Rachel McIntyre - This Careless Life

First published in Great Britain in 2017

by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2017 by Rachel McIntyre

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2017

ISBN 978 1 4052 7368 8

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1644 4

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

For Tim

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Text copyright © 2017 by Rachel McIntyre The moral rights of the author have been asserted First e-book edition 2017 ISBN 978 1 4052 7368 8 Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1644 4 www.egmont.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

Dedication For Tim

1 LIV

2 LIV

3 LIV

4 LIV

5 HETTY

6 HETTY

7 HETTY

8 HETTY

9 JEZ

10 JEZ

11 DUFF

12 DUFF

13 LIV

14 LIV

15 LIV

16 EVANGELINA

17 LIV

18 CASSANDRA

1 LIV

1 July, 10 a.m.

When Olivia Dawson-Hill opened the front door she had no idea what she was letting herself in for.

‘I’m Cass,’ the woman on the step said. She held out a business card between elegantly manicured fingers. ‘And you must be Liv.’

Liv took the card. Read it. Frowned.

Cassandra Verity

Assistant Director

Pretty Vacant Productions

‘But I spoke to Tony last night. He said we were all fixed for this afternoon.’

‘There’s been a change of plan. He’s going to call you later.’

The woman smiled.

Liv assessed the visitor with an expert eye: flawless skin, discreet make-up, glossy deep brown hair. White linen dress, understated but expensive. High-end high street? Leather sandals, definitely designer, and by them a large black and silver case.

The woman pulled her handbag higher on her shoulder and Liv’s mouth, poised to utter, What change of plan? dropped open at the sight of the distinctive gold P dangling from the strap.

‘Oh. My. God. Is that a genuine Pandora?’ she said in hushed tones, reaching out a tentative hand. ‘I mean, I’ve been on the waiting list since it opened, but even so, they said at least Christmas. How did you . . .?’

‘Beautiful, isn’t it? I guess you could say I’ve got friends in high places.’ The woman held the soft tan leather up as though it were some holy artefact. ‘Now is it OK if I bring this inside?’

‘This’ was the large black case. Plastered in wasp-striped stickers that read Fragile Audio-visual Equipment . A dizzying flare of excitement shot through Liv.

This was it!

Right now, waiting inside that black vinyl box was The Future.

Tucking the business card in the pocket of her jumpsuit, Liv paused, holding it there for one . . . two . . . in an attempt to disguise the sudden trembling in her fingers.

Deep breath .

Smile .

‘Of course. Come in.’

Cass stepped forward, bringing with her a drift of some ultra-subtle fragrance Liv recognised. Like wild herbs and sea air and sunshine mixed up together. So familiar. What was it called?

But the answer dangled stubbornly out of reach, vanishing entirely as Liv caught sight of Jez’s precision parked BMW, and behind it . . .

Bloody Jez! He knew not to leave the gates open. She tutted, flipping the security panel open to key in the code. The gate mechanism groaned; two Rottweilers hurtled across the walled courtyard, clattering their long chains over the cobbles.

Beyond the high wall, glinting tractors and tiny stooping figures dotted the endless fields. Squinting against the sun, she could just make out a horse going round the training ring and a smaller dot that must be Mum. Good job she hadn’t seen the open gates. Liv waited until they clanged shut, cutting High Acres off from the surrounding farmland, then raised her voice above the ferocious barking.

‘Sorry about that. My dad’s super security conscious.’

‘It’s fine,’ Cass said, lifting the case over the threshold. ‘Wow. I remember thinking what a lovely space when I saw your application footage, but it’s even more impressive in real life. Love, love, love the staircase.’

Pride mingled with Liv’s fizz of excitement, although if she wanted to be picky, ‘lovely’ didn’t quite do the hallway justice. Presiding over the entrance, the show-stopping stairs, designed to her own vague specifications (‘wooden steps with glass up the side’) had featured in two interiors magazines, attracting adjectives such as ‘stunning’ ‘dazzling’ and ‘sublime’.

‘Spectacular,’ Cass murmured, brushing her fingertips lightly along the wall.

Exposed brickwork lined the way to the lounge, and the ceiling, stripped back during the renovations, arched high above them in a skeleton of beams. And even though her mum had tried to put her foot down over the inset floor lights Liv flicked on now, Liv got her own way in the end. She always did.

Mind you, every time she pressed the switch, Mum’s mocking voice rattled in her head: ‘Low-level lighting will guide you to the nearest available exit.’

Hilarious.

Just after the door – the locked door – that separated Liv from her parents in the main house, Cass paused to examine a gallery of framed photos: Liv with other pearly-toothed girls, lifting champagne flutes outside a grand marquee. Sleek hair streaming behind them, the same friends captured mid-shriek on a waltzer. Liv, alone, in front of a glowing Ferris wheel. Liv posing, arms in the air, against a vivid blue sky. ‘Stunning pics. I take it they’re recent?’