![]() ![]() 'Why do you need your car, anyway?' she asks, leaning down to smooth the mixture over, her tongue resting on her bottom lip in concentration. 'Get out!' She bats my hand away with her spoon. I scoop my phone up from the chunky table and dunk my finger in Kate's cake mixture. Yes, my personal organisation skills are pretty shocking, especially since I'm an interior designer, who spends all day coordinating and organising. I make my way downstairs, finding Kate in her workshop spooning cake mixture into various tins. 'Hiding again,' I mutter to myself, grabbing my tan belt, heels and laptop. I dart across the landing in a complete fluster and find my car keys under a pile of weekly glossies. 'They're on the coffee table where you left them last night.' She rolls her eyes, taking herself and her cake mixture back to her workshop. 'Keys! Have you seen my car keys?' I puff at her. ![]() It's an expression that I've become used to recently. She looks up at me with a tired expression. I hear the familiar sound of a wooden spoon bashing the edges of a ceramic bowl as Kate appears at the bottom of the stairs. Where the hell are they? I run out onto the landing and throw myself over the banister. ![]() On a Friday, after being on time all week, I'm going to be late. I riffle through the piles and piles of paraphernalia that's sprawled all over my bedroom floor. ![]()
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