Page 132 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
Grandma looks down at her shaking hands. She’s getting really distressed.
My stomach rolls and lurches horribly. ‘Look, I . . . I have to go,’ I gasp.
‘Where?’ Grandma says, horrified. ‘It’s half past four in the morning!’
‘Anywhere, just so long as it’s well away from you.’
I hurry to my room in a daze, grab my phone, and with shaking hands that keep missing the keys, dial the first number that comes to mind.
After four rings it answers.
‘Hello?’
‘Can I come stay the night?’ I ask without preamble.
‘Yes,’ is the simple, short reply. ‘Shall I pick you up?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll get a cab.’
I quickly call a taxi, grab my laptop, put on my trainers and race past a loudly sobbing Grandma to wait outside for the taxi to take me away from here.
I just about make it out of the building when the tears I’ve been holding in for so many years finally start to fall.
