When he got to De Vondeltuin café he slowed to a walk, swiping the sweat off his forehead. He took a long drink from his water bottle. He liked De Vondeltuin, especially in the evenings. It was where he and Madelon used to meet. A casual dinner on the terrace, talking as evening fell around them. Now that she was famous, they wouldn’t be able to do that any more, at least not without being disturbed. A knot tightened in his stomach. The price of fame could be incalculable. Just one photograph of Madelon and him together could open a door to misery for Bram. The press would have a field day.
Esteemed actress is sister of MolTec millionaire and a deadbeat.
They’d twist the facts, just as they’d done with Fred Zucker...
He’d met Fred through Eline. Fred was a great guy, friendly, good-natured, a popular professional cricketer who’d done a charity catwalk show along with other members of his team. Fred was generous with his money and his time, but that didn’t stop him from being pilloried by the press on account of a shady relative. That was what the gutter press did—destroyed good people.
Theo felt his jaw tightening. If the hacks joined up the dots, they’d be staking out Bram’s house in no time, knocking on his door, making his life hell... Madelon would weather it, he would cope, but Bram wasn’t strong enough to deal with it. That kind of attention could wipe out all the progress he’d made, set him back by miles. Theo wouldn’t let it happen. He’d storm the gates of hell itself before he’d let his brave, damaged brother go through that.
He took another pull from his water bottle, found himself staring at a girl with light-brown hair twisted up the way Mia wore hers. The girl was laughing with her friend, waving her hands about, bracelets jangling on her wrists. He turned away.
What did Mia do with herself on Sunday afternoons? He could see her hanging out at the quaint, bohemian waterfront café that Madelon used to like: Hannekes Boom. She’d fit right in there, being a bright young thing. Not that he was old, but he felt old most of the time. He’d always felt old, had always been beset with grown-up worries. He’d worried about where they could go to hide when his father came in drunk and spoiling for a fight; he’d worried about Madelon seeing things a little girl shouldn’t have to see; he’d been horrified at the sight of Bram’s bruises. The magic of childhood had passed him by, but that was the reality for kids from homes like his. It was why he’d got involved with the refuge; why it would be a lifelong commitment.
He ran a hand through his hair, set off running again. Mia was bound to be out somewhere, doing something, but with whom? It was hard to believe that she was single.
And then it came back to him, what she’d said when she’d told him about that night with Lotte’s attacker.
‘We bonded over brandy and a mutual hatred of scumbag men.’
Having a general hatred of scumbags was understandable, but maybe she’d been talking about a specific scumbag.
He gritted his teeth, ran faster. The thought of anyone hurting Mia made his blood boil. She reminded him of Bram, jumping into situations without thinking of herself. She’d intervened to make sure Ash got his chance to pitch; she’d braved a dark side street armed only with an umbrella; she’d stopped Lotte taking his photograph at the fundraiser; and she’d picked the kitten that no one else would have wanted... How could anyone ever hurt a girl like that? She was a sheltering sky, a haven, a beautiful soul. No wonder he felt her magnetic pull; no wonder he wanted to spend time with her. She felt like home, and a home was all he’d ever wanted.
As he neared the Leidsegracht-Prinsengracht bridge, he saw a group of tourists staring into the water. There was an air of anxiety in the craning necks, in the hands fluttering and hovering around mouths. He slowed, leaning over the railing to see what they were looking at. Something was splashing about in the water, splashing and sinking, flailing its paws, wailing. He glimpsed sharp white teeth, a pink tongue and wild, frightened eyes before the creature slipped under the surface.
It was a cat, drowning right in front of him! His pulse exploded. He bolted to the edge nearest to where it was struggling, looked around frantically for anything to throw, anything at all that it could sink its claws into, but there was nothing. He considered his tee shirt, pulling it quickly over his head, ripping the side seams apart so that he had the longest possible rope, then he flattened himself on the ground and threw the loose end over the water towards the cat.
‘C’mon, kitty! Grab it. Grab it!’
The cat lashed about. The tee-shirt rope wasn’t quite reaching.
He yanked the wet fabric back and looked over his shoulder at the spectating crowd. He caught a man’s eye. ‘Grab my ankles; hold on tight.’ With the stranger’s hands locked around his ankles, he pushed himself over the edge of the bank so that his torso was clear over the water. He threw the makeshift rope towards the cat again, and this time it was close enough. The cat yowled, sank, then came up, clawing at the fabric.
Relief rushed through him. ‘That’s it! Hold on. Hold on, kitty...don’t let go.’
He pulled in the tee-shirt rope slowly, not wanting to jerk the fabric out of the cat’s claws. When the animal was near
