*
The door opened and Nick cleared his throat. “Mrs O’Brien?”
The lean woman nodded with uncertainty as Nick proceeded. “Hello, I’m wondering if Nicole might be available, please.”
“No, I’m sorry,” shaking her head and looking down, closing the door as she finished, “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
Nick halted the door with a slap of his palm and winced, drawing his hand back quickly. A tremor of pain had struck his arm at contact, and Nick knew why. If he hadn’t, Felix the cat had crept low and sat just behind Nicole’s mother, almost as a reminder that wolves could not cross the threshold of a dwelling occupied by a cat.
“Excuse me?!” she hissed.
“Please! Wait. I don’t mean to be rude. I just…it’s very important that I get a message to her.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Her number? Her address? Something, please. I’m a friend.”
“A friend would have her number, wouldn’t you think?”
Nick closed his eyes for a brief moment. He knew how the next line was going to sound. “I’ve lost my phone. Mrs O’Brien, it’s true. I went to school with her, well, the same school. St. Andrews. My name is Nick and we were very close. How do you think I knew her house? Because she invited me.”
The smile he got was not one of happiness. “See, Nicole would never invite someone over we don’t know. Goodbye.”
Nick again halted the door. The pain was terrible, yet Nick focused on the sound of the TV in the other room. “Tributes have poured in as the funeral of Alan Sarsky was held today. Dr Sarsky and his partner of eleven years were found murdered on the front lawn of their London home. Witnesses, that saw the bodies, say there were violent slash marks across both men and that Dr Sarsky’s skull had been beaten in. Though Police have laid no charges, it is still being viewed as a hate crime…”
“Sarsky…was Nicole with him?” Nick snapped.
“Let go of this door, right now!”
“Tell me.”
“I am not telling you a thing. Let. Go.”
“Mrs O’Brien…Nicole’s bedroom is upstairs. The second door to the right. It is painted lilac in one shade except for a small patch, just above her bed, where she tried to cover a dent she made at eleven. Your dining room table seats seven, not the usual four or six. One chair for Nicole’s deceased grandmother because she meant so much to your family and adored family meal times. Your fireplace has two igniters but only one works. The hardwood floors of your sitting room were redone, less than two years after your renovations, because of water damage from a burst pipe under the house. I could go on.”
Mrs O’Brien looked frozen. “How…”
“Because I adore your daughter and when she talks, I listen. Please help me. She might be in trouble. I need to find her.”
“How do you know what her bedroom looks like?”
Nick faltered at that. He didn’t think it appropriate to admit that he had spent a great deal of hours in there, but how to approach this when he didn’t want to lie? “Well, um…”
“So it’s you…”
“I’m sorry?”
“The last thing my daughter said to me was that she’d slept with someone while we were away on our cruise.”
“Oh…” Nick looked down for a moment, thinking. He didn’t want to deny it as he wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed, but it seemed very uncharacteristic of Nicole to be so candid. “Well, yes but I don’t see how that is relevant?”
“That conversation was months ago. We haven’t spoken since. Because of you.”
“Me?”
Mrs O’Brien looked ready to strangle him but was called by the presence of her husband. Nicole’s father was slightly taller than his wife, with a round belly, and generous grey moustache.
“Sit down, darling. I’ll escort the young man out.”
He casually walked Nick to the front gate, ignoring Nick’s pleas for understanding. “Shut up,” he said, looking sideways at the front door. Nick followed his gaze and saw it closed. Mrs O’Brien was nowhere to be found. “Right, I need to know face to face what you intend to do if you see Nicole.”
Nick’s answer was out before he could stop it. “Grab her and never let go.”
“Don’t give me that. I want to know if you’re going to step up to your responsibility.”
“Responsibility?”
“Will you look after that child? And I mean look after it and her.”
“What child?”
But Nick already knew before her father spoke. It clicked. She was pregnant. Nicole. Pregnant with his child. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Nick shook his head and Mr O’Brien continued, “They fought over the phone months ago. Maria thought Nicole would’ve gotten it aborted but she didn’t. They haven’t spoken since. I can’t stand it. She won’t take our calls, and she’s just over seven months along if I’m not mistaken. I can live with my wife hating me…” his voice started to thicken, “but not seeing my daughter or my grandchild, it’s torture. She’s in England. She’s alone and vulnerable in a strange country. I wired almost five thousand dollars to her account for a plane home but it hasn’t been touched and now she would be too far along to fly. We have been on the phone to immigration. Consulates. No one cares or takes this seriously. Not with all this shit going on,” he said,
