Page 25 of In the Same Boat

‘Hi,’ he says – with a level of calm that only unsettles me further.

‘What are you doing in my house?’ I ask, cutting to the chase. ‘Are you… Have you… You’re not stalking me, are you?’

He cackles.

‘No, Sammie, I’m not stalking you,’ he replies. ‘I hate to break it to you, but based on our interactions last night, you didn’t exactly come off as someone I would want to track down and see again.’

‘None taken,’ I reply – assuming he meant to add a ‘no offence’ to the end of that. ‘So what are you doing in my house, feet up, eating my olives, drinking my drinks…’

‘What is this, by the way?’ he asks, holding the can up.

‘It’s kombucha.’

‘I thought it was pop,’ he says, pulling a face.

‘It is – it’s mango flavour. It’s better for you.’

‘It’s horrible,’ he informs me.

‘Well, I’m sorry the service isn’t up to standard, I’ll be sure to do better in the future,’ I reply, sarcasm turned up to the max. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here, if you’re not in fact a stalker?’

‘I’m waiting,’ he says simply.

‘Waiting? Waiting for what?’

‘For my dad. He asked me to pick him up.’

‘Your dad?’ I reply – once again repeating his words to him. ‘Is he out with my mum?’

Nico shakes his head and I can’t help but pull a face at him. What the hell is he on about?

‘Where are they?’ I ask.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead he just points… upstairs.

My eyes widen in horror.

‘No?!’ I gasp.

‘Yep,’ he says with a nod. He sips his drink again, then pulls a face. It says everything about his attitude that he somehow thought it was going to suddenly get better. ‘This is really not nice,’ he says again. ‘The olives are great though.’

‘So glad you like them. What do you mean – they’re upstairs? Together?’

I don’t actually care that he likes the olives, and I can only think of one reason why my mum and his dad would be upstairs together. But… if someone could give me any other reason, that would be great.

I close my eyes briefly and inhale through my nose, but when I open my eyes he’s still there. So I suppose that says a lot about my attitude too.

‘Tell me you’re joking,’ I say.

‘I’m not.’

‘My mum is upstairs,’ I say carefully, ‘with your dad.’

‘Yes.’

‘In my house.’

‘I would assume she’s in her own room, if that makes you feel any better?’