Page 90 of The Bodyguard

“Okay.”

“Meet you back here? Eight 0’clock, right?”

“Right. And don’t be late!”

I throw her one last smile and head out of the door, out onto the busy street. And I start to head back towards the hotel, but then I stop. I change my mind, and instead make my way towards the old town. I haven’t been here for a long time, and for some reason I just want to spend an hour or so wandering around, and remembering what my life used to be like before it took the turn it did.

The tall, colourful buildings of Stortorget Square start to come into view: vivid reds and yellows and sage green, I’d forgotten how impressive they were. Are. And the square itself, it’s bustling with people, tourists and locals, the cafés, shops and restaurants that line the square are all busy, and I stop outside a bar with a yellow awning, the same colour as the building it’s attached to.

Sitting down at a table on the terrace, I order a beer and a cheese and cold steak sandwich – asmörgås, an open sandwich, I haven’t eaten one in a long, long time and I’m suddenly all nostalgic for food I hadn’t even realised I missed. And as I drink my beer and eat my sandwich I sit back and let my mind wander, to when my parents would bring me here as a child. We lived a few miles outside of Stockholm, in a quiet residential area full of families just like mine, and I’d liked it. That quiet life. Or maybe, somewhere deep down inside, I hadn’t. Why else had I chosen to leave this country and make the UK my home? Make the security service my life? Put myself in the kind of danger that job threw up, when I could’ve had a much more settled, safe life here. In Sweden. So many what ifs: if onlys, and it’s a road I really don’t want to go down, I’ve had a good day. A good week. Things are moving forward, looking back is beginning to be something I want to do less and less, so I push all of that to the back of my mind and start to think about tonight. About Hanna, and her incredible art, the way her face lights up when she talks about it, her blue eyes wide and bright and I feel my stomach give the kind of jolt it hasn’t given since…

Since Lena.

Dropping my gaze to my almost finished sandwich, I sigh quietly. Putting the past behind me isn’t going to be quite as easy as I want it to be. But it’s something I need to do, and then it suddenly crosses my mind that, over the past few weeks, I’ve quite possibly been doing something I really shouldn’t be doing. Am I using Hanna to help me get over losing Lena? No… I mean, how could I lose something – someone– I never had in the first place? And me and Hanna, we’re friends, nothing more than that, but at the same time I’m not saying there never could be… I’m not using Hanna. I’m not doing that. That isn’t what’s happening. Jesus! Why is Lena Nielsen still living in my head when all I want is to move on?

I finish my beer and get up; make my way through the packed terrace and back out into the square. And I spend the next half an hour or so strolling through the crowds, looking into shop windows; glancing at the people sitting outside the cafés and bars. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives? Most of them will be. Some, maybe not so much.

