‘I am.’
‘Oh, here’s the lovebirds,’ Ella said, spotting Liane and Issey through the patio door. They were both in sweats, Issey’s hair all over the place, Liane’s held back with a scarf.
‘You told them?’ Issey said, shoving Liane.
‘I didn’t, dickhead,’ Liane said, stepping out onto the terrace. ‘But I think you just did.’
‘Shit,’ Issey said.
‘Seriously?’ Ella said, looking at Issey and then Liane.
Lou sat up, her eyes bleary. ‘I just said that, but I was joking. Mostly. Are you really?’
‘Yes,’ Liane said. ‘But it’s very new. So don’t, you know, shit all over it.’
‘I would never,’ Lou grinned. ‘God. I’m so happy for you!’
Issey dropped her forehead down on Liane’s shoulder, hiding her smile against her arm.
‘Oh god,’ Paige said. ‘PDA.’ But she was grinning at them too.
‘So we need to work out who won,’ Lou said, standing up suddenly and then grabbing the table. ‘Shit. Head rush.’ She sat back down again.
‘Won?’ Ella said.
‘The Fuck It List. Obviously. Keep up.’
‘I’ll get it,’ Paige said.
When she came back, she’d brought a bottle of cheap Prosecco with her. Someone had won it in the quiz at the pub and then left it behind, so Jonny said she could have it.
‘I am not drinking that,’ Lou said. ‘My poor fucking head.’
‘Hair of the dog,’ Paige said. ‘And anyway, we have to toast the List.’
‘She’s right,’ Liane said, pulling one of the wrought iron chairs up to the table.
‘So how are we going to do this?’ Ella asked. ‘I’m kind of hoping everyone remembers what they did and who they did it with?’
‘Mine’s easy,’ Lou said. ‘Nothing. With no one. But at least I focussed on my studies. Oh shit, no. I didn’t do that either. Ah well, always next year.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Ella said, reaching across the table to squeeze her arm. ‘You had enough to deal with.’
‘Just Nick for you, right?’ Lou said. ‘Trust you to immediately meet a total sweetheart and fall in love. So not in the spirit of the Fuck It List.’
Ella grinned. ‘I’m not even sorry.’
‘Two for me,’ Paige said. ‘A girl. Which, by the way, was a pretty easy so-called challenge. And someone who once went to jail. Guy from the pub.’
‘So it’s down to you two,’ Lou said, pointing at Liane and Issey. Ironic.
Liane looked at Issey. ‘I don’t really want to say …’
Issey smiled at her. ‘Me neither.’
‘If you don’t say, you can’t play,’ Lou said. ‘Honestly, am I the only one taking this fucking thing seriously?’
‘Can we split it?’ Issey suggested.
‘There’s nothing to split,’ Paige said. ‘Not until I pay back the money.’
‘So we just toast it then,’ Ella said.
Paige stood up and twisted the cage off, then held the cork with the hem of her hoodie and twisted it off. Air hissed out and Issey gave a weak cheer.
‘Oh, shit,’ Liane said. ‘We didn’t get glasses.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Lou said.
‘I can go and get some,’ Ella said, starting to stand.
‘We can totally drink out of the bottle, Ella,’ Lou said. ‘Sit down.’
Ella rolled her eyes. But she sat back down.
‘To …’ Paige said. ‘What are we toasting to?’
‘To mostly totally failing the Fuck It List,’ Lou said. She took the bottle from Paige and swigged some. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘To surviving this fucking year,’ Paige said, and drank, wincing. It was not good Prosecco.
‘To Issey and Liane,’ Ella said. ‘Who not only won the list, but found each other.’
‘Oh god,’ Liane said, but she was grinning.
‘And to Ella and Nick,’ Issey said. ‘For being so disgustingly cute.’
‘To all of us then?’ Lou said.
‘To all of us,’ Ella, Paige, Liane and Issey agreed.
And then they finished the bottle.
Acknowledgements
As always, hugest thanks go to my agent, Hannah Sheppard, and everyone at Hot Key, particularly Georgia Murray, Jenny Jacoby and Tina Mories. Thanks to Anneka Sandher for the fabulous cover. (Special thanks to Naomi Colthurst, even though she wouldn't let me call it The Fuck It List.)
To Jenni Nock, Katey Lovell, Alicia Brooks and Lucy Powrie, who read a super-early version of this book and bowled me over with their enthusiasm.
To Vicki Hall for being my biggest fan (but not in a scary way).
To Jenni, Georgie, Lindsay, Alicia, Kevin, Rachael, Alice and Hayley for being the best of pocket friends (best of women) (and one man). Thanks to Froukje Muller for Dipsy.
The idea for this book came out of a Twitter chat with Sara Bernard, L.D. Lapinski and Louise O’Neill. Thanks for letting me run with it.
Thank you as always to the readers, the bloggers and the booksellers, without whom I wouldn't get to do this. Which would make me sad. Because it's fun.
And thank you to David, Harry and Joe for putting up with me abandoning literally everything else in favour of deadlines.
Keris Stainton
Keris Stainton was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba, which, by all accounts, is very cold. And also hot. But when she was four months old, her parents moved back to the UK, and now she lives in Lancashire with a fellow northerner, their two ridiculously gorgeous sons and a pug. OK, they haven't got a pug, but Keris hopes if she writes it here it will come true. If you write it, pugs will come.
Keris has been writing stories for as long as she can remember, but she didn't write a novel until 2004 when she took part in National Novel Writing Month. She hasn't quite finished that one yet, but she has finished a few others, including One Italian Summer, Counting Stars, Jessie Hearts NYC, Della Says OMG! and Emma Hearts LA. Find out more about Keris at www.keris-stainton.com or follow her on Twitter: @Keris
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First published in Great Britain in 2018 by
HOT KEY BOOKS
80–81 Wimpole St, London W1G 9RE
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Copyright © Keris Stainton, 2018
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Keris Stainton to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781471406836
This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher
Hot Key Books is an imprint of Bonnier Zaffre Ltd,
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