Page 13 of One Last Thing
‘I do.’
She purses her lips and removes her sunglasses to look me in the eye. ‘He might not have wanted me to tell you. You’re going to be angry about it.’
‘Angry about what? And who is “he”?’
She frowns. ‘Your father,’ she finally answers in a soft voice.
I stare at her. ‘You’re here because of dad?’
She nods.
‘But . . .I’mhere because of dad,’ I tell her.
Her eyes widen with what I think is genuine surprise. ‘You are? In what way?’
‘If you must know, he . . . he wanted me to scatter his ashes here.’
She gasps. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You’ve come here to scatter your father’s ashes?’
‘It was his wish.’
‘But darling,’ she says, sitting forwards, ‘I’mhere to scatter his ashes.’
I glare at her. ‘That isn’t funny, Mum. Stop it.’
‘I’m telling the truth!’ she insists.
‘You can’t be telling the truth, because I have his ashes upstairs in my room.’
‘So do I.’
‘That’s . . .ridiculous!’ I cry.
‘Quite absurd!’
‘I have brought the ashes here on his instruction. He booked the flights and accommodation for me and everything,’ I say, gesturing to the chateau.
‘He did the same for me.’
‘I have his ashes, Mum. I literally carried them through in my hand luggage!’
‘So did I! That’s what’s in the box that I was holding on the balcony earlier,’ she says, throwing her hands up in exasperation. ‘I was showing him the view!’
‘Mum—’
‘Megan, why would I lie about this?’
Gaping at her, I’m about to interrogate her further when Nico appears at the doors to the veranda. We both turn to look at him. With a sheepish expression, he steps out.
‘Good morning,’ he says, his forehead creased. ‘I hope you slept well?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ I say politely, blushing.
‘Nico, I get the feeling you know more about what’s going on here than you’re letting on,’ Mum says in that charming but no-bullshit tone she’s mastered.
