Virtual Strangers by Sam Canning EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Sam Canning
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
Six Months Later
The door hit the inner wall of the school office with a bang. In its wake,
Amanda, the insanely glamorous school secretary strode through – not the
usual type you’d expect to find working the reception of a Catholic secondary
school in Edinburgh. On closer inspection, she was distinctly less majestic
than usual, though.
‘Hi, Ada, have you been into the gym hall?’ she asked, in a tone that
suggested that all might not be well in said gym hall.
‘Not since lunch. Why?’
‘Um . . . you’re going to want to see this for yourself.’
God, I hated that hall. Every time I went in, I found myself catapulted
screaming back to my own school days by the chipped wooden floors, gloss
beige paint and the ghost of a thousand endless PE lessons. And I hadn’t even
gone to this school.
Gesturing to the dozens of name badges I was desperately trying to
wrestle into plastic wallets before the event kicked off, I replied, ‘I’ll just
finish these up and I’ll be right in.’
She grimaced. ‘OK, let me rephrase. You have to see this for yourself
because the Headmistress is insisting that you do.’
I felt a flutter of panic. ‘What? Why?’
Amanda was looking more concerned by the second, but there was
something else in the background. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said
she was trying not to laugh. ‘There’s been . . . let’s call it a mix-up with the
display for Steve’s book talk.’
Of course there was. Since I’d started working as Steve Annick’s
publicist three months previously, I’d asked him to do one single thing
because I had run out of time – send the cardboard display image to the
printer for what was technically a promotional event for his TV show’s
upcoming anniversary, but I was also piggy-backing his soon-to-be-released
autobiography onto. That was it. That was all he’d needed to do. How on
earth had the man managed to screw that up?
I threw down the tag I’d been fiddling with and took a deep breath. ‘OK.
On a scale of one to clown massacre, how bad is this?’
‘You’re looking at a squeaky-shoed eleven, I’m afraid.’ Amanda, a
woman I’d never set eyes on before today but who was growing steadily in
my estimation, gave me what would be a grimace on a less beautiful person.
‘Sister Catherine is threatening to lodge a complaint with “whoever is
overseeing this abomination”. I won’t lie, she’s a step away from calling in
the Swiss Guard.’
Jesus. I pulled myself out of the chair and made a dash for the door,
swiftly followed by the clip-clop of Amanda’s heels on the horrible seventies
lino.
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