the carpet – it’s her. Maybe some hipsters could make it
work, or James and Penny, Linden’s friends on the alternative side
who might call this type of living as “being real.” But Nicola
seems too stiff, prim and proper for this place, like she should
have been born in a palace instead. From the way she was talking,
well blubbering, in my car, I have a feeling she might have
been.
Just before
I’m about to knock on the door, it opens and Stephanie is staring
at me with a suspicious twist to her lips.
“What are you
doing here?” she asks, blocking the door.
“What are you,
her guard dog?”
“Well, I am a
bitch sometimes,” she says. “Woof, woof.”
“Can I come
in?”
She shakes her
head, her skull earrings rattling. “Why?”
“I want to
know if they’re okay.”
A line slowly
forms between her brows. “They’re going to be okay,” she says in a
drawn-out tone. “Sorry, Bram, not used to you caring about
people.”
I guess I
deserved that. “Can I talk to Nicola? Alone?”
Steph
flinches. “What?”
I look over
her shoulder and see Nicola appear just beyond the door. She looks
like shit. Her hair is greasy and pulled back, her face sallow, her
eyes puffy and red. Other than sad, though, I can’t really read her
face and tell if she’s happy to see me, or pissed off, or
indifferent. I’m betting it’s the latter.
“Hey,” I say
to her. “I just wanted to check up on you. You never called,” I
add.
Steph looks
between the two of us. “He gave you his number?”
“Business
card, actually,” Nicola says wryly.
Steph folds
her arms across her chest and I try my damndest not to stare at her
cleavage. Damn, Linden is a lucky guy. Good thing I think of her
more as the mother type. “What did I tell you?” Steph whispers
harshly to her.
I raise
a brow. “What did you tell
her?”
“Never mind,”
she says quickly, fixing her eyes back on me. She’s like mother hen
with teeth in that beak. “I’m watching you,” she says to me.
I raise my
arms out to the side. “Watch all you want, babe, I’m used to
it.”
Nicola gives
out a small sigh of resignation. “It’s fine. Bram, you can come in.
Just be quiet, Ava’s sleeping.”
Victory. I
step inside and take a quick intake of my surroundings. It looks
like some trendy grandmother’s cottage in here. The type who puts
ruffles and doilies on everything but also listens to the Rolling
Stones on vinyl to remember the days when she’d get so bloody
high.
Nicola walks
over to her tiny kitchen, which is cluttered with bright cups and
plates. “Want coffee? Or tea?”
Do I admit I
drink tea over coffee? Hell. “I’d love a cup of tea, please. Do you
have orange pekoe or Earl gray? With cream?”
I can’t see
her face but I know she’s not looking too impressed. “I have
chai.”
“That’s fine,”
I say, aware that Stephanie is staring at me. “What?” I say to
her.
She just
narrows her eyes, points her finger at me as if she’s about to say
something, then picks up her purse. “Okay, Nic,” she calls to her.
“I’m going to go. Call me later, okay? Please?” Now I’m not sure if
that please is because of Ava’s situation or the fact that I’m
here.
“I will,”
Nicola says. “Thanks for everything.”
“Love ya!” And
then Steph is out the door and I’m alone with Nicola.
It’s suddenly
very awkward. While the kettle is boiling, I sit down on her sofa.
It’s like sinking into a marshmallow. I’m afraid I won’t be able to
get up.
She’s not
talking, so I attempt to fill in the gaps.
“Nice
apartment,” I comment.
“Thanks,” she
says, still puttering around in the kitchen.
“Did you
inherit all your furniture from your grandmum or something?”
She shoots me
a killer look over her shoulder. “It’s from Anthropologie.”
I shrug and
run my hands over the couch cushions. I can feel all the rough
threads where she tried to sew together any rips and tears. I don’t
think
work, or James and Penny, Linden’s friends on the alternative side
who might call this type of living as “being real.” But Nicola
seems too stiff, prim and proper for this place, like she should
have been born in a palace instead. From the way she was talking,
well blubbering, in my car, I have a feeling she might have
been.
Just before
I’m about to knock on the door, it opens and Stephanie is staring
at me with a suspicious twist to her lips.
“What are you
doing here?” she asks, blocking the door.
“What are you,
her guard dog?”
“Well, I am a
bitch sometimes,” she says. “Woof, woof.”
“Can I come
in?”
She shakes her
head, her skull earrings rattling. “Why?”
“I want to
know if they’re okay.”
A line slowly
forms between her brows. “They’re going to be okay,” she says in a
drawn-out tone. “Sorry, Bram, not used to you caring about
people.”
I guess I
deserved that. “Can I talk to Nicola? Alone?”
Steph
flinches. “What?”
I look over
her shoulder and see Nicola appear just beyond the door. She looks
like shit. Her hair is greasy and pulled back, her face sallow, her
eyes puffy and red. Other than sad, though, I can’t really read her
face and tell if she’s happy to see me, or pissed off, or
indifferent. I’m betting it’s the latter.
“Hey,” I say
to her. “I just wanted to check up on you. You never called,” I
add.
Steph looks
between the two of us. “He gave you his number?”
“Business
card, actually,” Nicola says wryly.
Steph folds
her arms across her chest and I try my damndest not to stare at her
cleavage. Damn, Linden is a lucky guy. Good thing I think of her
more as the mother type. “What did I tell you?” Steph whispers
harshly to her.
I raise
a brow. “What did you tell
her?”
“Never mind,”
she says quickly, fixing her eyes back on me. She’s like mother hen
with teeth in that beak. “I’m watching you,” she says to me.
I raise my
arms out to the side. “Watch all you want, babe, I’m used to
it.”
Nicola gives
out a small sigh of resignation. “It’s fine. Bram, you can come in.
Just be quiet, Ava’s sleeping.”
Victory. I
step inside and take a quick intake of my surroundings. It looks
like some trendy grandmother’s cottage in here. The type who puts
ruffles and doilies on everything but also listens to the Rolling
Stones on vinyl to remember the days when she’d get so bloody
high.
Nicola walks
over to her tiny kitchen, which is cluttered with bright cups and
plates. “Want coffee? Or tea?”
Do I admit I
drink tea over coffee? Hell. “I’d love a cup of tea, please. Do you
have orange pekoe or Earl gray? With cream?”
I can’t see
her face but I know she’s not looking too impressed. “I have
chai.”
“That’s fine,”
I say, aware that Stephanie is staring at me. “What?” I say to
her.
She just
narrows her eyes, points her finger at me as if she’s about to say
something, then picks up her purse. “Okay, Nic,” she calls to her.
“I’m going to go. Call me later, okay? Please?” Now I’m not sure if
that please is because of Ava’s situation or the fact that I’m
here.
“I will,”
Nicola says. “Thanks for everything.”
“Love ya!” And
then Steph is out the door and I’m alone with Nicola.
It’s suddenly
very awkward. While the kettle is boiling, I sit down on her sofa.
It’s like sinking into a marshmallow. I’m afraid I won’t be able to
get up.
She’s not
talking, so I attempt to fill in the gaps.
“Nice
apartment,” I comment.
“Thanks,” she
says, still puttering around in the kitchen.
“Did you
inherit all your furniture from your grandmum or something?”
She shoots me
a killer look over her shoulder. “It’s from Anthropologie.”
I shrug and
run my hands over the couch cushions. I can feel all the rough
threads where she tried to sew together any rips and tears. I don’t
think
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