It was her mother.


It took her five minutes to get her face in order; to get her thoughts in order, to get dressed and calm enough to face her mother. By that time, Grace was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee, dragging on a cigarette.

She looked older, Misty thought, but then why wouldn’t she? How long since she’d seen her? Ten years?

She was wearing tight jeans and black boots to above her knees. The boots were stilettos, their heels digging into the worn wooden floor. She was too thin. Her hair was black-definitely not what Misty remembered. It was pulled up into a too-tight knot and tied with a brilliant scarf that dragged the colour from her face.

This was a new look mother. Grace had a new look every time she saw her. Not so hard when she left years between visits.

She saw Misty in the doorway, stubbed her cigarette out and rose to embrace her. ‘Misty. Sweetheart. You look awful.’

‘Mum.’ The word was hard to say.

Nick was standing beside the stove, silently watchful. He’d obviously made Grace coffee. He motioned to the kettle but Misty shook her head.

Her mother was here.

‘Why have you come?’ she asked, maybe not tactfully, but the emotions of the last few days had left her raw and unable to do anything but react instinctively.

‘I was in Australia, darling, when the lawyer contacted me. In Perth.’ Her mother sat down again and lit another cigarette. ‘Wasn’t that lucky?’

‘How long have you been in Australia?’

‘About a year.’ A careless wave of the cigarette. Took had emerged from the bedroom to check out this new arrival. The cigarette came within inches of her nose and Took retreated.

Misty felt like doing the same.

A year…

‘I let you know about Gran’s strokes,’ she said. ‘I contacted the lawyer every month saying how ill she was.’

‘Yes, but there was nothing I could do. Hospitals are not my scene. It was bad enough with Dad.’

‘You only visited Grandpa for ten minutes. Once.’

‘Don’t you get preachy, miss,’ her mother said tartly. ‘I’m here now.’

‘Not for the funeral. They’re not your scene, either?’

Nick said nothing. He stood silent, wary.

‘No,’ her mother said. ‘They’re not. I can’t pretend grief for someone I hardly knew. But I’m here now.’ She glanced at Nick, considering. ‘You two aren’t in my bedroom, are you?’

‘No.’ Her mother’s bedroom was on her side of the house. Beside hers.

‘Excellent. No one told me you had a man.’

‘I don’t have a man. Nick’s my tenant.’

‘Some tenant.’ She yawned. ‘Such a long flight. I had to take a cheap seat. Did you know Fivkin and I have split? So boring. The money…you have no idea. But now…’ She glanced around the kitchen thoughtfully and Misty suddenly knew exactly why she was here.

‘I don’t know any Fivkin,’ she said, playing for time.

‘Lovely man. Oh, we did such things. But now…’ Her mother’s face hardened. ‘Some chit. He married her. Married! And the paltry amount he settled on me makes me feel ill. But that’s okay. I’m fine. I’ve been checking out real estate prices here. We’ll make a killing.’

‘We?’

‘Well, you and I,’ Grace said, smiling tenderly at her daughter. ‘The lawyer said I may need to give you a portion. You have been doing the caring, after all.’

It took only this. All of a sudden, Misty wanted to be ill. Badly.

‘Leave it,’ Nick said, and suddenly he was no longer on the sidelines. He was by Misty’s side, holding her, his anger vibrating as a tangible thing. ‘This is not the time.’

‘To speak of money?’ Her mother rose, too. ‘I suppose you think I’m insensitive. It’s just that I need to sort it and get away again. I’ve been stuck in Perth for too long. I hate keeping still. I talked to Mum years ago about selling this place but she wouldn’t. Now…’

‘Is there a will?’ Nick asked. He was almost holding Misty up.

‘I…yes,’ Misty said.

‘Whatever it says, it doesn’t matter,’ Grace told her. ‘I’m the only daughter. Misty inherits after I go.’

‘Misty’s going to bed,’ Nick said, cutting across her with brutal protectiveness. ‘We’ll talk this through in the morning.’

‘We?’

‘You fight Misty, you fight me,’ he said.

‘I’m sure Misty doesn’t want to fight. She’s a good girl.’

She was going to be ill. Seriously. If she stayed here…

‘We’re going,’ Nick said, ushering her through the door. ‘Look after yourself, Grace. Misty’s had a terrible few days and she’s exhausted. I need to look after your daughter, and I will.’


She’d thought she was shivering before. Now… She couldn’t stop. Her whole body shook. Nick held her and swore. Or she thought he swore. She didn’t actually recognise the words but he kept right on until finally what he was saying cut through her shock and misery.

