‘Sorry about that,’ Paul said, coming back into the lounge area, having gone to his study to make an urgent phone call. ‘Business, I’m afraid. An irate client. Clearly, he thinks I’m available even when I’m on leave. Some people never cease to amaze me.’

Shaking his head, he walked across to the drinks table, dropping his phone on the coffee table as he went, Sophie noted.

‘Wine?’ he asked her, waving a glass in her direction.

‘No, thanks.’ Sophie smiled. ‘I think I’ve still got a hangover from last night.’

‘I doubt that. You only had two small glasses. It’s probably motion sickness from the rollercoasters. Maybe later, yes?’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ Sophie thought not. She’d thought she must have been coming down with something last night, but the wine, which she hardly ever drank, had made her feel so woozy, it had been all she could do to undress and crawl into bed. And then she’d had some really weird dreams. ‘Do you mind if I watch some TV?’ She nodded towards the telly.

‘Help yourself,’ Paul said, glugging back a red wine and topping up his glass. ‘There’s Netflix on there, if you fancy selecting us a film for later. I’m just going to take a quick shower and then how about I cook us a proper meal? You haven’t tasted anything until you’ve tasted my creamy mushroom linguini.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Sophie said, flashing him another smile as she located the remote and seated herself on the sofa. ‘I don’t know my cannelloni from my spaghetti.’

Paul looked pleased at that. ‘It’s perfect with parmesan,’ he said, pulling off his trainers, and placing them by the front door. ‘And garlic bread, of course.’

‘Can’t have pasta without garlic bread,’ Sophie concurred, watching him over her shoulder.

‘A girl after my own heart,’ Paul said, stepping away from the trainers then cocking his head to one side and surveying them. He stepped back again to arrange them just so.

‘Won’t be long,’ he said, walking between her and the TV.

He straightened the magazines on the table and the cushions as he went, Sophie noticed, knitting her brow; one cushion, in particular, required much realigning, and he then stood back and studied it as if it were a piece of art or something. He was obviously a perfectionist. She’d have to remind herself not to leave her crap all over the place, but that was no big price to pay for crashing here for a while. It was a hell of a better option than a caravan in Herefordshire, assuming Holly had been able to swing it. She doubted she would have been able to stay there for long, in any case, and her job options would have been far fewer than in Brum. Here would do nicely, until she could find a place of her own, and if her mum didn’t like it, that was tough after treating her with nil respect. It would certainly show her that she was perfectly capable of managing without her or Justin, and the shit they’d dumped on her because they thought they had a right to.

‘Help yourself to anything you need,’ Paul said. ‘There’s Coke in the fridge if you don’t fancy anything stronger yet.’

‘Will do. Thanks,’ Sophie called, noting him refilling up his glass as he headed for the bedroom area. He drank a lot. Again, not a big deal. It’s not like it was whisky he was knocking back, and he was okay – good fun, bar the perfectionist thing. Sophie could live with that. She’d survived a lot worse lately.

She hadn’t asked him about the new phone. She’d thought that might be pushing her luck after all the money he’d spent on her and his offering to pay her uni fees. She was still slightly gobsmacked about that. But then, he was her father and he wouldn’t have offered unless he’d wanted to.

She eyed his phone on the coffee table, wondering whether she should maybe send her mum a text, just to let her know she was okay. On the other hand, she’d never given a stuff about her feelings, had she? Her deliberations were cut short as Paul reappeared, heading swiftly across to the table to sweep the phone up.

‘Forgot to mention something to the client who thinks I’ve got nothing better to do,’ he said, glancing despairingly up at the ceiling. ‘Work – I swear I’m thinking about it 24/7. Selected that film yet?’

‘Not yet, no,’ Sophie said, flicking through the list. ‘How about 10 Cloverfield Lane or American Psycho?’

Paul looked doubtful. ‘Aren’t they 18s?’

Sophie swung her gaze towards him. Was he serious?

‘Don’t look so alarmed, Sophie.’ He laughed, obviously noting the look. ‘I’d hardly allow you wine and then censor your TV viewing. In any case, Cloverfield Lane’s a twelve, I think.’

Sophie blew out a sigh of relief. ‘You’re bit of a Netflix geek then?’

‘I watch a lot of TV, yes,’ he said, smiling sadly. ‘I tend to have a lot of time on my hands, without the woman I love.’

Oh, shit. Raw nerve. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I imagine that’s really hard.’

‘It is.’ Drawing in a long breath, he glanced down.

‘So, which one?’ Sophie asked, guessing he didn’t want to go there.

