Текст книги "Ravages"

Автор книги: R.A. Padmos

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Daniël’s hand trembles when he tries to click on the link to the video. So Steve takes the hand

into his own, brings it to his lips and kisses the fingers one by one until the trembling stops.

The obscenity of what his eyes see is beyond his imagination. Or perhaps it’s not even the

image itself, though it defies description, but the knowledge that the ones causing the suffering chose

to calmly, perhaps even with some naive curiosity, observe his last moments. Chose to record the

image of their dying victim in order to be able to share it with the rest of the world. In anonymity, for

sure, but it still had been a human being making those images.

“Brain damage,” he whispers his recognition when he sees the shocks and tremors.

The eyes wide, but no longer seeing. Breaking. The mouth gaping in agony. The laboured

gasping for breath. Pink froth on the lips. White dots of what remains of his teeth. Clotted blood, so

dark it looks almost black, matting the hair.

The camera phone must have been held mere inches from his face at that moment.

Such utter loneliness.

He sees himself dying, like the one holding that mobile phone must have seen it. Like the

others present in the Queen Elizabeth Park at that time must have seen it. Like anyone with access to

an internet connection is able to see it. Like Daniël sees it.

Without a word he closes the laptop and sets it aside. Daniël gets on the bed and this time, it is

Steve holding him.

*

For more than a week, his days are filled with him doggedly trying to get on his feet. He’s

finally starting to get ready for his anger. A small flame yet, but it’s enough. The pictures are never

mentioned. There’s no need.

He wants to stand next to his man when they make their pledge to each other. He feels a joy

and pride in his being asked to share his life with this beautiful human being that’s almost too much

for his body to contain. So he moves weights and kicks water to test the limits of his endurance.

His nights are filled with dark dreams. He greets them in the same way he smiles his welcome

at the pain when he’s doing his exercises, because they both fulfil a purpose. And Daniël is always

there, holding his hand and whispering his love until he’s able to sleep again.

He tries and fails. He tries a dozen times and fails. He tries a hundred times and fails.

With his hands firmly gripping the bars and his arms rigid, he stands upright. His feet are

carrying most of his weight for the first time since what seems like an eternity. He takes one single

step. It’s not even long enough to be able to count a full second, but time can be measured in much

smaller units.

That night, his sleep is peaceful.

Chapter 16

That one step proves to be the first of many. There are numerous skills he learns to master with

some confidence. Not as before, but what a pleasure to brush his own teeth and comb his hair without

having to thank a nurse for his or her trouble. To be able to finish a meal and the only reason Dan is

feeding him a few bites is because it’s such fun. He marvels at the sheer luxury of taking a shower and

washing his own hair, even if it’s sitting down on a plastic stool. Getting dressed in normal clothes,

even if the jeans and shirts Gael gets from Steve’s apartment are at least two, and possibly three, sizes

too large. His hands are not stable enough to shave himself, but having Daniël doing it for him is

something he can live with. The quiet morning ritual, so intimate in its simplicity, grows on him. On

both of them he guesses, judging from the expression on his lover’s face.

He no longer spends the majority of his time in bed, even if it means investing a big part of his

energy and concentration on simply staying upright. He sleeps no more than nine hours, with an extra

hour after lunch.

He knows not to dwell on the thought that almost all has been taken from him and is being

given back incompletely and slowly. And it’s not even a free gift, because he has to work for it. Hard

work, that’s often painful and tedious. For a short few days, he had somehow hoped it would be more

or less like recovering from an extremely serious football-related injury, as far as getting to walk

again is concerned. Perhaps taking a bit longer, but certainly not so much different and harder he

might just as well have no experience at all at getting mobile again.

Day after day, he finds himself taking careful, hesitating steps behind the Zimmer frame,

willing an unwilling body to follow orders from a brain that has, and he knows it with absolute

certainty, changed forever. No neurologist needs to tell him otherwise.

