Paint Me Anew (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Come Back

She woke up with a jolt, and her heart thrashed in her throat. The familiar fear made her brace herself - and then she realised that she'd fallen asleep sitting at the man's kitchen table. It was Varya who'd woken her up. The girl's hand was still on Anya's shoulder.

"We should be going back to the farm, Mum," Varya said.

Anya looked around, trying to calm down.

"Where's–" For a second she couldn't remember what his name was. She'd been calling him 'the man' in her head. "Mr. Bjornsson?"

"He's in the bathroom." Varya pointed at the door on the other side of the room, leading to a small hall, the back door, and the bathroom. "He said he'd take a shower. You were asleep for almost an hour. He didn't let me wake you up."

"Oh god..." Anya rubbed her eyes. "Did I just conk out on the table? I thought I'd just sat down for a second."

"Well, you know how you tell me to watch out with men?" Varya said. "He didn't do anything dangerous, we just sat and talked a bit. And he asked me to help him to walk to the bathroom, but again he didn't touch me– you know, in that way," Varya continued. "He just held on to my arm, but he wasn't close to my body."

"When was that?" Anya threw a glance towards the hall.

"About ten minutes ago. He said I should wake you up and that we could leave." Varya pointed at the box. "Persimmon is asleep in there again, so I say, we can go."

"OK," Anya answered, suppressing a jaw-breaking yawn. "Let me just talk to him for a second, and then we will."

Water was running behind the door, and Anya had to knock twice to get an answer.

"Yes?"

"We're leaving, Mr. Bjornsson!" She was going to say she'd be back in the evening - and then she remembered that it might not be that easy. "Are you alright? Do you need my help? Will you–"

"Goodnight, Mrs. Ferguson," he interrupted her in a pointed tone over the noise of running shower.

Anya sighed, shouted a goodbye, and went back to the room to pick up the cat box.

***

"Mum, you're too nervy," Varya said and lifted her eyes off her drawing. "What's wrong?"

Anya stopped dangling her foot.

"I don't know, solnyshko," she answered and gave the girl an absent-minded smile. "Just some odd feeling. Like I forgot something."

"I don't think you did." Varya went back to moving a coloured pencil on paper. "For once, it's actually all nice and quiet today. Martin's away, Sally and Henry are staying over at Mrs. Tiddles. I say, consider it a night off and rest."

Anya laughed and rolled onto her back on their bed. Her gaze distractedly wandered the ceiling.

"What did you talk about with– Mr. Bjornsson while I slept?"

"Drawing," Anya answered. "Did you know that he used to be famous? I googled his paintings. He's absolutely brilliant! Well, he was. He said he didn't paint anymore."

"Tell me you didn't ask him directly," Anya said, cringing.

"Why not?" The girl shrugged. "There's a canvas on the floor there, didn't you see? I asked him whether he was working on something new, but he said it was just covering a hole in the floor. He was joshing, right?"

Anya folded her hands on her chest and said nothing. In her experience, alcohol was the killer of creativity. Dom had stopped playing once most of his days had been filled with drinking.