what she’d written.Orshe needed to get the secret envelope back somehow. Because whether or not it was right it wasn’t a good thing to have written it down and put it out there. What if Raf opened it out of curiosity? He was Noah’s cousin, and she’d known Noah forever, and heseemednice and trustworthy, but what if he wasn’t? Or what if, somehow, someoneelseopened it?
Eurgh, she’d vomited bile into her mouth at that thought.
Right. She needed to do something.
Going for a run would be the best way to clear her headandit would tick one thing off the resolutions list. At the very least she had to make sure she wouldn’t have to read the secret out next New Year’s Eve. So she needed to ignore her throbbing head and churning stomach and get herself into her Lycra and go and get some of those endorphins that fit people raved about, and then make a plan.
She opened her barely used running app, mapped out an exactly two-mile-long circular route starting from the frontdoor, pushed her duvet down and swung her legs round and off the bed. And nearly threw up.
Yep, realistically, no amount of endorphins would be enough of a miracle drug to make her feel good today.
It was lucky she’d packed her as-new Lycra for the weekend. She always took it if she and Max went away for New Year’s, just in case. Obviously in normal years she never put it on in the end because you never felt up to a run on New Year’s Day. Or the next day. And so on, until before you knew it another year of no running had gone by. But this was not a normal year.
Actually getting her running tights on turned out to be a challenge in itself. Sitting on the edge of her bed, with the tights dragged up just above her knees, she pulled the waistband as far round towards the front as she could and squinted at the label. Yep, they were a good two sizes too small.Maybewith all the resolutions she was about to keep they’d actually fit her soon.
Her Met Office app told her that it was two degrees outside, so she could wear her puffer jacket to hide her unappealingly squished thighs and only-halfway-up-her-bottom leggings. Ideal.
Once she’d manhandled herself into her sports bra and poured herself into her running top, her childhood full-length wall mirror confirmed that head-to-toe too-small Lycra was indeed not her best look. It made her limbs look very… dimply.
She stepped closer to the mirror and peered at her head. Yep, she had a couple more grey hairs. She reached up and… did not pull them out. Instead, she angled her phone camera and took a photo of them and her empty hand for the resolution record, then posted it to the ‘Resolutions’ chat they’d set up last night, noting smugly that she was the first person to post anything on there.
Nice. And wow she was pretty sure that she had a tiny rush of endorphins from the smugness.
Okay. Time to go. She’d better act normal and say morning to everyone even though there was a hideous possible sword of Damocles poised above her aching head.
Max, her mother and stepfather were all eating a fry-up in the kitchen.
‘Happy New Year,’ she said, trying not to gag at the smell of oil.
