by Paige Toon
‘I should never have lowered my defences,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I thought he was safe. If he hadn’t sworn himself off sex, there’s no way I would have allowed us to get this close.’
The sound of the phone ringing interrupts my flow. I frown and hurry downstairs to the living room, picking up the one and only phone my uncle keeps in this house. I don’t know why I bother: it’s probably a telemarketer.
‘Hello?’
‘Hannah!’
‘Hello!’ I exclaim. Speak of the devil: it’s Charles. ‘Where are you?’
‘Cape Town! We’re here for two nights. I’m about to take a cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, but I wanted to give you a quick call first. How are you, dear?’
‘I’m fine. I want to hear about you. Where else have you been since your last email?’ I take a seat on his sofa, tucking my feet up underneath myself.
‘We’ve mostly been cruising the Atlantic Ocean, but we were in Namibia a couple of days ago. Walvis Bay. There’s a lagoon that attracts hundreds of thousands of birds, including an awful lot of flamingos. It was fabulous!’
‘And where are you off to next?’ I ask with a smile at Bertie as she enters the room and flops down on the carpet.
‘Hang on, let me get my itinerary. It’s hard to keep track.’
As I wait, listening to the sound of a zipper followed by rustling papers, I pick up the photo frame from the side table. This picture was taken only a few years ago. Charles’s grey-white hair has been combed back neatly from his forehead and his blue eyes are crinkled at the corners as he smiles. June, beside him, has a sort of wry look about her, her pale-green eyes surprisingly sharp. She never did like having her photo taken.
Charles comes back on the line. ‘We’re sticking to South Africa for a bit: Mossel Bay, Durban and Richards Bay, and then moving onto Maputo in Mozambique.’
‘And are you still having a good time?’
‘Truly, truly,’ he replies emphatically. ‘I’ve met some wonderful people. Of course, there are a few characters too, but they’re all fascinating in their own way.’
‘I hope you’re not psychoanalysing everyone on board,’ I tease.
He chuckles. ‘You know me. And how are you?’
‘I’m fine. Getting on with it. Bertie’s great.’ Her tail thumps against the carpet at the mention of her name. ‘I cleaned up your old canoe the other day and took her into Cambridge.’
‘Only the two of you?’
‘Um, no, we went with friends.’
‘Danielle?’
‘No, I haven’t seen her since I went to meet Calvin.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be!’ My cheeks burn at the arrival of his pity.
‘Who, then?’
‘New friends. Matilda who works next door to me, her fiancé Archie. And his friend Sonny,’ I add.
He latches onto my reluctance to spill the beans. ‘Sonny! What’s he like, then?’
‘He’s nice.’
‘Nice? That’s a very bland word, Hannah.’
‘Don’t start.’ I place his photo frame back on the side table with a little more force than I’d intended. It promptly falls over.
‘I’m not starting! I simply want to know how you are.’
‘I’m fine. I’m well! It’s all going well. June’s roses are looking beautiful.’ I fumble around, trying to stand the frame upright.
‘Don’t change the subject, dear.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are. Tell me about Sonny.’
‘He’s nice.’
I hear him sigh.
‘Okay, no, he’s not nice. He’s got issues. I’m trying to be a friend to him.’
‘Friends sounds good. Do you talk to him?’ he asks after a moment’s pause.
I hug my arms around my chest. ‘I talk to him, yes. And I talk to Matilda.’
‘That’s good. Are you open with them?’
‘As open as I’m capable of being.’
‘So you’re not open with them.’
‘They’re new friends, Charles!’ I’m raising my voice now.
‘I only want you to be happy.’
‘I am happy.’
Silence extends between us.
‘This phone call must be costing you a fortune,’ I say eventually.
‘Do you need to talk, dear?’
‘No, Charles, I’m fine.’
‘Are you talking to her?’
I swallow.
‘Oh, Hannah.’ He sounds desperately sad.
‘Please, Charles. Leave it.’
It’s a relief when I hear the tour operator telling him it’s time to go up the mountain.
I don’t make any attempt to move from the sofa. Instead, I sigh and put my feet up, muttering to Bertie, ‘Your master is a pain in the butt,’ and frowning at the internal door that leads to his one-time clinic.
It’s a while before I’m able to push aside the niggling burden of Charles’s concern, but eventually I allow my thoughts to spill out of my head.
‘So, Archie and Matilda got engaged yesterday! That was weird. Well, I thought it was weird at first, but apparently Archie has been talking marriage for a while. Matilda wanted to get her course out of the way and Archie said he’d wait until she was ready, but during the staring game they both somehow knew that the time was now.’
Bertie has lifted her head to look at me. I ignore her and edge down on the sofa until I’m flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling.
‘Sonny and I were really happy for them. But I was also glad to have a diversion. I found it hard to look at Sonny when our five minutes were up. Luckily, I didn’t have to. We put Archie and Matilda on the middle bench and paddled most of the way home with Sonny at the back and me at the front. Sonny and Archie carried the boat up to the cottage and the three of them shared a taxi home so he and I barely spoke.’
My mobile phone beeps to alert me to a new text. I sit up and reach for the device, checking the display. It’s from an unknown number.
