by Becky Wicks
‘Did you bring my cookbook?’ Mira broke into his thoughts. He noticed she’d dressed up for the occasion too; a typical Mira look, an oversized white cotton shirt and pale blue slacks, with the matching blue beads Fred had bought her on one of their cruise stops somewhere in the Caribbean.
‘Of course.’ Dutifully he opened the satchel he was carrying and placed the book on the counter. He held a wine bottle up too, and placed it beside the book.
‘You’re a superstar. Right, you two, leave me in peace to get on with dinner. Dad’s in the lounge.’
‘Did you ever use that cookbook?’ Freya asked him when they were out in the hallway.
He shrugged, feeling conflicted by how at ease she seemed to be already in his family home, the way her heels clipped the whitewashed floor as he led her towards the lounge. Classical music was blaring; his dad’s favourite. ‘I haven’t cooked at home in a long time,’ he said. ‘Only at the shelter.’
‘Why?’ She stopped to study the photos on the walls.
‘I don’t really like to cook for one,’ he told her. ‘Too much goes to waste.’
Her head bobbed in understanding as her eyes scanned the pictures in the frames—him at his graduation throwing his hat in the air, him and his brother Simon kicking their legs up like kung fu fighters on a trampoline, his mother and father on their wedding day outside the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam.
‘But you used to cook, right? With your ex? Dinner parties,’ she said after a moment. He knew from her tone that she didn’t want to appear like she was fishing, even though she was.
‘You heard about those, did you?’
‘Apparently, they were legendary.’
He shrugged, putting a hand on the back of her neck under her hair and leaning down to kiss her. ‘Are you hinting I should hold another one before I sell the houseboat?’
She turned in his arms abruptly and he realised he probably hadn’t mentioned he was thinking of selling up, moving somewhere different. He’d only started thinking about it recently. It held too many memories of things that no longer served him. ‘Why would you sell the houseboat?’ she asked, frowning up at him. ‘I love it there.’
‘I could ask you the same thing about selling your heritage house and moving to Vietnam,’ he told her, diverting the subject by easing her shoulders back against the wall and pulling her closer by the hips. He knew how much she loved his houseboat—in fact, on the few occasions Shadow had been taken in by Freya’s neighbour and she’d stayed over, they had christened every room. She didn’t even mind Sheba...she said she’d seen plenty of snakes on her medical mission trips and in America’s national parks.
The thin fabric of her dress was too easily lifted up above her knees. He ran his palm seductively, deliberately along the smooth, warm flesh of her thigh, tracing his fingers along the hem of her underwear, savouring the burning desire that flickered in her eyes.
Mira dropped something in the kitchen. Shadow let out a bark from somewhere out in the yard. ‘Why don’t you take me up to the miller’s suite?’ she teased in a whisper, and grinned under his mouth.
‘Stop changing the subject,’ he groaned as Freya took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.
He couldn’t stay away from her even if he tried. He lowered his lips, leaving a trail of kisses down her cheek that made her moan softly in his arms. He knew that once he kissed the soft, sensitive flesh of her collarbone she would all but crumble. All it took was a few delicate butterfly kisses and her hands would fall down his back, then go up to his hair in an echo of desire. He was starting to get to know what aroused her, and it always left him wanting more.
‘Seriously, why would you sell it? What would you do with your python? That’s her home now, and you know how much she loves it.’
As she said it, Freya’s hand travelled round the belt of his jeans and slipped inside the front. He pressed his mouth to hers again, feeling himself grow dangerously hard. He was way too turned on, considering where they were.
‘You’re not making me feel too much like talking,’ he told her, almost forgetting to whisper, and she pressed a finger to his lips to silence him, giggling before drawing him in for another kiss, digging her hand further into his jeans, stroking him while dancing slow, delicious circles around his tongue with her own.
It felt illicit and forbidden in the middle of the hallway, like being a teenager again under his parents’ roof, and he gave a muffled groan, urging her back to the wall. They only broke apart when their frantic kissing meant her head made a photo go crooked.
‘Tell me later, when we go back there,’ she said, straightening her dress while he adjusted himself in his jeans. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it at all, he considered. He barely thought about Roshinda any more, but having Freya at his home still felt a little strange somehow, like having her at the hospital did sometimes.
Two worlds colliding.
He wanted to start afresh, come back to a place that was just his again, where he could start building new memories. He still hadn’t told Freya he’d been with a woman who he’d known full well had probably been going to leave him. Why was it still so hard to talk about it when he was over it?
Watching Freya leading him towards the living room, where his father was, the thought was like having ice tossed at his libido: despite all her warnings, and her open admission of wanting to leave Amsterdam, he was walking head first into making exactly the same mistake again.
* * *
‘Fred has always been the strong, supportive one, you know, he was in charge of everything... But now that’s up to me,’ Mira said in confidence. ‘I think losing his ability to drive has been the most difficult thing. Sometimes he’s still angry about it but we can’t risk letting him on the roads.’
Mira reached for the bottle of wine across the table, but Freya put her hand over her glass. ‘Oh, no, thank you.’ She’d probably had too much already, but she was enjoying the way Lucas’s mother was confiding in her like an old friend around their rustic wooden dining table up on the deck beneath the old stationary sails.