The anger stays within firm boundaries. It’s there, he acknowledges it, no longer afraid to look

at it, but he lacks the need to feel it rushing through his veins. It might look good in the movies, blind

rage, but he doesn’t know how to set it free without hurting Daniël. Mourning is a slow trickle, a mild

sadness that isn’t bad enough to hurt but unstoppable in time, and Steve dreads the day it will have

grown into an ocean of tears. There will be no way to rationalise his way out of this; no words of

consolation, pointing out to him how much worse it could have been, that he came out of his ordeal

alive, will be enough.

He’s in no way prepared, however, for the shock of having lost the written word. The

possibility had never even entered his mind during all those weeks and months of slow, imperfect,

recovery. He’s able to form coherent thoughts in his head; he’s able to express those thoughts

adequately enough to be understood by others. Whatever speed he had, and he was never a fast talker

to begin with, has been lost, but the hesitation between thought and uttered sound doesn’t prevent him

from saying anything he wants or needs to say. Or to understand what others are saying to him. He

assumes, not without good reason, that if he feels like it, he can take a newspaper, open a website, and

read it.

So when Daniël works on his blog to jot down the proud achievements of his soon to be

husband during that day and Steve gets curious, it’s easy enough for Dan to turn the laptop in Steve’s

direction.“ Read it yourself, if you want to.” It’s also a perfect excuse to steal a kiss.

Great kisser, that boy, and he is getting even better at it with each new day.

Steve smiles contentedly. He has worked incredibly hard today. Performed the aqua exercises

in the small pool beyond what was asked of him and he really made that Zimmer frame see every

corner of the physio room. Perhaps not all that impressive for the average 80 year old but considering

all he had been through, every single tiny step counts for something.

“Danny? You’re writing your blog in Dutch?”

Confusion on Daniël’s face.

Steve laughs, still assuming this is some sort of misunderstanding. “I don’t recognise any of

this. I’m not as clever as you are, I’m afraid. Alsjeblieft, dank je wel, ja, nee, ik hou van jou and a few

dirty words. That’s about the extent of my fluency in Dutch.”

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean? It’s all in your language. The English guys swore to me it’s

pretty good English too, with only a few mistakes.” Daniël looks at the screen. “You want me to

enlarge the text? Would that help?”

Steve shakes his head. It’s a real effort to keep the rising panic under control. “I can see

everything on the screen clear as anything. No blur. I know those are letters and words and I know it’s

language, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’ll read a few sentences, perhaps you’ll recognise something. You keep looking at the screen

too, okay?” Daniël clutches at straws, but Steve hasn’t got the heart to tell him that.

Daniël reads slowly and articulates every syllable, like he wants to spoon feed the words to

Steve’s mind.

“Steve showed us he’s the master of the Zimmer frame. Looks damn sexy too, him getting

around. I sneak a look now and again while I work on the bike or do my stretches. The last couple of

months haven’t been much good to my condition or muscles and I want to get back in shape before the

wedding. (No date set, but it can’t be soon enough for me.) He works harder on learning to walk again

than any of us ever did to win a match or to get back into the first team after being out with injury. I

know in how much pain he still is and how exhausted he gets. But he never complains about it. How

can I look at this man and not fall in love, over and over again?”

Steve understands every single word Daniël says. And even now they make him smile and

blush a little. But the lines and dots on the screen are just that: lines and dots.

“Hieroglyphs...” he murmurs.

Tears are welling up in Daniël’s eyes. “This is so unfair.”

