The Girl You Left Behind

coming.’ Mo
     purses her lips.
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    When Mo speaks, the words emerge carefully,
     as if she’s considering the ramifications of each one. ‘Ranic is Bosnian.
     His parents lost everything in the Balkans. Your court case – this shit is real to him.
     He – he doesn’t want to come and celebrate in your house. I’m
     sorry.’
    Liv stares at her, then snorts, and pushes
     the sugar bowl across the table. ‘Yeah. Right. You forget, Mo. I’ve lived
     with you too long.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Mrs Gullible. Well, you’re not
     getting me this time.’
    But Mo doesn’t laugh. She
     doesn’t even meet her eyes. As Liv waits, she adds, ‘Okay, well, if
     we’re doing this …’ she takes a breath ‘… I’m not
     saying I agree with Ranic but I do sort of think you should hand the painting back
     too.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Look, I couldn’t give a
     monkey’s who it belongs to, but you’re going to lose, Liv. Everyone else can
     see it, even if you can’t.’
    Liv stares at her.
    ‘I read the papers. The evidence is
     stacking up against you. If you keep fighting you’re going to lose everything. And
     for what? Some old blobs of oil on canvas?’
    ‘I can’t just hand her
     over.’
    ‘Why the hell not?’
    ‘Those people don’t care about
     Sophie. They just see pound signs.’
    ‘For Chrissakes, Liv, it’s a
     painting.’
    ‘It’s not just a painting! She
     was betrayed by everyone around her. She had nobody at the end! And
     she’s … she’s all I’ve got left.’
    Mo looks at her steadily. ‘Really?
     I’d like a whole heap of your nothing then.’
    Their eyes lock, and slide away. A rush of
     blood prickles around Liv’s neck.
    Mo takes a long breath, leans forward.
     ‘I get that you have trust issues right now because of the whole Paul thing, but
     you need to take a step back from it all. And honestly? It’s not like
     there’s anyone else around who’s going to say this to you.’
    ‘Well, thanks. I’ll remember
     that the next time I’m opening up the morning bundle of hate mail, or showing
     another stranger around my home.’
    The look that passes between the two women
     is unexpectedly cold. It settles into the silence between them. Mo’s mouth
     compresses, holding back a burst dam of words.
    ‘Right,’ she says finally.
     ‘Well, then, I might as well tell you, seeing as this probably couldn’t get
     any more awkward. I’m moving out.’ She leans down and fiddles with her shoe
     so that her voice emerges, muffled, from near the tabletop. ‘I’m going to
     stay with Ranic. It’s not the court case. As you said, me staying at yours was
     never going to be a long-term thing.’
    ‘That’s what you
     want?’
    ‘I think it’s best.’
    Liv is glued to her chair. Two men sit at the
     next table, not breaking off their conversation. One registers the atmosphere: his eyes
     slide over and away again.
    ‘I’m, you know, grateful for
     the … that you let me stay so long.’
    Liv blinks hard, looks away. Her stomach
     hurts. The conversation at the next table dies to an awkward silence.
    Mo takes a last swig of coffee and pushes
     her cup away. ‘Well. I guess that’s it, then.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘I’ll head off tomorrow, if
     that’s okay. I’ve got a late shift tonight.’
    ‘Fine.’ She tries to keep her
     tone even. ‘It’s been … enlightening.’ She doesn’t
     mean it to sound as sarcastic as it does.
    Mo waits just a moment longer before she
     stands, hauls her jacket on and pulls the strap of her rucksack over her shoulder.
    ‘Just a thought, Liv. And I know
     it’s not like I even knew him or anything. But you talked so much about him.
     Here’s the thing. I keep wondering: what would David have done?’
    His name hits the silence like a small
     explosion.
    ‘Seriously. If your David had still
     been alive, and this had all blown up then – all the stuff about the painting’s
     history, where it might have come from, what that girl and her family might have
     suffered – what do you think he would have done?’
    Leaving that thought suspended in the still
     air, Mo turns and walks out of the café.
    Sven rings as she leaves the café. His
     voice is strained. ‘Can you stop by the office?’
    ‘It’s not a great time,
     Sven.’ She rubs at her eyes, gazes up at the Glass House. Her hands are still
     trembling.
    ‘It’s important.’ He puts
     down the phone before she can say anything