The Roommates by Rachel Sargeant

Author:Rachel Sargeant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-07-15T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 39

Imogen

“Welcome, welcome, so kind of you.” A tiny woman with a sing-song voice comes into the hall through the door Rogers used. Her dark hair’s scooped into a ponytail and she’s not wearing make-up. Although her face is line-free, there are dark shadows under her eyes.

The woman flings her arms around Tegan, who visibly stiffens.

“Hello, Kanya,” she says tightly.

The woman releases her and turns to Imo. “You Tegan friend?”

Before Imo can answer, the woman’s arms are around her. She smells of summer flowers. Tegan seems to have gone mute so Imo introduces herself.

“Imogen.” Kanya repeats the name, pronouncing the last syllable as “gin”. It makes Imo smile even though Tegan rolls her eyes.

Rogers comes back with a tea tray and they follow him into the lounge. Cherubs on the ceiling, crystal light pendants, another tapestry, more old masters. Rogers leaves the tray on a coffee table in front of a two-seater sofa covered by a patchwork throw. A little, dark-haired boy sits on a rug with a Mega Blok tower, his eyes on a plasma screen TV. Fireman Sam in Welsh.

Kanya invites them to sit on the sofa and pours the tea. After she’s handed out the cups, she sits beside her son on the carpet and turns the TV down to a murmur. The child frowns but Kanya gets his attention on the building blocks.

“Welcome, welcome,” she says again. “You’re always welcome here.”

Imo looks at Tegan, willing her to say something nice.

Tegan takes the hint. “How is he?”

Kanya glances up. A cloud falls over her smile. “In London until tomorrow. I can text him. Maybe he come back early.”

“I meant him.” Tegan points at the boy. “Dylan.” Her brother’s name sounds uncomfortable in her mouth, as if she’s never said it before. “I wasn’t asking about my father.”

The bitter tone seems lost on Kanya and she moves the coffee table to the side. “See for yourself. Play with him.”

When Tegan doesn’t move, Imo puts down her cup and slides onto the floor beside the boy. Reluctantly Tegan kneels next to her, but Dylan buries his face in his mother’s shoulder.

“He’s not usually shy.” Kanya’s eyes are anxious, apologetic.

Imo looks at Tegan again: Say something else nice.

“Shall we build a house?” Tegan, using the tone she reserves for pitching her jackets, forms a square with some spare plastic bricks.

Dylan peers out from Kanya’s chest and puts a brick on top of one of Tegan’s.

“You have to put it like this.” Tegan moves his brick so it straddles two of hers. “Your house will fall down otherwise.” She passes him another brick. “You try.”

He puts the new brick next to his first one.

“I suppose Dylan must speak Thai as well as Welsh and English,” Imo says. “How clever.”

Kanya places the child on her lap and kisses his head. Her eyes look heavy. “No Thai. My husband say, ‘Don’t confuse him.’”

Dylan wriggles off her knee to put another block on Tegan’s house. While they build, Imo tells Kanya about university. She seems genuinely interested in Imo’s course.

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