Goodie shivered again and instinctively buried further into his chest. As a child she had had to rely on herself. She had long ago blocked the distant memory of her mama from her mind. When her thoughts strayed back there it tended to only be the image of those Christmas lights reflected in those glassy, unseeing eyes. But now something swam up from the back of her mind; she felt the soft brush of her mama’s lips on her forehead again, and a warm mug placed in her hand.
‘Gogol Mogol,’ she muttered against his chest.
‘What?’
‘I’d forgotten … the pain, the darkness, it pushes the other memories down.’
‘I don’t understand you, baby,’ Nick murmured, kissing her temple and stroking her hair.
‘I mustn’t forget …’ she muttered, her voice growing weaker, ‘must try not to forget …’ She trailed off and her body went slack as her breathing evened out.
* * *
‘That looks bloody gross, mate.’
Nick scowled at Ed, then peered over his iPad again to check the recipe before stirring the thick glop in the glass a couple of times.
‘Well, Russians are weird, aren’t they,’ Nick grumbled, ‘and anyway I haven’t warmed it up yet.’
Ed shook his head. ‘Think Goodie is more of a straight vodka type of girl. Not an egg, milk, honey with a dash of brandy drinker.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ Nick said, wishing he hadn’t asked Ed and Bertie over for the strategy meeting they needed before tomorrow. ‘She said Gogol Mogol, and this is what it is.’
‘She said that, but did she actually request it? Maybe it was a fever-induced nightmare of some sort of torture she’d been through.’
‘Looks a bit like that time we dared Dicky Vom-it-up Dickerson to drink that pint of curdled Baileys and whiskey that had been sitting on a radiator for a couple of days.’
‘Fun times,’ Nick deadpanned, and then rolled his eyes when he realized that yes, to Bertie it had indeed been fun times. Sometimes he thought Bertie would be happier in an alternative universe where you remained forever institutionalized in boarding school or at Oxford in the Bullingdon Club; not in the real world, where downing a pint of curdled Baileys with your trousers round your ankles and then vomiting it up over the bar wasn’t considered the height of entertainment.
Nick slammed the door of the microwave shut and scowled at them both, but was distracted by the bedroom door opening. Since yesterday Goodie had done a lot of sleeping. He’d decided not to risk moving her into his apartment: she may be weak but she could still probably inflict severe bodily harm if provoked to that extent. So he’d just moved into hers. It wasn’t like he was invading her privacy; she had almost no personal possessions whatsoever in her flat. Nick had bought the whole floor off plan when he decided where he wanted to live, thinking it would be convenient for his family when they came down to London. The developer had fully furnished and decorated them all, but the ones Nick and his family stayed in were full of books, pictures, old umbrellas, useless nick nacks … stuff. Goodie’s apartment had never been used before and still had the picture frame complete with fake family on the mantelpiece. She’d lived there for two months now, and literally nothing had been changed or displayed; it was almost eerie.
He smiled as he saw her emerge from the bedroom in just his shirt with Salem at her side; her hair was rumpled and her eyes slightly swollen, but the feverish flush was gone from her cheeks and her hands were steady. Her eyes widened as she took in the three men standing in her kitchen, then she narrowed them to glare at Nick
‘Oh hello, old girl,’ Bertie said into the silence, ignoring the uncomfortable atmosphere, as was his wont. ‘Heard you were feeling a bit flipperty-gibbert. Get well soon and all that.’ Goodie didn’t spare Bertie a glance, she was still staring at Nick.
‘What are you doing in my home?’ she said, her voice hoarse, but you could still hear the menace.
‘Making you this,’ Nick said cheerfully, turning back to the microwave as it pinged and pulling out the mug. Goodie stalked across the living area to the small kitchen. It looked as though she might physically eject them all for a moment, and then she stilled, her eyes flicking down to the mug Nick was holding out to her.
‘What?’ she whispered, the anger falling away from her face to be replaced by confusion.
‘Gogol Mogol,’ Nick told her.
‘I don’t under –’
‘You talked about it when I brought you the honey and lemon,’ he said gently, reaching forward to take her hand in his, and then lifting it up so that her fingers curled around the mug. Her eyes lifted from the mug to his as she took it from him and brought it up to her nose, inhaling deeply.
‘Bozhe moy,’* she breathed, lifting her other hand to wrap around the mug and hold it to her like it was the most precious thing she had ever seen. ‘You … you make for me?’ Her whispered words were thick with the Russian accent she normally suppressed. He nodded slowly, becoming a little alarmed by her out-of-character reaction; he could have sworn her eyes were actually wet for a moment. Slowly she placed the mug down on the kitchen counter with as much care as you would take over a priceless piece of china. Once she was free of it she hesitated for a second, still staring at him like she couldn’t believe he was real, the vulnerable expression on her face totally at odds with what Nick was used to. Then she moved: launching forward into him, the impact nearly forcing him back on one foot. Her arms clamped around him in a vice-like grip and she buried her face in his chest. Nick stood in shock for a second before he enclosed her in his large arms, dropped his face to the top of her head, closed his eyes and inhaled. Holding her small body to his, he felt relief sweep through him, like having her close but not in his arms had been some sort of unrecognized strain.
‘Golly,’ Bertie said, breaking the silence, and Nick felt Goodie stiffen in his arms. He had, on occasion, thought that Bertie could do with a good punch in the face, but in that moment he would have quite happily strangled him. ‘Much better than old Dicky’s reaction, although I doubt you’d have been quite as keen on cuddling him, the state he was in.’
Goodie tried to pull out of Nick’s arms and they stiffened around her, his need to keep her close so strong it was almost instinctive. But then Ed laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder. Nick turned his face to him and Ed shook his head once. Nick sighed and reluctantly loosened his grip so that she could push herself away.
‘Hey, Goodie Two Shoes,’ Ed said softly as she moved away until her back hit the counter. ‘You look a bit better, love.’ Goodie’s eyes flicked between the three men and it took a few seconds but then the shutters came down, blocking out any trace of vulnerability from before.
‘I am fine,’ she rasped, making her way around the kitchen island to put even more space between them. ‘I need to …’ She trailed off, looking lost for a moment; then she glanced down at what she was wearing, and to Nick’s complete amazement she blushed. ‘… get dressed.’ She turned on her heel and practically ran to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
‘Don’t push her,’ Ed said under his breath to Nick. ‘Let her come to you. Don’t make her feel trapped.’
