Free Lessons in Laughing Out Loud by Rowan Coleman Page B

yet here she was.
Willow caught her breath. How did Chloe even know where to find her?
“Will you . . . come up? Have a warm drink at least?” Willow offered.
“What, before I settle down for the night in a shop doorway? How magnanimous of you.” Despite her response, Chloe needed no further prompting, heading straight up the stairs, Willow following her.
“You’ve put weight on,” Chloe said as Willow joined her outside her front door.
“Yep.” Willow nodded. It was the truth, after all, a full dress size and a half since Sam told her he’d had enough.
“Cool shoes, though. They TopShop? Can I borrow ’em?”
“No and no,” Willow said firmly, opening the door and letting Chloe in first.
Chloe looked around the flat, the aged, open-plan kitchen tucked into one corner of the single living room, the dirty patterned carpet and woodchip on the walls.
“Well, this is a shithole. Dad wasn’t lying when he said you didn’t ask for anything in the divorce then.”
Willow shut the door and, for want of knowing what else to do, went to the sink and filled the kettle.
“I’m going to decorate, take up the carpet, refit the kitchen when I’ve got some time.”
“Oh, you’ve only just moved in?” Chloe asked her.
“Not exactly,” Willow hedged, wondering if Chloe knew this was the flat she’d moved into after the divorce. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had the time, or even the money, to make the place nicer, it was just that she had never had the inclination. It did just fine for her.
What had Sam told Chloe exactly? If he’d explained the whole truth about Willow’s abrupt departure, then Willow was almost certain Chloe would not be here. He must have said something, but what?
Willow turned back from the kitchen to find that Chloe had disappeared, and the bedroom door was ajar. She followed the younger girl into her room, where she surveyed the unmade bed, the assortment of unwashed clothes strewn over the floor, the half-finished packet of biscuits on the bedside table.
“Fuck, you live like a tramp!” Chloe exclaimed, her brow furrowing. “Funny, you always used to be so neat and tidy, always telling me to put my shoes together. . . .” Chloe turned around, plonking herself down on the bed and looking up at Willow. “You okay, you look like shit, yeah?”
“Chloe, what’s going on?” Willow crossed her arms. It felt appropriate.
“I told you, I’ve left home.” Chloe reached for the packet of biscuits and took one, cramming it into her mouth in one go.
“But why?” Willow asked. “Have you fallen out with your dad?”
“You could say that.” Chloe nodded thoughtfully as she munched. She swallowed and licked her thickly glossed lips. “Yes, that would be a fair assessment.” Her accent lurched from street-level slang to privately educated West London girls’ school like a well-oiled roller coaster.
“So you’ve run away to teach him a lesson?” Willow paced, dimly recognizing that she really needed to vacuum soon, before the carpet actually changed color.
“No, I haven’t run away to teach him a lesson.” Chloe did an irritatingly passable impression of Willow. “I’m not a twat. I know that a young girl on the streets of London is in danger of falling into drugs and child prostitution and worse, whatever is worse than that shit is. I’ve left home and . . . I’ve decided to move in with you.”
“Me?” Willow uncrossed her arms and then crossed them again, unable to take in what Chloe was saying. “You’ve come to me ?”
“Yeah, right—I’ve been thinking about it and I think you owe me.” Chloe’s conviction was absolute. “And besides, there isn’t anyone else, and I can’t hide it from him anymore.” The girl’s voice wavered for a fraction on the last few words.
“Hide what?” Willow asked ever so slowly, because she somehow sensed that she would never be ready to hear the answer.
Chloe stood up and in one movement unzipped the tracksuit top, shrugged it off