Checking my watch, I notice it’s getting late, I need to head back to the hotel now. I don’t want to be late, don’t want to let Hanna down. She’s so excited about tonight, even though she’s been trying to stay cool, calm, not let it show how excited she really is. And I want to be there for her. Hanna could be part of my new future, if I let her. If she wants to be. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how that pans out…

~~~

The gallery looks very different to what it did when I was here earlier, when it was all stark white and bright daylight. The atmosphere’s changed, it’s a little darker inside, but every single painting now has its own unique lighting which shows every piece off in a way I’ve never seen before. But then, what doIknow? The only other time I’ve been in an art gallery was on a job. Undercover. I didn’t exactly have time to take in the surroundings. Now I do.

“I’ve already sold two pieces!”

Hanna sidles up to me and links her arm through mine, squeezing it gently, and I look at her, at her mile-wide smile and the excitement on her face, I think she stopped being super-cool about twenty minutes ago when the doors opened and people started to come up to her and tell her how much they loved her work. And she deserves every ounce of praise being heaped on her tonight.

“And, the gallery have just told me that Maria Kendall – she’s an art critic for a popular American art magazine – she wants to talk to me later, after she’s had a chance to look around. I didn’t even know she’d be coming, but Francis said they didn’t tell me in case I got my hopes up. I mean, she might not like any of my work, I don’t know if she does, to be honest…” She stops talking and looks up at me, biting down on her lip. “Sorry. Got a bit carried away there.”

“Hey, it’s your night. You have every right to get carried away. You deserve it.”

She gives my arm another squeeze and leans in to drop a quick kiss on my cheek. “Has anyone ever told you what a really nice guy you are?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone say that, no.”

“Well, you’re hearing it now.” She lets go of my arm and glances around the room, and I follow her gaze as it lands on a tall, dark-haired man in the corner, he’s in front of her sunflower painting. He’s beckoning her over, and she nods and turns back to face me. “I should go over there. I think the person who bought that painting wants to speak to me. I’ll see you in a bit, right?”

“Yeah, of course. You go, go on.”

She leaves my side, weaving her way through the crowd, stopping to say hi every so often to people she either knows or who just want to congratulate her, and I love how she’s come to life here, in this room. In this place. It makes me wonder why she chose to live so far away from all of this, but she obviously has her reasons. Her recent break-up being one of them, I’m guessing, or maybe I’m just assuming that.

I could do with another drink, so I wander over to a large, circular glass table at the back of the room that’s laid out with glasses of champagne and plates of neat canapes and mini open sandwiches. I pick up a glass of champagne and a smoked salmon blini, popping it into my mouth as I scan the room. There are so many people here. And they’re not really the kind of people I’ve ever hung out with before, but they all seem friendly enough. Art critics, journalists, invited guests from all over Europe and beyond, they’re all here to see Hanna and her work. Find out about this up and coming talented young artist, and it suddenly hits me that dreaming about Hanna becoming a part of my future, I don’t think that’s such a good idea now. She won’t stay in our pretty little street forever, it’s nothing more than a stepping stone; an inspirational pit-stop on her journey to something far bigger, and I’m not ready to go with her on that journey. I don’t even think she wants me to, why am I even imagining that could’ve been the case?

Taking a sip of champagne, I step farther back into the shadows, and lean against the wall, watching the party go on around me. Watching people mingling and chatting as they stare up at Hanna’s work, and even though she’s done everything in her power to make me feel a part of her world this week, I’m now starting to feel like I’m back hovering on the peripheral, not really a part of anything anymore. Because I don’t want to be? Maybe. Or maybe I’m just too scared to put myself out there again, too scared of getting hurt. Again. Of finding a woman I want to be around, but can’t be, for so many fucking reasons.

I finish my drink and set the empty glass down on a shelf behind me, but I stay where I am, looking out over this room full of people. And suddenly all I feel is a crushing loneliness, and a realisation that – what? That I’m destined to be lonely for the rest of my life? Never finding that elusive love I never even knew I wanted, after… everything.

Checking the time, I wonder if I can duck out early: if Hanna will even notice I’ve gone, but I know she will. And I don’t want to do that to her, so I’m just going to have to suck it up and ride it out, and… Hang on… I’m sure I’ve… No, no, I’m just imagining it, thinking I’m seeing something – someone– because of everything that’s happened. I’ll never stop being on my guard. That’s something that’s ingrained into me now. And I feel my stomach lurch, and I reach into my inside pocket, my gun is there, it’s safe. To hand, should I need it.

They promised me they wouldn’t hunt me down again, as long as I stayed away, and I have, stayed away. There’ve been days when I haven’t wanted to, when I’ve almost jumped on a plane and headed back to the UK, not caring about my safety, but I care about hers. And that’s all that’s stopped me.Hersafety…

Moving farther into the room, I watch this person I thought I recognised as they stare up at one of Hanna’s paintings – a harbour full of boats and a pale blue sky dotted with tiny white clouds, the colours so vivid and bright they almost jump out at you. I watch as he cocks his head and speaks into his phone and then he turns his head ever so slightly, and that’s when my breath catches. I’m not imagining anything. It’s him. Mikkel Nielsen. And his eyes lock on mine as my hand reaches for my gun and it’s like the world suddenly stops, everything around me, stops, and it’s just me and him and whatever’s about to happen next…

Lena

Looking around the living-room of my beautiful coastal cottage, a place I’d been desperate to come home to for so long, I feel nothing but emptiness. None of this matters anymore. I don’t even think I want it, anymore. When I told my father I was walking away, I meant it. I’m not sure everyone else feels the same way, though. I think they’re humouring me, which is irritating, but not a surprise.

I’m considering renting this place out, for a while. And there’s a part of me that’s saying, just sell it. Surely that would prove to everyone how serious I am, about leaving this life and starting a new one, but something – and I don’t know what – is stopping me from doing that. Maybe it’s because I love this house; because I always saw it as an escape from the madness that was – is – my family. It was my haven, even when David was around. So, yeah, I’m going to hang on to it for a little while longer. Until I decide what I’m going to do. Because, in reality, I have no idea. All I know is I’m cutting ties with this family, for a while. Stepping away to try and become my own person instead of an extension of the Nielsen empire. I’m leaving my job, my home, the only life I’ve ever known, until I got a taste of another one.

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