Page 161 of The Sleepwalker
‘You’re kidding .?.?.’
‘Nope.’ She grins.
‘You’re just trying to make me scared of the dark.’
‘I swear, it’s true,’ she says.
Hugo picks at the label on the bottle and leans back in his chair.
‘His mum didn’t die here, though, did she?’
‘No, at home in their garden,’ she replies, holding his gaze. ‘I think Kasper was the one who found her.’
‘He told you that?’
‘There’s something about me that makes people tell me things.’
‘What do you want to know?’ Hugo asks, putting on a robotic voice.
She laughs and looks down for a moment before raising her head. Her eyes are shining, and the tip of her nose is red.
‘From now on, let’s only tell the truth,’ she says.
‘A confession after every shot.’
‘Great.’
They fill the egg cups with tequila, pour a little salt onto the skin between their index fingers and thumbs, and pick up a wedge of lemon in the same hand.
‘To the truth,’ Hugo says with a grin.
He watches the tip of her tongue dart out as she licks the salt from her hand, and he does the same, knocking back the shot, swallowing, biting down on the lemon and pulling a face.
‘Oof, that’s strong.’ She laughs.
Hugo refills the egg cups as the warmth of the alcohol spreads through his gut. Svanhildur puts on a playlist of Lana Del Rey and reaches for more salt.
‘I’m sure it’s agreatidea to combine the meds they’ve got us on with booze,’ Hugo says with a wry smile.
‘You go first.’
He looks her in the eye, and they both do another shot, cough and grin at each other.
‘I’ve got mummy issues,’ Hugo confesses.
‘What do you mean?’ she asks, pouring more tequila.
‘My mum doesn’t give a shit about me. She moved back to Canada when I was little, and I haven’t heard from her in almost three years .?.?. I’m also seeing a woman – Olga – who’s basically twice my age.’
‘Definitely sounds like mummy issues,’ she says with a nod.
‘Seriously, I think my mum might be a junkie .?.?. That she’sin free fall, or whatever. But I’ve been saving up so I can go and look for her, because I can’t just sit around waiting for her to get in touch or die of an overdose.’
‘Horrible,’ Svanhildur whispers.
They drink again, slamming the egg cups down on the table with a little too much force.
‘Your turn,’ he says, looking up at her.