Steve can’t remember he has ever heard the word unfair used in all of his years as a

professional player. Or perhaps he has, but so infrequently that the word never really settled. Bad luck

and shit and fucked up and the ref should get his eyes fixed and the gaffer mostly knows what he’s

doing but not this time...oh yes, that and so much more, but unfair is too much part of the sport, and

their privileged position within this game, to even mention it. So many boys, equally talented, just as

eager, left behind. Countless careers that have been broken because of injuries, done to them and by

them, or because a new manager has fresh ideas about the composition of a team. Chances never even

given. Or not taken for reasons long forgotten. Always someone else being better, if not now, then in a

few years.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” Steve confesses. Even with his rational mind telling him

it took him time to be able to recognise and understand speech again, to say Daniël’s name, to learn to

properly speak again, and he’s aware he still sounds slightly impaired; he feels desperation filling

every hidden corner of his body. His lover used the only words meaning anything at all.

It’s not fair.

Steve realises if he doesn’t find a way to restore his ability to read and write he might be able

to stand next to his man when they take their vows, but he won’t be able to sign his own name and

understand what he’s signing, or read his husband’s name on the contract. The endless stream of

paperwork, dealing with the aftermath of what happened in that park, dealing with anything having to

do with insurance and retirement matters, the contract with the club, will have to be read to him. Like

to an uneducated person, a small child, a mentally handicapped person. Always depending on others.

Newspapers and magazines and e-mails and labels on jars and handwritten letters from eight

year old fans and signs in the street and lettering on windows of shops and user manuals and subs with

foreign movies and instructions for appliances and medications and ...

It’s not fair.

Daniël sets the laptop aside. Other than that he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a thing. His hands

don’t find Steve’s. He hardly even dares to glance in Steve’s direction. He looks so helpless, at a loss

for any kind of comfort to offer, or to receive.

“It’s too much, Daniël, simply too much.”

It takes Steve an eternity to find voice for his most urgent need.

“Could you please get on the bed with me and hold me?”

Daniël slowly lifts his head, like he‘s waking up from a dream, and walks to the door. “Just

telling the nurses.” He’s back before Steve even notices he’s gone, and closes the door. Then he helps

Steve to get settled on the bed and gets on himself.

Steve hides his face against his beloved’s neck, safe in strong arms.

They are not ready yet to face this new challenge. This too will pass, in one way or the other.

Time will do its job, showing both cruelty and mercy that cannot be quite foreseen by either of them.

But this night, they give themselves to the simple, honest truth of their bodies.

They share kisses that are gentle, but slowly grow in urgency. Hands find their way over and

then under shirts. Finally buttons and zippers are loosened and fabric gets pushed out of the way.

Warm skin meeting warm skin. The few words that are spoken are used to express love and affection,

but not concern or reassurance.

Daniël doesn’t apologise when his body reacts in the way the body of a young, healthy man is

bound to react when he’s being kissed and caressed by his lover. He does however ask if Steve is okay

with him staying on the bed instead of retreating discreetly to the bathroom.

Steve doesn’t believe the question is even asked, although in some way he can understand it.

No matter how much Daniël tries to control the movement of his hand, the rawness of need –

expressed in panting breaths and the fierce concentration on his face, the pupils of the grey-blue eyes

widening in lust, the blush covering most of his body – is overwhelming in a way Steve nearly had

forgotten about. During all this, he touches Daniël’s body, a gentler counterpoint to the faster, more

and more aggressive pulls and jerks of his lover’s hand.

“God, so beautiful,” he whispers in his lover’s ear while the boy rests in his arms.

Daniël, too much out of breath to say anything, kisses him and it’s by far the most perfect

reaction he could come up with. It is then that Steve, almost timidly, takes Daniël’s hand and brings it

to his filling cock. And Daniël looks at his own fingers around the shaft, looks at his own hand

moving, his own thumb stroking the head. Wonder in his eyes.“I have missed this so much, touching

you like this. Having sex with you,” he sighs. “Let me taste you, please?”

His lover’s mouth is warm and welcoming, so patient and tender the tongue that explores

deeply familiar and yet somehow new territory.