Fred was a lovely man and she could see where Lucas got his good looks from. He was cheerful and positive, but it was worrying, the amount of stuff he was forgetting or getting wrong.
The view of the setting sun across the flat expanse of countryside was spectacular, however. Lucas had asked if she’d mind taking a photo of them all on her phone, with the timer, and the lighting had been picture-perfect. This was the first time she’d ever dined under the sails of a windmill. ‘More wine?’ Mira was wielding the bottle again.
‘Are you trying to get Freya drunk, Mum?’ Lucas scolded affectionately from the other side of the table.
‘That’s how I got your father to open up to me,’ Mira said. ‘Remember that, Fred? Our first date, when you finally admitted you still lived at home with your parents?’ She put her head in her hands and turned to Freya with blue eyes twinkling. ‘We were only eighteen. I knew he was the one for me long before he did. We shared a bottle of whisky up on the deck of this old mill. We talked about buying it together, even on our first date.’
Fred was just staring at his hands now. Speckled and weathered from what looked like years spent outdoors. He shook his head, running a hand slowly and apologetically through his greying beard. ‘I don’t...’
He tapered off, as if searching the void and coming up with nothing. Lucas’s expression was one of pain and sadness suddenly; Freya wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she appreciated that he was being strong for his family.
Mira fiddled despondently with the stem of her wine glass. Lucas put a hand reassuringly over his father’s. ‘It’s OK, Dad,’ he assured him, when it was clear Fred’s memories of his and Mira’s first date were gone. The gesture, as well as his tone, almost moved Freya to his side of the table again. Fred had been remembering things that had never happen
ed and confusing things that had all evening. She could tell how frustrating it was for both Lucas and his mother, but it was clear their bond was tight. Envy flared deep in her veins over this kind of closeness. It was a closeness she hadn’t realised she’d been missing when it came to her mother and Liv.
‘So, tell us about this dog,’ Mira said, looking towards Freya for a lighter topic. ‘How long have you had Shadow?’
‘A few weeks. I’m just fostering him, really,’ she explained. Discomfort snaked around her suddenly.
As if reading her mind, Lucas said, ‘Freya can’t keep the dog, Mum. She doesn’t know how long she’s going to be in Amsterdam.’
‘Oh?’ Mira looked intrigued.
‘She’s thinking of taking a role at a hospital in Vietnam.’ Lucas looked at her pointedly over the table and her heart began to thrum.
‘I was in Vietnam once,’ Fred said, perking up.
‘No you weren’t, darling,’ Mira corrected gently. ‘But we’ve both always wanted to go.’
Freya smiled as best she could. She had to admire Lucas’s checkmate. She’d mentioned the Vietnam role a few times before, and she’d expected him to ask her more about it. In a way she had wanted him to. She wondered if, subconsciously, she’d wanted to hear him say that he didn’t want her to go. But he hadn’t.
‘Nothing is arranged yet, I have to sort some things out here first. Like selling the house I inherited,’ she said. ‘And...um...my mother lives near here, too,’ she added tentatively, ‘in Weesp.’
‘Oh, it’s a lovely place, isn’t it?’ Mira clapped her hands together. ‘I go to my life drawing class there every Friday afternoon.’
‘I’ve never been there,’ Freya admitted. Something about Mira’s eyes brimming with concern for her made her continue. ‘We’re not that close, Mira, we haven’t been for years, or ever, if I’m honest, and...maybe some of it is my fault but I’d like to try and amend that while I’m here, if I can. If it’s not too late.’
Mira took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry to hear you’re not close. What happened?’
‘She probably doesn’t want to go into it here,’ Lucas interjected, probably seeing her tense up. He got to his feet and put his hands gently on her shoulders from behind her chair, and the look of compassion in Mira’s eyes almost broke her. ‘Freya, come down to the kitchen with me?’
She almost didn’t let him take her hand and guide her back down the steep windmill stairs from the deck in her heels, but she relented halfway down. ‘I apologise, I’m an idiot,’ he said when they were standing face to face in the kitchen on the parquet floor. ‘I shouldn’t have brought that up in front of them, I should have talked to you in private about your plans for Vietnam.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said wearily, rubbing her eyes. ‘I should have talked to you about it before now. I guess I just don’t know what this is...’
‘I know, and I got a little defensive seeing you talk with my parents. Let’s just say I’ve been in this position before with someone I knew would eventually leave the country, and I’m not too excited about it happening again. But for what it’s worth, it means a lot that you’re here right now.’
‘Oh, Lucas, I’m so sorry. I haven’t stopped to consider what my leaving does to other people, how it makes them feel... I didn’t even tell my own mother I was leaving for America when I got my place at university.’
‘Come here.’ Lucas pulled her against him, in the middle of the floor. He held her tight, wrapping his big arms around her, and she closed her eyes, breathing him in. Suddenly tears were streaming down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry I’m being over-emotional, this is not my usual style.’
‘I know that. That’s how I know how much all this is affecting you.’
