Claudia's Big Break Read Online Free

Sophie gulped her wine. ‘Or worse! What if he went back to bloody Harriet? I still dream of breaking into her house in the middle of the night, shaving her head and cutting up her Carla Zampatti clothing collection.’
    Harriet was Alex’s pearl-wearing, blonde-bobbed first wife and mother of Alex’s fifteen-year-old son, Jake. I’d only met her a couple of times but on each occasion her pretentious palaver left me in giggles. I couldn’t take her seriously. She was as elegant as a coldsore.
    â€˜Claud, can I get past you?’ said Tara, who was pinned uncomfortably next to a dinner trolley in the aisle. ‘And the flight attendant wants to know if you want more wine. God knows, I do.’ Tara pushed past me and sat down. Her shirt was almost dry but she smelt like a wino.
    â€˜You know,’ said Tara, after buckling her seat belt and gratefully accepting more chardonnay, ‘I did think about packing a set of clothes in my carry-on. Everyone tells you to. I even wrote an article, “Essential Travel Tips”. Rule number one: always fly with a clean set of clothes in your hand luggage, should any unforeseen accidents occur.’ Tara briefly glared at Levi. ‘And only a couple of hours into the flight. Who’d have thought?’
    I smiled at Levi then whipped out my Sponge Bob pencil case full of pencils and crayons. ‘Look what I have. Colouring books! Which one do you want first? Woody or Buzz?’ I held up both books and he pointed at Buzz Lightyear. ‘My favourite, too,’ I said, handing the book and pencils over to Tara to pass down the line to him.
    â€˜Thank you,’ Sophie mouthed.
    I reached across Tara and patted her arm, then turned back to Tara. ‘Remember the flight to Honolulu, where we wrote down all our fears and hopes?’
    â€˜As we hurtled towards thirty,’ said Sophie.
    Tara sighed. ‘Please don’t tell me we have to play that game again.’
    I poked my tongue out. ‘Spoilsport.’
    Tara shrugged. ‘I was still getting over my divorce.’
    â€˜And I’d just met Alex,’ remembered Sophie. ‘Working in corporate law, on the fast track to becoming a partner.’ Pause. ‘So much has happened in the last ten years.’
    I’ll say. Back then, I was selling media space for an advertising firm. It would be another four years before I got my dream job as an events coordinator in the food and wine industry.
    â€˜And then again, so much has stayed the same,’ Tara chimed in. ‘I’m still writing for magazines, albeit a different one now.’
    Different? I certainly thought my life would be different by the time I turned thirty, let alone forty and that was only a year away. As much as I wanted to forget, my thirty-ninth birthday was in a few days’ time. Somewhere along the line, my twenties and thirties had disappeared in a murky haze of office jobs (aside from the fabulous stint as an events coordinator), unsuitable shags and superficial spending. When I was younger, I’d assumed that by this stage of my life I’d be settled and have a couple of kids.
    Instead, I was living with Tara, broke and alone. I didn’t even own a cat.
    â€˜I always wanted to be a writer,’ said Tara.
    â€˜You are. A damn good one, too.’
    â€˜But the years are slipping away. It’s hard when I’m writing about furnishings five days a week. When I get home at night, I’m just not inspired to keep writing. Maybe I’m not as keen as I keep telling myself.’
    â€˜But you are,’ I said. Tara had dreamt of writing a novel since she was at school and she had journals full of notes. ‘You’ve had short stories published,’ I continued, squeezing her hand. ‘You’ll see. Once you get to Santorini, it’ll come together. You just have to believe in yourself.’
    She snorted before popping on her eye mask and resting back