Page 8 of The Bodyguard

And that’s it. Conversation over. He gets up and walks away and I’m left wondering what the hell’s just happened. All I know is, for some of the time I can push all this shit to the back of my mind and pretend it isn’t happening. But it isn’t always that easy. I worry about my father. I worry about Mum. Sometimes I even worry about Ollie, but the one thing I don’t think I’ve ever done is worry about myself. And now I’m beginning to think I should start.

Four

Sliding my dark glasses down over my eyes I lie back and stretch out, the warm sun hitting my face: my exposed skin. It’s not quite bikini weather but it’s hot enough for shorts and a T-shirt, even at this early hour of the day. I think we may be experiencing a bit of a mini spring heatwave, and I’m not complaining.

It’s peaceful out here, in the garden, mainly because there’s more than enough space to find a quiet spot, but there’s nobody else about yet anyway. I woke up early and decided to grab a little bit of time to myself before everyone else gets up. And I didn’t sleep too well last night, to be honest. Dinner was nice, actually, and for a moment or two it felt like the kind of get-together normal families have, but there’s always an underlying realisation that that can never be us. No matter how much we want it to be. And then there was that conversation with Dad, it’s been on my mind constantly. Why am I suddenly, desperately in need of protection?

Trance music fills my head courtesy of my ear buds, and I feel myself slowly sinking into the soft sun-lounger cushions as my body relaxes and my brain finally starts to switch off, I really should do this more often. Because I don’t, as a rule, and that’s something else I get from my dad. The inability to switch off and tune out. And then I feel something – someone– nudge my leg, bringing my short-lived moment of peace to an abrupt end.

Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I pluck out my ear buds and scowl at Ollie.

“What was that for?”

“Dad wants to see you.”

Again? “Now?”

Ollie sits down on the lounger next to mine, and nods. “Yeah. Now.”

I sigh quietly and swing my legs down from the lounger. “He does know how old I am, right? ’Cause all this summoning…”

“Quit bitching, Lena, and just go and see him.”

I narrow my eyes and stare at my brother. “What’s going on here, Ollie? What’sreallygoing on? Why am I suddenly being given bodyguards, being told to move out of my own home and move back in here? Hmm? Why is all of that happening? What’s going on with Novak, huh? Because I’m guessing all of this is to do with him, right?”

And I don’t think this was a spur-of-the-moment thing, either. Dad and Ollie had that meeting with Stefan Novak on Tuesday evening, but Mum mentioned me moving back here when we had lunch, on Tuesday afternoon. So how much doessheknow? I’m getting so pissed off at being left out of shit that concerns me just as much – if not more – than everybody else, they’re not even trying to hide it now. But fighting that, it’s fucking exhausting.

Ollie bows his head and rubs the back of his neck, and I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath asking him questions because he isn’t going to tell me shit. See? Exhausting.

“Whatever’s going on, just know that it’s being done for your own good.” He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. “It’s necessary.”

“Yeah. That’s what Dadsaid.”

“Go talk to him.”

I reluctantly get up, I’m really not in the mood for any of this. “I know what this family does, Ollie. I know you and Dad, you tread dangerous ground, every day, I know that. I’m not stupid…”

“Nobody said you were.”

“But you still treat me like I am. You still keep me in the dark…”

“For your…”

“… own good, I get it.” I drag a hand through my hair and pull it back into a high ponytail.

Ollie looks almost apologetic as he stands up too, sliding his hands into his pockets. “He’s in the kitchen.”

“Where’s Mum?”

“She’s preparing the guest cottage.”

“Why…? Oh. Hang on. We’re expecting company, right?”

Ollie looks at me, and I sigh quietly.

“This bodyguard – seriously? It’s a live-in position?”

He really is going to be with me 24/7. And Ollie doesn’t answer me, because he doesn’t need to. The question was very much a rhetorical one. And then, just like Dad always does when the questions start to become ones they don’t want to be pushed into answering, he starts to walk away, but I grab his arm in time to stop him.

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