‘Amsterdam flight 6.30pm Sat – can you get off work early?’
My stomach is immediately flooded with nerves. Sonny must’ve got my number from Matilda and Archie.
‘Are we still doing this, then?’ I murmur. ‘I guess it would be weird not to, now, wouldn’t it?’
I re-read his text.
An evening flight at that time would mean knocking off at four o’clock latest. We only work until five on Saturdays and rarely have clients coming by late in the day. I have a feeling Sonny wants to get the flights booked now, so I bite the bullet and give Umeko a quick call, apologising for bothering her on a Sunday. Not only does she have no problem with me leaving early, she also offers to look after Bertie for a couple of days.
I text Sonny back to say that the time works for me.
He replies to ask about a Monday evening return and when I agree, he tells me he’ll book and asks me for my surname. I haven’t had reason to share it before now.
‘Culshaw,’ I reply.
He reveals the price in a final text.
The exchange is brusque and businesslike, but I’m edgy at the thought of going alone to Amsterdam with him. I feel as though I’m losing control, if it’s not already lost.
With my phone still in my hand, I type out a text message to Johann.
I can think of one way to regain some of that control.
Chapter 18
Five days later, I’m in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches to my make-up, when the doorbell rings.
‘That’ll be my Johann-shaped distraction,’ I mutter, sweeping on my lip-gloss and hurrying downstairs.
‘Oh. Hello,’ I say.
‘Hi,’ Sonny replies, his gaze steadier on mine than it was when we last parted company. ‘I was next door.’
Bertie barges past me.
‘Are you leaving straight from work tomorrow?’ he asks, getting to the point as he greets Bertie.
‘I’ll need to come
back here to get my bag,’ I reply apologetically. It’ll be too heavy to carry to work if I’m walking.
‘I’ve got the taxi coming to me at ten to four, so shall we swing by your work and pick you up? We can grab your bag on the way to the airport.’
‘That sounds perfect.’
He gives me a quick once-over as he stands up. ‘You heading out?’
‘Er, yes.’
I sense he wants to say something else, but then Johann appears behind him.
‘Hallo!’ Johann calls, lifting his hand in a small wave as Bertie barks her usual five-bow-wow greeting.
Sonny spins around and watches him coming up the garden path.
The fact that this feels awkward is exactly why I’m doing it, I remind myself.
‘Hi,’ Johann says to Sonny with a friendly grin.
‘Sonny, this is Johann. Johann, Sonny,’ I introduce them cursorily, not offering up any more information as they shake hands.
Sonny has a small crease between his eyebrows when he turns back to me. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’
I nod. ‘See you.’
He sidesteps Johann and walks down the path. I watch him go with a pang before coming to my senses and opening the door wider.
‘Come in.’
‘What a cool little place,’ Johann comments as he ducks under the doorframe and enters the chocolate-box cottage. He’s so tall that his head almost bumps against the ceiling.
His chin-length strawberry-blond hair is wild and unruly, and a week’s worth of stubble graces his square jaw. He’s hot, but I feel strangely unaffected. I press on regardless, giving him a choice of a drink here or heading straight out to the pub. He opts for the pub.
‘Perhaps we’ll end up back here later,’ he adds with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Are you single?’ I reply candidly, clipping Bertie’s lead to her collar.
‘Yes.’ He grins down at me. ‘Are you?’
‘Always.’ I smile and nod at the doorway.
‘So who’s Sonny?’ he asks teasingly as he exits.
‘A friend.’
I pull the door shut behind us.
We go to the Blue Ball and sit in one of the two cosy front rooms at a table lit by candlelight. Johann hasn’t changed a bit. He’s chatty, playful, flirty and easy to be around.
We fill each other in on what we’ve been doing over the last few years. Mostly he talks and I ask the questions, which is exactly the way I like it.
But Sonny is never far from my mind.
He’s on my mind as we return to the cottage. He’s on my mind when Johann tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls me towards him as we stand in the brightly lit hallway. And he’s on my mind when Johann brings his mouth down to mine.
‘Why did you leave without saying goodbye?’ he asks against my lips in a hot whisper.
I shrug and he kisses me again, pressing himself up against me.
This could be so easy. All I have to do is take him upstairs.
But . . .
I gently but firmly push him away.
‘I’ve got an early start.’
‘So have I,’ he replies, reluctant to let me go.
‘Sorry.’ I keep him at arm’s length. ‘But it was nice seeing you.’
He stares at me with mild disbelief. ‘That’s it?’
I nod.
‘What’s happened to you?’ He’s genuinely perplexed.
I walk over and open the door, and a moment later, he passes by me into the cool night, muttering what I’m almost certain are a few choice words in German.
I don’t blame him. I’m mad at myself too.
Chapter 19
There’s an odd atmosphere inside the car. We’re almost at Luton and Sonny and I have barely spoken two words to each other.
He was wearing sunglasses when the taxi came to pick me up. He still is. It’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. In fact, he’s been polite and well mannered. He got out of the car and opened the door for me when I came out of work, and he checked I’d remembered my passport after we’d gone via Charles’s to collect my bag.
