Yes.

Kissed my cheek!

I hadn’t seen him since I was three!

“Spittin’ image,” he said when he moved away.

I wondered what I should do in this situation (again, the etiquette books didn’t cover this topic) but I didn’t have to wonder long, Kitty Sue took over.

“I hope you don’t mind, we crashed your party. But I couldn’t wait to see you. Malc and I just got back from Hawaii last night. I wanted to call but we totally crashed. Jetlag. Serious. Crazy. Have you ever been jetlagged?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, you and I have so much to talk about. I hear Tom showed you some pictures but I have more…” She blathered on, hand on my upper arm, fingers squeezing affectionately.

I was staring at her, lips parted, stunned silent (not that I could get a word in edgewise) when she was interrupted and someone new called my name.

She dropped her hand, looked over my shoulder and so did I.

There stood Aaron Lockhart, leaning on a cane, liver-spotted, mostly-bald head shining in the lights of the gallery.

Blooming heck!

“My dear,” Aaron said and then it was his turn to lean in (or up, as Aaron was kind of stooped) and kiss my cheek.

What was going on?

Aaron was always invited but never came (his wife didn’t like to socialize much).

“Aaron, how are you?” I asked, ever the hostess, I took his hand and gave it a squeeze before dropping it.

“In a hurry,” he answered. “Berta’s out in the car with the five dogs,” he told me then looked up at Hector and, for some reason, shared, “Pomeranians. Five Pomeranian dogs. One is too many, five is the definition of living hell. I told her that I’d named our son as my life insurance beneficiary but I still think she’s trying to kill me.”

There were chuckles all around but, again, I didn’t find anything funny. This was because I was getting a bad feeling about his visit and our audience.

“Aaron, do we need to go somewhere and talk?” I asked.

“No, Sadie. This will be quick. Just popped by to give you the good news that you’re in luck. Mrs. Burnsley’s family is moving her into assisted living at the end of the month so the London flat will be available. It’s coming to outside season so the property in Crete will be open in a few weeks and it’ll stay that way until mid-February. The booking company has plenty of time to move people around before next year so you’re free to go to either place.”

My body went solid and I heard the chuckles die away.

“Are you going on vacation, Sadie?” Ralphie materialized close by and his voice sounded confused.

I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak but damn and blasted Aaron got there first.

“Not vacation. Moving,” Aaron answered, I heard gasps but worse, I felt a fierce electrical current whipping all around me and I knew what that meant. Aaron, somehow oblivious to the current (and the gasps), went on, “Which brings me to my next subjects. Taxes, health insurance, residency visas. I’m looking into them and I’ll get the information to you by the end of the week. I’m advising Crete, better weather and London is expensive, would be difficult for you on a fixed income, even yours. The exchange rate is certain death. Also, I’ll need to get into your storage locker so the auctioneers can have a look at your belongings and give you a quote for selling them.”

“Moving?” Ralphie butted in and I looked at him.

He was pale and I felt that hard, hot thing start forming in my chest again.

“Moving,” Aaron (again!) answered.

“You can’t… I don’t understand –” Ralphie stuttered.

“Ralphie, we’ll talk about it later,” I said quietly, trying to ignore the thing in my chest and the current in the air.

“Ralphie? Is this Ralph Mankowicz?” Aaron asked.

“Aaron, please, maybe we can go –” I tried damage control.

“Yes, I’m Ralph Mankowicz,” Ralphie answered, ignoring my effort at damage control.

“I have some paperwork for you to sign, son,” Aaron replied. “It’s in the car, I’ll just –”

“No!” I cut in, “Aaron, can we –” I started again but Ralphie interrupted me.

“Paperwork?”

“Yes, to sign over the gallery,” Aaron, ever informative, answered.

The air in the room was now heavy, tense and electric and I knew everyone was watching, listening and not liking what they heard.

Why, I will ask again, was everything in my life so… fucking… difficult?

“Sign over the gallery?” Ralphie repeated.

“Yes, to you and a Mr. Leon Simmons,” Aaron told him and his gaze came to me, heavy, wiry, white eyebrows raised in question. “Isn’t that right?”

I didn’t answer Aaron because Ralphie was looking at me, his eyes were wide, there was confusion written plain on his face, right alongside what looked an awful lot like hurt.

My heart squeezed.

“Ralphie, we’ll talk about this later,” I tried again, my voice quiet.

“Later? You want to talk about it later? You’re moving and signing over the gallery to Buddy and me and you want to talk about it later? What’s this all about?” Ralphie didn’t feel like letting me try, he felt like being dramatic (as usual) and angry (not as usual).

“Let’s go somewhere else –” I tried yet again.

“No, I want to know, right now, what this is all about,” Ralphie replied, arms crossing on his chest.

I swallowed then to get it over with I told him on a rush, “I’m giving you and Buddy the gallery, as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

He stared at me, face shocked. Then I watched as his eyes went hard.

I thought he’d be pleased.

He was absolutely not.

“You’re joking,” he breathed.

“No, I want you to know how much I appreciate everything… all that… just everything.”

“You could do that by not moving to f**king Greece,” he snapped back.

I blinked.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t want your f**king gallery. I want you and not via e-mail from your new life on the Med. I want you here. Close. Where we can drink lemon drops and watch Veronica Mars.”

I couldn’t think what to say. I thought certain sure he’d love owning the gallery. He was good at what he did. The best. He’d be his own boss. He’d make loads more money.