He was definitely cursing-but not in English.

She let it be for a while, letting the string of invective wash over her, finding it weirdly comforting. Being held by Nick and listening to…

‘Russian?’ she managed at last, and he said a few more carefully chosen terms of obvious invective.

Distracted, she pulled away. ‘What are you saying?’

‘What do you think I’m saying?’

‘Swearing?’

‘A nice boy like me?’

It was impossible to keep shaking when he was smiling. ‘A nice boy like you,’ she said, and she found herself smiling back. ‘Definitely swearing.’

He tugged her back again, into his arms. Against his heart. ‘Don’t stop me,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I’m going to have to slug your mother and it’s already been a black day. Ending up in jail might put the cap on it.’ He waited until she was nestled against him again. He rested his chin on her hair and swore again.

‘What is that?’ she managed.

‘Something a good girl shouldn’t listen to.’

She choked. ‘Language?’

‘Tajikistan,’ he said. ‘It has the best cusses. Uzbekistan’s good and so’s Peru. Mozambique’s not bad and Kazakhstan adds variety but, when I’m really against it, good old Tajikistan comes up trumps every time. Tonight’s definitely a Tajikistan night.’

‘That’s my yurt territory.’

‘Yurts and swear words. A truly excellent country.’

How could you not smile at yurts and Tajikistan swear words? She was almost forced to chuckle. Oh, but Grace… ‘She’s appalling,’ she whispered.

‘She is appalling. Is there a will?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Leaving her the house?’

‘Leaving me the house.’

‘You want me to evict her tonight? It’d be my pleasure.’

‘No.’

‘I could set the dogs on her,’ he said thoughtfully, and once again shock and sadness gave way to laughter.

‘Right. And they’d evict her how?’

‘Wind,’ he said. ‘If you’re in a small enclosed place they can clear a room at twenty paces. All we do is ease them into her room and lock the door.’

She smiled again, but absently. ‘She’ll win,’ she said. ‘She has the right.’

‘To this house? No, she doesn’t. But it’s okay, Misty. I’ll manage this. This is our home.’ Our home.

The words had been swirling round for weeks. Our home.

He held her tight and let the silence soak in his words.

Our home.

Her home and his. And Bailey’s and Ketchup’s and Took’s.

Home.

‘It’s okay,’ he said again, and he stroked her hair and then he kissed her, first on the top of her head and then on her nose-and then more deeply on her mouth. He was tilting her face, holding her to him, but with no pressure. She could step away at any time.

The night was far too bleak to step away.

Nick. What would this day have been without him?

He loved her and she knew it. This man could make her smile when her world was shattered. How lucky was she that he was here?

She wanted him.

And, with that, everything else fell away. The sadness, the shock, the anger. There was only Nicholas, holding her, loving her.

There was only Nick.

‘Can you take me to your bed?’ she whispered and she felt his body still.

‘Misty…’

‘My mother will be sleeping next door. I don’t want to sleep so close. Please…Nick, tonight I want to sleep with you.’

‘I can’t…’ he said and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He couldn’t hold her all night and take it no further.

‘Neither can I,’ she whispered and somewhere a chuckle came; somehow laughter was reasserting itself. ‘Not any more. I want you, I need you and unless you don’t have condoms…’

‘I have condoms.’ He sounded dazed. ‘You think I’d enter a house you were in without condoms?’

‘I do like a man who’s prepared.’

‘Misty…’

‘You’ve been wonderful,’ she said, but suddenly he was holding her at arm’s length.

‘No,’ he said, suddenly harsh. ‘Not that. I’m not accepting an offering, Misty. Do you want me?’

‘I…yes.’ There was nothing else to say.

‘Then this is mutual lovemaking, or not at all. I want you more than life itself, but I won’t take you as thanks.’

‘I do want you.’

‘For love? This needs to be an act of love, Misty, or no matter that it’ll tear me in two, it’s separate beds. You’ve had an appalling day. Is this shock and grief talking? Or something else? Something deeper.’ Something deeper?

Her world was changing. It had changed when Gran died, she thought, and it had changed again when her mother walked in. But now… Something was emerging she wasn’t aware she had. Herself. Misty. She had rights, she thought. This was her life.

And Nicholas was her man?

She took his hand, lifting it, resting it against her cheek. He let her be, not moving, letting her make her own declaration as to what she wanted. The back of his hand was against her cheek. She loved the feel of it. The strength. Nicholas.

She did want. She ran her fingers across his face, a wondrous exploration, never letting her eyes move from his.