He’s been tapping away at his phone for most of the journey, mumbling about needing to sort out some work stuff, and I’ve sat and stared out of the window.
I exhale heavily as we arrive at the airport and he glances across at me, slipping his phone into his pocket.
‘Sorry about that,’ he mutters.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yep, all set.’ He pulls out his wallet and waves off my attempt to retrieve my purse. ‘Get the return.’
‘Are you sure? I still owe you dinner too.’
He makes a dismissive-sounding noise and leans forward to pay the driver.
We’ve only got hand luggage and checked in online so we’re able to go straight through to Departures.
‘Are you working tomorrow?’ I ask as the queue in front of us slowly dwindles.
Sonny nods, his mouth set in a line.
‘And Monday?’
‘Yeah.’ He lets out a small sigh.
He’s stressed about work.
The realisation makes me spontaneously reach up to squeeze his shoulder. He stiffens and then his features soften as he recognises compassion.
‘It’ll be okay,’ I murmur.
He nods and proceeds through security.
We don’t have much time on the other side and I want to buy a magazine, so we agree to go our separate ways and meet at the gate.
On the plane, he continues to be silent and I’m a bit lost for words myself. He hasn’t mentioned Johann and neither have I. I don’t know if he’s even given him a second thought – his mood probably has nothing to do with my love life, or lack of it, as it stands. I’d sensed he was worried about returning to Amsterdam – it’s part of the reason he asked me to come with him. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that. But he may as well be alone for all the good it’s doing us.
After a while he asks if I’d mind him putting his headphones on and listening to music. I start to flick through my magazine, but it’s hard to concentrate. I feel as though a chasm has opened up between us.
His eyes have closed and his arms are folded across his chest. He looks tired and drawn. Another wave of compassion sweeps through me.
By the time we reach his apartment, it’s almost ten o’clock at night. I’m inexplicably shattered, but Nina is expecting me for a few drinks tonight, so I only intend to drop off my bag before going to hers. Sonny has told me it’s about a ten-minute walk away.
He lives on the top – fourth – floor of a tall terraced black-brick building with white-framed windows. It’s adjacent to a canal and the water is gleaming like an oil slick in the dark night, a couple of narrow houseboats moored at the banks. The cobbled streets are lit by old-fashioned street lamps and there’s a warm glow coming from a nearby bar, the sound of music and chatter spilling out of its open door.
I feel a bubble of excitement at the thought of seeing our surroundings tomorrow in daylight.
Unlocking the front door and bypassing the mailboxes while muttering something about needing to sort out his post tomorrow, Sonny leads me up the stairs. There’s no lift and I’m out of breath as he opens his front door. He flicks on lights and my eyes go round.
‘Holy shit,’ I breathe.
He lives in an open-plan loft apartment and, although small, it is breathtakingly cool. Apart from a lower, flat section near the front door, the ceiling mirrors the roof of the distinctly Dutch-style townhouse, curving up and over in a high arc. The old wooden parquet floors have been stripped and are bleached in colour and the furniture is minimal, designer and undoubtedly expensive, from the pale-grey sofa to the modern yellow chaise-longue and the giant orange Anglepoise floor lamp bowing over a low coffee table. The kitchen on my left has an industrial-looking island formed of what appears to be polished grey concrete, and there’s nothing out on display apart from a gleaming silver commercial-looking coffee machine against the cha
rcoal-coloured back wall. The far-right wall is exposed brick hung with a series of photo frames containing black-and-white prints that I will definitely be taking a closer look at, but currently I’m finding it hard to tear my eyes away from the enormous Crittall window overlooking the tree-lined canal. My feet take me towards it in a daze. There are no blinds or curtains obscuring the view, and when I finally turn around, I see that the lower section of ceiling near the door contains a high-level bedroom that is also open-plan.
‘You don’t favour privacy much,’ I comment weakly, wondering what the neighbours opposite have witnessed. I shudder as my imagination goes into overdrive.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he offers as I go to take a closer look at the images hanging on the wall. He has a workstation here with a computer and printer. There are several large silver cases piled up together on the floor along with umbrellas, a lightbox and other photography equipment that he must use for his shoots.
‘No, I should probably get going,’ I reply distractedly. ‘Is this your work?’
‘Mm.’
The collection is a combination of abstract indistinguishable shapes and lines, and random shots of a bespectacled, suited man striding past a brick wall, a sixties-style blonde model leaning against a classic car, and dark, moody images of architecture and landscapes. Each picture is distinctive, but they all fit together.
‘They’re incredible,’ I murmur, a moment later recognising the curve of a woman’s hip in one of the up-close abstract shots. Urgh.
‘The bathroom is through here.’ Sonny opens a door to reveal a brightly lit white-tiled room and goes in, returning with towels and linen. ‘The cleaner’s been, so the sheets on the bed are fresh,’ he tells me.
‘I’ll sleep on the sofa, Sonny,’ I protest.
I don’t want to deprive him of his one and only bed.
‘No, you won’t,’ he says firmly, dumping the sheets on the yellow chaise.
I have a feeling he won’t be persuaded otherwise.
‘Right, well,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Guess I should get going.’