She took his hands in hers, like anchors. He knew her better than she’d thought he did. He was starting to care for her, like she was starting to care for him. But Freya was still surprised at herself for bringing up her mother like that.
‘There’s something about being here with your parents, Lucas, and you. Your dad is losing so many precious memories and I can’t even... I keep telling myself to do something about this rift with my mother. I promised myself I would after Martijn died, but I still keep making excuses. Liv will be here soon...’
He ran a finger along her bottom lip to wipe away a tear. ‘It’s been a long time, and you’re scared to rock the boat without your sister here, but maybe you should see your mother alone and clear the air.’
‘I know I should try.’
‘Freya, just make the call to your mother. Better than that, I’ll drive you to see her myself—would you like that? We can go whenever you like, just say the word. We could even go right now.’
‘Now?’
‘Why not? No time like the present, right? I’ll take you to her door, and I’ll wait for you. Weesp isn’t far from here.’
Freya shook her head, pressing her hands over his. It wasn’t so much guilt racking her now over maintaining such a distance from her mother for so long without trying to sort things out. It was sadness and regret. ‘You would really do that for me?’ she managed.
‘Of course I would,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her again. ‘We’ll tell Mira and Fred right now and we’ll leave Shadow with them, they love having him here, and we’ll go and see your mum. You can finally be at peace.’
‘I don’t deserve you,’ Freya said, nestling back into his shoulder.
She couldn’t squash or deny the dizzying wave of something that felt a lot like love, blowing in with the bleat of a sheep through the open window, but she stepped away, almost too quickly as it threatened to spill over into tears. A fling wasn’t love, she reminded herself quickly. He didn’t love her, he was just being... Lucas. She’d simply got caught up in another moment.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FREYA’S NERVES WERE shot to pieces the whole ride to Weesp. What if she got there and her mother didn’t want to see her? It would be justified, perhaps, but mortifying. She often thought that maybe too much time had passed to patch things up with Elise anyway. They were fundamentally different people.
Their relationship, which had never really got off the ground in the first place, was irrevocably broken. But at the same time she longed to look fondly at the woman who had given birth to her. It would be nice to tell stories about funny stuff she’d done, like Lucas could do. It wasn’t much fun to keep dwelling on the past when it had been so unhappy.
‘Are you OK?’ Lucas asked. He reached a hand across the gearstick and held her hand on her lap. For a second she thought about not taking it; she had no clue what was happening between them but it felt like their relationship was morphing quickly into something she couldn’t control. Something that could do more damage to her than any other hurt she’d ever experienced.
‘I’m OK,’ she said, forcing herself to take deep breaths. It was still light out, but it was only nine o’clock.
Maybe her mother would be making a last cup of tea before bed, or pouring a gin and tonic. Maybe she’d be doing yoga, or constructing furniture—she had no clue what her mother might be doing after all this time because she didn’t really know her.
‘I just hope she wants to talk to me.’
‘Of course she will, she’s your mother.’ He indicated right and swung onto the tree-lined Appelstraat, the street where her mother lived with Stijn. ‘Are you ready?’
She pulled a face to indicate she wasn’t, and he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand that made her insides contract with lust again. Then she took more deep breaths.
‘Nice place.’ Lucas slowed the car outside the house. It was old but charming, probably built in the mid-eighteenth century. Chunky yellow bricks were offset by quirky green window shutters and a low-hanging thatched roof. The front garden was manicured and surrounded by plants and flowerb
eds, a bird table, a set of black wicker garden furniture. She could make out a dreamcatcher in one of the front windows.
‘I’ll wait just around the corner,’ Lucas said. She nodded and went to take off her seat belt. Before she could open the door he caught her arm. ‘Remember, no matter what happens, at least you will have seen her, and I’ll be right here.’
She wanted to kiss him, like she had at his parents’ house in the hallway before her emotions had turned things on their head and forced her to re-evaluate what was real and what about their fling was just an excuse to run away from her issues.
Walking down the path, the world seemed to move in slow motion. She was finally here. The scent of jasmine floated around her nose, and somewhere frogs were singing. Her mother had built an idyllic life, it seemed, in a serene small town of green. A total contrast to the chaos she’d been swept up in as a child.
The front door was red. A statue of two cheeky-looking elves sat amongst lavender in a plant pot on the doorstep. It reminded her of Mira and she silently drew strength from Lucas’s wonderful mother as she pressed a finger on the doorbell. And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
She wandered to the window. A faint light was on, making silhouettes of a piano and more plants, a comfy-looking couch, and an easel with a canvas on it. But no more lights came on. Disappointment and mild relief washed over her, right before a voice made her jump.
‘Can I help you?’
Freya spun around, her heart pounding. ‘Mum?’ She hadn’t expected her to come from around the back of the house, but the woman was approaching her now across the grass, holding what looked like a bowl and a plastic bag.
‘Mum? You mean, you’re Elise’s daughter?’ The woman stepped up close to inspect her. She was young, maybe mid-thirties, dressed in overalls over a crop top, and flip-flops. She had blue dreadlocks. Freya almost laughed.
‘I am her daughter, yes, my name is Freya.’
