Free The Summer of Dead Toys by Antonio Hill

five foot seven; hair, naturally blonde, shining, brushing her shoulders. Against a background of palm trees she would have been the perfect image for a shampoo ad.
    Regina Ballester ignored the sarcasm. It had already been a while since she’d become hardened to the biting comments of this daughter, who, in pyjamas at half one in the afternoon, looked more like a little girl than ever. She went over and gave her a kiss on the head.
    “You can’t go on like this, sweetheart. I’m not leaving with an easy mind . . .”
“Mama!” She didn’t want to start another fight: these days her mother barely left her alone and she had to talk to Aleix. Urgently. So, overcoming how that intense fragrance bothered her, she let herself be hugged, and even smiled. To think that there’d been a time when she sought those arms spontaneously; now she felt they were smothering her. Her mother had even put perfume on her breasts! She smiled, with more malice than inclination. “Are you going to the swimwear shop?” It didn’t fail: giving her mother something to do that included the words “shop” and “buy” was usually a sure route to peace. And although she couldn’t swear to it, the perfumed breasts indicated that the shopping centre was a secondary destination in her mother’s plans. “Get me the one we saw in the window.” Taking into account that she wasn’t planning on going to the beach all summer and the fucking swimsuit didn’t matter to her at all, she managed to give a fairly convincing ring to the request. She even pleaded in a spoiled-little-girl voice that she herself hated with all her heart. “Go on—please.”
“The other day you didn’t seem so enthusiastic. When we were both outside the shop,” replied Regina.
“I was bummed, Mama,” . . . “Bummed” was a phrase Regina Ballester hated deeply, because as well as sounding rather vulgar, it described any of her daughter’s moods: sad, worried, grouchy, bored . . . “Bummed” seemed to encompass them all, without distinction.
Gina fiddled with the computer mouse. Would she never go? She extricated herself smoothly from the embrace and played her trump card.
“Fine, don’t buy it for me. It’s not like I feel much like going to the beach this year—”
“Of course you’re going to the beach. Your father gets back from his promotional tour tomorrow and next week we’re going to Llafranc. Not for nothing have I taken holiday this month.” This was something Regina usually did: implicit reminders of how much she did for others. “I can’t stand Barcelona any more this summer! The heat is unbearable.” Regina looked discreetly at her silver watch: it was getting late. “I’m going or I won’t have time to do everything,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be back before five. If the Mossos get here before me, don’t say anything to them.”
“Can I open the door to them? Or would you prefer me to leave them out in the street?” asked Gina, with feigned innocence. She couldn’t help it: these days her mother drove her crazy.
“There’ll be no need. I’ll be here. I promise.”
The tap of her heels echoed on the stairs. Gina was about to maximize the Messenger screen when those same footsteps came back toward her, hurriedly.
“Have I left—?”
“Here’s the remote, Mama.” She picked it up from the table where Regina had left it to hug her, and threw it smoothly, without moving from the chair. Her mother caught it. “You should wear it around your neck.” And, when she was sure her mother could no longer hear her, she murmured, “Of course it would scramble in that stench.”
Click. The little screen shone before her once again.
    gi, what’s up? u there???
okaaaay, im bored
see u babe, chat l8r!!!! :-)
No, no, no, no . . .
     
My mother was here, I couldn’t talk.
     
Fuck, answer, Aleix, please.
     
heyyyyy!!! thought so. still droning away then?
     
Gina exhaled. Minor relief. She launched herself at the keyboard at top