“Here.” I put the mug of hot chocolate in front of her, making a note to restock on marshmallows tomorrow before Lauren noticed they were all gone. It might not even make Lauren’s radar, but she was fifteen and some days saying her name could induce a whole stomping meltdown, not dissimilar to when she was two.
“Thank you. The menu’s good, the one for the event.”
Her words sounded full of something that she was fighting with. I sat down at the table, side on to her, close enough so that my foot brushed hers.
“I’ll prep the dishes this week so you can give me some input…”
“Jack…” she interrupted and her hand grasped my forearm. “You don’t need to. I trust you. Fuck, I’m crap at this.”
I was liking how she touched me far too much. “I’ll make us the menu to try. It needs a run through anyway. And I get it. The restaurants are your livelihood.”
“They’re proof I made it.”
I wanted to ask her for more information, find out more about her past, but when she moved her hand away I could tell she’d rebuilt the wall that had briefly slipped.
“I get that. Which is why you need proof that I’m not going to fuck up this event. It’ll give me confidence and you assurance. Tuesday. Be hungry.”
She smiled, tiredness written all over her face.
“Shall I run you home? I’ve only had one small glass of wine.” I wasn’t going to let her walk through Greenwich at this time.
“Lauren? What if she wakes up?”
“She’s fifteen. She’ll sleep like the dead until about ten.” When I’d be waking her up, because despite being a teenager and a dance prodigy she still liked to help out most Sundays and Thursday evenings if I was around. I’d figured she would have probably become bored with it by now; mixing with London’s homeless wasn’t something to put on social media, but she understood why I did it.
“I won’t say no. I think I’ll end up falling asleep on the Tube.”
I briefly considered asking her to stay, but that was a path littered with mantraps. I would’ve offered her my bed and then spent the night on the sofa imagining me in that bed with her, wondering if she ever parted with any of the control she held so preciously close to her.
“Let me leave a note in case Lolly wakes up.”
* * *
She livedin a large semi-detached in Southwark, one with several floors and period features. It looked tidy even in the night.
“Nice place.” My house would’ve taken up the space of a whole two floors. Lauren was never seeing this place, or hearing about it, else she’d be wanting me to open a restaurant or sell both kidneys and probably a lung.
“I can’t make a claim to having done any of it. Ava Callaghan advised me to buy it and then she decided how to furnish it, although she did a good job. You want to have a look round?”
It was past midnight, which was still fairly early in my world. Even if I went back home I’d be browsing the sports channels, winding down with some NHL or NFL game. “I’ll probably have to hide under a rock when I compare it with my place.”
She laughed, loudly. “I like your house. It’s like a home. None of my chairs are anywhere near as comfortable. Ava made it look like I had some form of influence in it.”
I followed her in, leaving the car parked outside. The garden at the front was small, the door lit with a security light. It was a big place for someone to live alone.
“Why such a palace for one person?” Curiosity got the better of me.
“Investment. I like the area. I wanted something different from the two bed flat I’d lived in for years. Ava had already bought this to flip and she suggested it would work for me.”
We went inside. I wasn’t the type of person to notice the interiors of places. The size of the TV yes, surround sound and speakers, for sure. Other than the kitchen, I couldn’t describe much to anyone. Maybe the colour at a push.
What I did see was Simone. As big as the house was, it was furnished simply and it felt calm, which I figured her friend had worked out was what Simone needed. Then we walked into the kitchen.
“Fuck me.” It was huge. And complete. Possibly bigger than what we had at the Mount Street Social and definitely bigger than what there would be at Toad Hall. The centre contained an island, a six ring burner, worktops made to prepare food on and space.
“I hardly cook here. It was meant to be a kitchen to entertain in.” She gestured to the empty space at the other side of the room. “I should probably stick a sectional sofa in there or something.”
“Or start entertaining. Or hiring out the room.”
