“Good to know,” I say, just as a bead of sweat runs down my forehead. I quickly turn away to open the cupboard, praying that he didn’t see it. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” I ask him, already pulling out a mug.
“How old are you, Freya?”
“Eighteen,” I reply, discreetly wiping the sweat away.
“You’re very mature and well-mannered for your age. I tell you, my eldest is seventeen this year, and she could learn a thing or two from you. I can’t remember the last time she offered me anything that didn’t come with an ulterior motive. So, Freya Lawson…yes, I would love a cup of coffee. No milk, two sugars.”
With a knot in my stomach, I smile tightly and then fill the kettle with water.
“I blame myself really,” Michael says.
“About what?” I flick the switch to boil the kettle. Relax. He do
