Free One Night in Italy by Lucy Diamond Page A

in the house. That includes leaning out your bedroom window to do it. It makes the curtains stink.’
    ‘I don’t smoke,’ Sophie said, taken aback. ‘Haven’t done for years.’ God, they really didn’t know each other at all. This woman might have the same green eyes and small nose as her, but she felt like a total stranger. ‘And I meant it, about cooking,’ she added. ‘Why don’t we take turns? I promise I’ve moved on from when I used to set off the fire alarm every time I fried an egg.’
    Trish didn’t reply. ‘I’ve put the portable television in your room,’ she went on, ‘and by the way, the shower is a bit temperamental. The hot water cycles around, so don’t panic if it suddenly goes cold when you’re in there. It won’t be for long.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘I thought I’d pop back to see your dad after dinner. I could give you a lift if you want to come along too.’
    ‘Great. Thanks.’
    ‘Right then. I’ll let you unpack.’
    Sophie’s breath caught in her throat as she walked into her old bedroom. There was the same red and black zigzag-patterned duvet on the bed, the same matching curtains, the same soft blue carpet, but everything else had changed. The smell of Impulse and patchouli had been replaced by one of laundry powder, the walls were now clear of posters, the chest of drawers empty of the tangle of jewellery and make-up that had littered its surface. It was quiet, too; she’d had music booming out at all times, prompting regular screams of ‘Turn that racket DOWN please, Sophie!’
    She gave herself a shake, surprised by the sudden rush of emotion she felt. Don’t be daft, Sophie. It’s only a room.
    Unpacking didn’t take long – it never did – but her few clothes looked shabby and past-it here in the relatively luxurious setting of her parents’ home. She wasn’t sure whether to bundle everything straight into the washing machine or torch the lot. The former, she decided, remembering that she had no money to buy replacements. Still, it would be a huge treat to have a washing machine at her disposal again, rather than having to handwash everything and hang it out in the sun to dry. Not to mention the combined delights of soaking in a hot bath, a fridge full of food, British TV . . .
    She glanced over at the portable television her mum had left on the chest of drawers. Did that mean she was not allowed to watch the big flatscreen she’d glimpsed downstairs, then? Was the plan that they’d be sitting in separate rooms every evening?
    Oh Lord. For all the creature comforts, it was going to be very un comfortable living under the same roof as her mum for any amount of time. The sooner they were out of each other’s lives again, the better. But to do that, she needed some money . . .
    She took her laptop downstairs. ‘Do you have wifi here?’ she asked, opening it up on the kitchen table.
    Trish hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said guardedly.
    ‘Can I have the password, please? I’m going to start looking for a job.’
    Trish’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re looking for a job? Here in Sheffield?’
    Sophie shrugged. ‘I can’t exactly go abroad again while Dad’s still ill, can I?’
    Trish muttered something which might have been ‘Never stopped you before.’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Sophie gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here as soon as I can. I don’t like this any more than you do.’
    ‘I never said—’
    ‘Yeah, well, you didn’t have to. Look, I need to earn some money so I can go travelling again. Hopefully there’ll be a bit of Christmas work going at one of the shops or cafés in town.’
    ‘Oh. Do you think you’ll be here that long?’
    Sophie bristled. ‘Why? Is that a problem?’ Just give me the frigging password, she thought impatiently. Was everything going to be such a power struggle?
    ‘No, of course it’s not a problem,’ said Trish, although her voice conveyed the exact opposite. ‘Here.’ She unpinned a