Paul thought about it, a not very enthusiastic look on his face. ‘I don’t really like psycho stuff, to be honest,’ he said, reaching to relieve her of the control and flicking through the genres. ‘How about we compromise and watch Once Upon a Time in Venice? John Goodman stars in that, too, and Bruce Willis. It’s supposed to be pretty good.’

Sophie had quite fancied 10 Cloverfield Lane, but she could compromise. That’s what being an adult was supposed to be all about, after all. ‘Sounds good.’ She nodded, feeling pleased when his smile brightened.

‘Five minutes,’ he said, heading jauntily off to the bathroom. ‘And then I’ll get that pasta on.’

---

‘Food is served, Madame,’ Paul called from the dining area an hour later.

‘Cool,’ Sophie said, flicking off the TV and going to where Paul was placing the plates down. Blimey, he really did things in style, she thought, noting the fancily folded napkins and what she supposed were crystal glasses on the long chrome and glass table.

‘I feel like the Queen,’ she said, as he took the tea towel from his arm, dusted her seat with it, and then pulled the chair out for her.

‘Nothing but the best for my daughter,’ he said, tucking her in and going around to pluck up her napkin, flick it with a flourish and place it on her lap.

‘I thought an unoaked Chardonnay to complement the meal,’ he said, topping up her already half-filled glass. ‘I find the earthy flavours from mushrooms can leave mild wines tasting like water,’ he added knowledgeably, placing the bottle down and taking his seat at the other end of the table.

Sophie looked warily from her glass to him. ‘I’m not sure I should,’ she said uncertainly.

‘You can’t have creamy mushroom linguini without a good white wine,’ Paul said, nodding at her glass as he took a mouthful of his food. ‘Sip it. I promise you’ll appreciate it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your intake.’

Just the one wouldn’t hurt, Sophie supposed. And now he’d poured it… Picking up the glass, she took a sip and squeezed her eyes closed as the fruity, acidy flavour hit the back of her throat. Wow, that was seriously strong.

‘Well?’ he asked, clearly interested in her view.

‘Excellent,’ Sophie said, not entirely sure whether it was. ‘It’s kind of…’ She had a think, not wishing to sound like an ignoramus. ‘Sharp and crisp, and fruity.’

‘You obviously have a nose,’ Paul said, leaving Sophie perplexed. ‘You’ll probably notice there’s no buttery vanilla taste. Some people call it the naked wine.’

Now Sophie was definitely perplexed, but he clearly knew his stuff. Obviously, he had lived the high life, which was fair enough, since he’d earned it. Plus, he’d had a shitload of tragedy on the personal front, problems even worse than hers, and he was getting on with his life. And that, Sophie decided, picking up her glass and taking a larger swig, was exactly what she intended to do. ‘Cheers,’ she said, nodding him a toast.

Paul did likewise. ‘Eat up,’ he said, indicating her meal with his fork. ‘Don’t want all the chef’s hard work going to waste, do we?’

Grabbing her fork, Sophie dug in, swirling the linguini around and taking a huge mouthful. ‘Do you think I should ring Mum?’ she asked conversationally between chews. ‘Just to let her know I’m all right?’

‘Probably a good idea,’ Paul said, taking another sip of his wine. ‘Maybe not tonight though. Don’t want to ruin our film night, do we?’

‘No.’ Sophie slowed her chewing, knitting her brow as a realisation began to dawn.

‘I’ve spoken to her anyway. She’s fine with you being here, as long as you want to be.’

Sophie stopped chewing, grabbed up her wine, took a huge gulp and swallowed hard. It had meat in it. She’d just swallowed part of a pig. Shit. What did she do? She felt sweat prickle her forehead. She couldn’t not eat it, not after all his careful preparation.

Reaching for her glass, she took another drink, feeling definitely nauseous as she did.

‘All right, Sophie?’ Paul eyed her curiously over his glass.

‘Yes,’ Sophie said quickly, looking down at her plate, and then, seeing the small chunks of ham there, feeling dangerously close to actually being sick. ‘I, um… ’Scuse me,’ she said, scraping her chair back. ‘I feel a bit…’

Getting to her feet, Sophie turned for the bathroom, and found herself groping for the walls as the room shifted worryingly off-kilter.

‘Sophie?’ Paul was behind her, sounding alarmed.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, her head reeling, her stomach churning. ‘I’m not feeling very well. I…’ Trailing off, she stumbled forwards, and the walls tilted. Attempting to stay upright, the room now revolving steadily, like a merry-go-round on slow spin, Sophie tried another step, but her limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

‘Sophie!’ Paul caught her as her legs gave way like butter beneath her.

‘I thought you were coming down with something.’ Her eyes shut tight, Sophie heard him as he swept her up into his arms and carried her towards the bedroom. ‘You probably have a vitamin deficiency. You really should be eating meat, you know.’