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‘It’s a bit of a bombsite,’ he warned with a laugh. I’d missed the sound of it, the way it made his eyes crinkle. ‘But if you don’t mind mess, be my guests.’ He stepped aside, made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘Welcome to Casa Melgren.’
My mother wrinkled her nose.
‘What’s that smell?’
‘Drains are blocked. Awful hard to find a plumber right now, so it is.’
‘Speak to Des. Maybe he can help.’
Matty winked at me, pulled a zombie face. Des the Undead, we called him privately. My mother didn’t approve. It’s not his fault.He’s just a bit socially awkward, that’s all.
I giggled, slipped my hand in his, the way I’d done with her in the park. His hand was bigger, it swallowed mine whole.
‘I’m glad you’re back,’ I told him.
‘Me too, pumpkin.’
He pulled me close, kissed the top of my head. Any lingering resentment I’d had about how he’d abandoned us melted away. Matty belonged with us, the missing jigsaw piece.
My mother was less forgiving.
‘Glad I’m back?’ he whispered in her ear.
A kid who knows they’ve been bad. Do you still love me?
She shrugged him off.
‘Six weeks. They don’t have phones in Ireland?’
‘Not this winter, they don’t.’
She cocked an eyebrow, gave him a sceptical look.
‘The storms were terrible. Worst snow in a hundred years, guy at the post office said. The lines went down as soon as I got there. I felt terrible, knew how you’d be feeling. You must have thought I’d forgotten about you. And then when you didn’t hear from me over Christmas. . .’ He shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Ams.’
She shrugged.
‘I figured it was the weather.’
‘I knew you would.’
I glanced at him. If he realised he’d just contradicted himself, it didn’t show.
‘You weren’t exaggerating!’ I exclaimed, delighted. ‘What a tip!’
My mother went red.
‘Sophie!’
‘What? You said it smelled.’
Matty chuckled.
‘Kid’s got a point. The state of the place. It’s practically a crime scene.’
I noticed then that he always backed me up, even when it wasn’t in his interests to do so. A sign of his love, I thought at the time. Later it occurred to me there might have been a different reason. By that time my trust was less easily bought.
He was right about it being like a crime scene though. There were crumpled clothes strewn over the couch. Empty champagne bottles. And a leash. Leather handle, heavy silver chain.
