Free Ghostwriting by Traci Harding Page A

rippling muscles of her upper body.
    Billie was a body sculptor; she’d owned a gym in the inner city. She sculpted other people’s bodies for a living and made a pretty penny doing it.
    â€˜Shit! She’s a guy.’ The wax-head aimed his joke at Shannon, as she seemed more obliging.
    Billie served the surfer her evil eye. ‘You know, you’re really fuckin’ asking for it.’
    In final appeal, he looked to Shannon, who smiled. ‘You’d better leave … she’s on steroids,’ she whispered from behind her hand. As he took the hint and departed, Shannon looked at Billie and slowly shook her head. ‘Such hostility!’
    â€˜Well, he asked for it.’ Billie clicked her fingers to get the bartender’s attention.
    â€˜No, he didn’t,’ Shannon stated determinedly. ‘He was just being nice.’
    â€˜The nicest thing he did was fuck off.’ Billie tried whistling for the bartender, and scoring his attention she ordered another round.
    â€˜Look, if you’re going to help me build up my bod,’ Shannon bargained, ‘then I’m going to teach you how to meditate.’
    â€˜What the fuck for?’ Billie shoved Shannon’s glass down in front of her on the bar and receiving naught but a huge grin as a reply, Billie nodded to concede. ‘So you think I need a little softening up, eh? What the hell, I’ll give anything a whirl.’ She paid the barman for the drinks.
    â€˜To our very good health,’ Shannon proposed.
    â€˜Happy holidays, babe.’ Billie hit her glass against Shannon’s and they savoured their last taste of alcohol for the next six weeks.
    2. Hungover
    There had been much drunken debate about what foods they were or weren’t giving up, and in the end the girls decided to go their own way in that department.
    The next morning they visited the huge supermarket near Shannon’s place and headed out of town with a carload of food, and a roof rack of luggage.
    The sunglasses had been in constant employment. Shannon marvelled at Billie’s capacity to drive when she could barely manage to prise her eyelids open for more than seconds at a time. God knows what items of food she’d brought by mistake; it was hard to read labels with your eyes watering like taps.
    â€˜You look like shit, babe,’ Billie commented over the top of her sunglasses, as she lit a smoke. ‘I’m the one with the flu. What’s your excuse?’
    â€˜You did this to me,’ Shannon defended with a pout — a useless attempt to hide her guilty smile.
    â€˜Take responsibility for your actions, miss,’ Billie lectured. ‘Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?’
    Shannon waved the smoke away and gave a couple of token coughs to change the subject — thesmell was making her feel sick, as she hadn’t ventured to eat anything yet. ‘I thought we were giving those things up?’
    â€˜We haven’t got there yet,’ Billie justified. ‘Here, you want one?’ She held out her soft pack of cigarettes and a single smoke slid out ready for the taking.
    Shannon merely shook her head and groaned. Something told her that Billie wasn’t too serious about their pledge, but she was determined to discover what life was like beyond the vices.
    Â 
    Their behinds were fairly well numbed by the time they climbed out of the car, but, beholding the old house that was to be their abode for the next month or so, they were not complaining.
    â€˜Not bad, eh?’ Billie prompted, noting Shannon’s dropping jaw.
    â€˜Does it come with its own butler or what?’ Shannon finally drew breath and laughed.
    â€˜No.’ Billie looked a bit disappointed. ‘But a cleaner and a gardener come once a week.’
    To one side of the house was a large glasshouse, positioned beautifully among the gardens. ‘A greenhouse.’ Shannon wondered what grew in