Page 13 of Break Me Apart
“You look constipated.”
“That’s just my superior bone structure.”
He laughs again, then goes quiet. I manage to smoke half the cigarette before Niko finally speaks again. “Cassie’s not right.”
I blow smoke out slowly. “Define not right.”
“I don’t know.” That, more than anything, tells me this is serious.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I ask, turning my head to study him properly.
“I mean, I don’t know,” he confirms, flicking ash to the ground. “In every letter she says she’s fine, and then half the things she writes don’t sound fine at all.”
“Such as?” I ask, holding his gaze for a second.
He takes his time responding. Not because he’s trying to be dramatic; that’s definitely not his style. “She says she’s tired,” he says at last. “But everyone with a baby is tired, so that by itself means nothing. Then she says she hasn’t been sleeping because Vladimir’s been restless, only thenext letter says he’s sleeping too much, and she keeps waking him to check he’s breathing. Then she says she doesn’t like taking him outside in case people look at him.”
“Look at him, how?” I ask, my frown visibly forming.
“She doesn’t say.”
“That’s helpful.”
“I know.” He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand and goes on. “Last week she wrote that the woman downstairs keeps listening at the door. Before that, she said she thinks someone’s been moving things in the flat when she’s out — except she’s barely going out at all, so I don’t know when that would be. Then she writes two pages about the baby and what he’s wearing and whether his cheeks feel hot and whether his cry sounds different, and it reads like she hasn’t sat down once since the last letter.” I say nothing, but he glances at me anyway, already knowing what I’m thinking. “Say it.”
“All right.” I stub ash off my cigarette. “It sounds bad.”
He lets out a breath that might be a laugh if there were any humour in it. “Very useful. Thanks oh wise one,” he says, dripping with sarcasm.
“I’mfull of wisdom. Ask anyone.”
He shakes his head and looks away again. That’s the thing with Niko. People think that because he jokes, grins and carries on, nothing gets to him. They’re wrong. He feels things hard. He just hates letting other people see.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask.
“A couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” I ask, turning to face him fully.
He bristles immediately. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m asking why I’m only hearing about this now.”
“Because I thought it would pass.”
“On what basis?”
“On the basis that she’s alone with a baby, I’m stuck here, and maybe everything looks worse on paper. I call when I can, but half the time she sounds normal for five minutes, and then she goes off somewhere strange. Starts talking too fast. Jumps from one thing to another. Or she goes quiet, like she’s listening to something. Then she tells me she’s fine and asks when I’m coming home. What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks, the last part sharper than he means to, but I let it pass.
“Do you trust her on her own?”
His head snaps round sofast I almost take a step back. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing, I’m only asking.”
“Don’t,” he snaps, grinding the cigarette under his boot.
“Niko—”
