from earlier.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I ask uneasily.
He sighs. ‘I was just . . . thinking about you,’ he says carefully. ‘It’s been a long time.’
I nod.
‘Too long,’ he adds.
‘It’s been a while,’ I agree.
‘You seem happy.’ He sounds sincere.
‘I am,’ I tell him. Most of the time.
He smiles at me sadly. ‘It’s weird being back in this house. Staying here without Mrs Pettersson around.’
‘Did you know her well?’
‘I haven’t seen her much in recent years, but she looked after me, you know, when my mum got sick.’ His mum died of cancer. ‘I used to come and stay over when mum was in hospital. I’ll never forget that.’
My heart goes out to him. Johnny rarely talks about his mother’s death to anyone. It feels strangely natural to have him talk about her again to me. It must be to do with the darkness, the night – it’s catapulted us back to the way we once were.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s okay. How could you?’ He pauses. ‘Rosa always asks Christian about you.’
‘Does she?’
‘At least, she used to,’ he adds. ‘She quit.’ He shrugs and tries to appear indifferent, but I can tell that he’s hurting.
‘She found you after the overdose, didn’t she?’ He glances up at me and nods slightly. ‘It doesn’t surprise me that she quit,’ I continue.
He looks down again. ‘I guess enough was enough for her.’
‘That’s very sad,’ I say and mean it. ‘She was part of the family.’
‘I know.’ He takes a deep breath and exhales loudly.
‘What about everyone else? I often think of them.’
‘Lewis, Samuel, Ted and Sandy are all still there.’ Sandy was the maid. The first three make up the security team.
‘What about Santiago?’
‘I knew you meant him,’ he says with a slight smile.
‘He was a friend!’ My voice rises. I don’t know why I sound defensive. He may have come to Johnny’s house only once a week to tend to the gardens and treat the pool, but I sometimes found myself chatting to him for hours.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘He’s still there. Still smoking behind the garage . . .’
Once, when I was really stressed, Santiago gave me one of his cigarettes. Johnny saw and went bananas. He hated to think about anyone else corrupting me in any small way – I think he was actually jealous. That night he came into my room and into my bed . . . I shiver inadvertently.
‘You never became a smoker, then,’ Johnny continues.
‘Of course not,’ I retort. ‘I’m a mum. Anyway, it’s a filthy habit,’ I add with raised eyebrows.
He smirks. ‘Can’t argue with that.’
‘You should quit,’ I say.
‘There are a lot of things I should give up, Nutmeg, but I rarely do.’ He stretches his arms over his head and smiles at me and it takes me a moment to realise he’s just called me Nutmeg, the term of affection he used for me.
I come to my senses with a start. ‘I’d better get back to bed before Christian misses me.’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t get up,’ I tell him, but he’s already on his feet. He meets me by the door and leans against the doorframe. I suddenly feel jittery.
‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ he murmurs, looking into my eyes. ‘You deserve it.’ He touches my arm, briefly, tenderly. Lost for words, I turn away and hurry up the stairs.
Chapter 8
I finally fall asleep around dawn, when daylight has already started seeping under the blinds. Christian wakes me unintentionally at around seven o’clock in the morning.
‘Sorry,’ he says. He’s pulling on his jeans. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘No, it’s okay. I’m awake.’
He comes over to the bed to take my hand. ‘I wish I could come home with you today.’
I look up at him in sympathy. ‘How long do you think you should stay?’
‘I guess I’ll play it by ear. Dad’s a bit of a mess.’
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
‘I’m going to head downstairs. Please
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I ask uneasily.
He sighs. ‘I was just . . . thinking about you,’ he says carefully. ‘It’s been a long time.’
I nod.
‘Too long,’ he adds.
‘It’s been a while,’ I agree.
‘You seem happy.’ He sounds sincere.
‘I am,’ I tell him. Most of the time.
He smiles at me sadly. ‘It’s weird being back in this house. Staying here without Mrs Pettersson around.’
‘Did you know her well?’
‘I haven’t seen her much in recent years, but she looked after me, you know, when my mum got sick.’ His mum died of cancer. ‘I used to come and stay over when mum was in hospital. I’ll never forget that.’
My heart goes out to him. Johnny rarely talks about his mother’s death to anyone. It feels strangely natural to have him talk about her again to me. It must be to do with the darkness, the night – it’s catapulted us back to the way we once were.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s okay. How could you?’ He pauses. ‘Rosa always asks Christian about you.’
‘Does she?’
‘At least, she used to,’ he adds. ‘She quit.’ He shrugs and tries to appear indifferent, but I can tell that he’s hurting.
‘She found you after the overdose, didn’t she?’ He glances up at me and nods slightly. ‘It doesn’t surprise me that she quit,’ I continue.
He looks down again. ‘I guess enough was enough for her.’
‘That’s very sad,’ I say and mean it. ‘She was part of the family.’
‘I know.’ He takes a deep breath and exhales loudly.
‘What about everyone else? I often think of them.’
‘Lewis, Samuel, Ted and Sandy are all still there.’ Sandy was the maid. The first three make up the security team.
‘What about Santiago?’
‘I knew you meant him,’ he says with a slight smile.
‘He was a friend!’ My voice rises. I don’t know why I sound defensive. He may have come to Johnny’s house only once a week to tend to the gardens and treat the pool, but I sometimes found myself chatting to him for hours.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘He’s still there. Still smoking behind the garage . . .’
Once, when I was really stressed, Santiago gave me one of his cigarettes. Johnny saw and went bananas. He hated to think about anyone else corrupting me in any small way – I think he was actually jealous. That night he came into my room and into my bed . . . I shiver inadvertently.
‘You never became a smoker, then,’ Johnny continues.
‘Of course not,’ I retort. ‘I’m a mum. Anyway, it’s a filthy habit,’ I add with raised eyebrows.
He smirks. ‘Can’t argue with that.’
‘You should quit,’ I say.
‘There are a lot of things I should give up, Nutmeg, but I rarely do.’ He stretches his arms over his head and smiles at me and it takes me a moment to realise he’s just called me Nutmeg, the term of affection he used for me.
I come to my senses with a start. ‘I’d better get back to bed before Christian misses me.’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t get up,’ I tell him, but he’s already on his feet. He meets me by the door and leans against the doorframe. I suddenly feel jittery.
‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ he murmurs, looking into my eyes. ‘You deserve it.’ He touches my arm, briefly, tenderly. Lost for words, I turn away and hurry up the stairs.
Chapter 8
I finally fall asleep around dawn, when daylight has already started seeping under the blinds. Christian wakes me unintentionally at around seven o’clock in the morning.
‘Sorry,’ he says. He’s pulling on his jeans. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘No, it’s okay. I’m awake.’
He comes over to the bed to take my hand. ‘I wish I could come home with you today.’
I look up at him in sympathy. ‘How long do you think you should stay?’
‘I guess I’ll play it by ear. Dad’s a bit of a mess.’
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
‘I’m going to head downstairs. Please
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