*This is a sample of the published book - available on paperback from Amzaon and most e-readers*
Chapter One
Starting a new job is always scary but starting your first job in the hope that you’ll earn enough to escape your bat-shit crazy, Stepford family is plain terrifying. This has to work out because if I end up a sad old housewife like my Mum, I’m going to shove my head in an oven.
I flatten my shirt, for the thousandth time. Not that it was creased before, nothing is as flat as Cordelia’s ironing, but that’s probably because she’s too scared of Mum to allow a single crease. Don’t mess this up, Amelie. I’ve already done my make-up three times, any more, and I’ll look like a bloody drag queen.
“Amelie, if you insist on going through with this then you’d better hurry,” mother dearest calls from outside my door. She always does that, calls through the door. I don’t know if she constantly expects me to be naked or surfing porn on my laptop, probably. My door is ajar so she can see I’m clearly just in front of my mirror, obsessing about my appearance.
Of course, my parents weren’t thrilled when I told them I’m going out to work – most parents would be. I’m supposed to find a nice man, get married, look after a house and raise children. Which is ironic really, since the staff and nannies did the domestic stuff while I was growing up. I’m not quite sure what my mum’s role is. Redecorating constantly and going out to long lunches with her friends doesn’t really seem like a major role to me.
My two older sisters, Harriet and Isabel, have chosen Mum’s ‘path’. I like to think of myself as the one that hasn’t been brainwashed. I’m sure my parents think of me as the black sheep and/or the huge disappointment.
Harriet already has a family of her own and lives a few minutes away with her husband and baby daughter, Harmony.
Isabel is still trying. At twenty-three, she’s desperate to settle down, which is plain crazy. She genuinely worries about being left on the shelf in her early twenties. Your early twenties are for going out and having fun. There is no way I’m going to worry about dying alone until I’m at least fifty, so I have twenty-nine years left. Half of the worry is due to the fact that she’s been engaged once before, two years ago, to a lovely gentleman that my parents adored until he ran off with a French model. We don’t speak of that incident, though.
To me, a man is someone to spend your life with, not someone to enable you to live your life. Apparently, I’m wrong.
“I’m ready, Mum.” I don’t even think Mum sees anything odd in calling her twenty-one year old daughter for work. She doesn’t see me as grown woman. Until I leave the house with my husband, I’m still ‘theirs’.
“You’ll be home for dinner on time too? Oliver and the boys are coming.”
I groan. Fabulous! My big brother and his devil children. Oliver is all right; he’s the one person in the family that is actually supportive of me, but his children, wow. The boys have something about them, a look in their eye that screams either sex pest or murderer. I will have to wait until they’re grown up to see which.
“Is Harriet coming?” I ask.
“No, she can’t make it.”
Good. Since Harmony was born a year ago, my sister has turned into an over the top overprotective mum. If someone sneezes in the same room as Harm – not a nickname to be used out loud – Harriet flips out and makes them leave. After my first day, I know I won’t be in the mood to clean my hands four million times, and that’s if I don’t even hold her.
I pull my fingers through my now glossy hair – thank you extra shine serum – and take a deep breath. Here goes. Opening the door, I almost walk into Mum. What the hell is she doing just standing there waiting? I look around. Why hasn’t she moved? Has she flipped? I’m not sure what to do. Pretend she’s not there?
