Page 143 of Red Flag
He straightened and turned menacingly, his face serious. “Livid, you haven’t eaten properly for days,” he said. “This is the third day where I’ve only seen you eat a handful of mints.”
“Not hungry,” I repeated.
He lifted my chin and analysed me carefully. “I could send someone to India to get you thataloogobifrom our hotel that you liked, or thechurrosfrom France in that little cafe.”
“You are so extravagant,” I laughed and shook my head,releasing myself from his touch. “How about we just order a takeaway this evening?”
“And you’ll eat it?”
I didn’t know if it was my nerves at the trial tomorrow or the general ache in my chest. Or knowing people were out there talking about me and that I was too much of a coward to google my name again. But there was nothing in me that wanted to eat. I was full and painfully empty.
“I promise,” I said and stood from the stool to kiss him.
But it was then that a strong female voice, with a slight accent I couldn’t place, called out, “Nixon!” from the lift.
His eyes widened. “Merde.”
He breathed in deeply, clearly nervous, as heels clicked towards us. He took my hand and stepped slightly in front of me.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and I tried to contain my smile. I didn’t have to bother, he was staring at the arch from the lift. For once, he was actually nervous.
MarieArmaswasn’t looking at us, instead her footing as she walked down the three steps from the walkway to the kitchen. Her grey hair was in a neat, short bob that fell just to her shoulders. Our whole house was neutral, a few tan colours across to the dining room on the other side of the open room she was walking into, but she was colour, standing out against the neutrals in her loose red trousers and blouse.
I expected her to run straight for her son, but her aim was me, ignoring Nix and practically swatting him out of the way. My hand slipped from his.
“Olivia,” she said, voice brimming with sympathy. She was taller than me, though that wasn’t hard, but despite how put together — and how definitelyunputtogether I was — shewasn’t imposing or intimidating as she hesitantly took my hands, giving me time to reject her advance. “I am so sorry. So sorry, Olivia.”
Nix had her eyes. Deep pools of blue I could swim in. Drown in. His tanned skin had to come from his father for she was paler than me.
What did I say to ‘sorry’? When Nix had said it, he meant it. He felt responsible.
When people had said it after my dad passed, I’d felt the same. What could I say? What did you say to an ‘I’m sorry’ when it was no one’s guilt to bear?
It’s okay? Because it wasn’t. None of it was okay.
I was not okay.
I’d smiled and laughed. I’d nodded along. For a year, I’d acted like I was completely and utterly okay. Rejected the idea I could be otherwise.
“Anything you need,” she was saying. “Whether it’s somewhere to stay that’s away from London or simply a hug.”
I nodded and managed to rasp a “thank you” before clearing my throat. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. A secret and in our kitchen.”
She shook her head. “Can’t be helped.” Then she lifted herself on her tiptoes to kiss Nix’s cheek. He bent to help her.
“Coffee,Maman?”
She nodded. “Always. So, what are we going to do about this shit show?”
Nix turned slowly from the other side of the counter as I sat on the stool again. She sat next to me.
“Maman,” Nix warned.
“She’s a miracle worker,” she laughed, crossing her legs. “She got you on the cover ofSportsChatfor apositivereason.I’m sure there are things we can do to stop this from getting any worse.”
“That was mostly Luca—”
“Nonsense,” she laughed and took out a notebook from her bag. “You need to learn to take a compliment. Is my son not giving you enough?”
