What happens when you're magically stuck to the person that you hate the most? ****
Livvy grew up helping in her parents' coffee shop. Harry grew up attending polo tournaments and drinking champagne.
But when the pair tumble into the water of Leith...
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There are certain things that bother me.
Not like, 'you've-robbed-my-house-and-stolen-my-laptop' bother me. It's more like little things that are irritating. Like when people pour milk into a bowl before their cereal. Or the sound that fingernails make when they scratch ski pants. Or when people put an ice cube into their tea to cool it down.
Actually, scratch that.
I would rather have someone steal my laptop than cool their tea with an ice cube. That's just madness. Which is why, currently, I'm staring at my flatmate Emma like she's grown a second head.
"You could just wait, you know," I say. "Like a normal person."
Emma frowns, pushing down the ice cube with a teaspoon. "I could. But I'm not a very patient person."
This is an understatement. Emma has trouble waiting for the 30-minute quick dry laundry cycle. I once caught her trying to wriggle into a bodycon dress that was so wet it was literally dripping on to the floor. From the kitchen table, our other flatmate, Poppy, looks up from where she's cramming her art history textbooks into a black bag. A designer bag, I'm sure.
"Honestly, Em," she sighs. "This is why I can't be seen with you in public."
"Really?" Emma raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was because I don't own a Barbour jacket. Or Hunter wellies. Or a country estate in Devon."
Poppy throws a pen at Emma, and she ducks, grinning. She's already applied false eyelashes this morning, which means that she's planning to go out this evening. I make a mental note to stay late at the gym after dinner. There's no way that I'm being dragged out to a club in Edinburgh on a Friday night.
Why Emma enjoys hanging out at a sweaty underground nightclub that smells like the inside of a gym locker, I'll never know.
As if she can read my mind, Emma smiles.
"You're coming tonight, right, Livvy?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Coming where?"
"You know where." Emma trades her tea for her porridge, which is covered in chocolate and berries. "And don't say that you're too busy ironing Chris's socks or something." She shovels a spoonful into her mouth, speaking through the chocolatey oats. "You two disgust me."
I roll my eyes. Chris and I have been together since Fresher's week last year, and despite Emma's complaints, I know that she loves him. Mostly because Chris is handy with a wrench and can empty our drain when spaghetti gets clogged in it.
But still.
"He's at a rugby thing," I say. "In Perth."
"Excellent." Emma swallows her porridge. "You're free then."