Finally, Daniël takes him as deeply as he’s able to, humming around his cock. Pleasure mixes

with sorrow until he no longer feels the difference. Something has been taken from him and something

has been given back to him. His orgasm and his tears happen at the same time. Finally, he’s resting in

Daniël’s arms, the few tears being kissed from his face. “I don’t know how to say what this means to

me. What you mean to me.”

The next day he asks Daniël to take a piece of paper and a pen.

“Please write your name, so I can learn it again.”

D A N I Ë L.

The key to all other words ever written.

His scent.

The sound of his voice.

The meaning of his words.

His touch.

Steve smiles because he no longer doubts this too will come back to him.

Chapter 17

Steve is, on an intellectual level, able to interpret the struggle of a beaten down man getting on

his feet again as somewhat heroic, even if he thinks it’s a bit presumptuous to think about himself in

such terms. It certainly doesn’t look like much, him counting the steps from the physio room to his

own room, still struggling to keep his balance with the crutches. Grateful for the short ride with the

lift, but refusing to sit in the wheelchair the nurse brings along. At least he made the promotion from

Zimmer frame to crutches. He wonders why he’s still so unstable on his feet, even with all the

practising he does and the experience he had before with work related injuries. But there’s no denying

it, progress it is.

Sounding out letters like a five year old, his index finger firmly on the page of the small

Reading Tree book, to learn how to read IAM like three separate sounds until something clicks and he

actually understands what he is saying, is asking more of him than he’s willing to admit to the

endlessly patient and encouraging therapist. Or to the neurologist who explained to him, after another

scan, which part of his brain is responsible for this, and how it’s possible to be able to use and

understand spoken language and still be blind to the written word. What does it help him, knowing

they are different functions of different parts of his brain? Does it make it any less humiliating? Does

that lessen the pain in Daniël’s eyes? Does that feed the hopeless hope when he asks if there’s

medication that might help, or even some technical device? Or, the word never spoken out loud, an

operation?The brave smile when they’re alone again nearly breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s a grown man. He used to read the paper every morning. He used to read magazines about

his sport, his profession. He used to read books, real ones, with hundreds of pages and small print and

words with easily six or more letters. He did all that without ever giving it a second thought. Leaving

notes for Daniël not to worry about dinner because he ordered some take-away. Read Dan’s message

on his cell phone. ‘I’m parking the car now. Get naked.’ Easy like that.

IA – M

“I am...”

He’s what?

No longer a little boy discovering something so unbelievably wonderful he can’t wait to learn

more, even if it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever learnt; even more difficult than tying his own

shoelaces. Those days of innocent wonder and discovery can’t be re-created. This is work. He refuses

to call it anything else. He knows why he’s doing it and he sees no reason to complain about it, but it

is what it is. The only way to regain at least some of what has been lost is by doing his exercises. Over

and over again, until his head has found a way around the problems. Learning to walk properly and

learning to read again to feel like an independent adult are not so different in that aspect.

“You call your fiancé Dan for short sometimes, Mr Gavan?” the therapist asks.

Steve nods, unable to hide his smile. And why should he? “He’s making a round at the

children’s ward with some of the other guys. He should be back in an hour.”

“Then let’s see if we can surprise him.”

She writes three bold black letters.

D – A – N

He knows what the combination of letters means, because he looks at Daniël’s name so many

times a day it’s like it’s engraved in his retina, but that’s not the same thing as being able to actually

read and write it.

“Why is it so hard to do something this simple?”

“It takes most children, and I’m talking about healthy, intelligent children at the right age to

learn to read, often days before they’re able to really understand the first few words. And their little

heads are made to learn. It’s not simple for them. Your task in comparison is daunting.”

She’s right, but somehow that doesn’t really help. He’ll do his work alright, and he will be

standing next to his man, signing his name next to Daniël’s. And no price will be too high, no exertion

too much.

And still ...

Doesn’t matter. Self-pity won’t get him anywhere.

D – A – N

D – A – N

His finger taps the letters one by one. He vocalises the sounds.

D – A – N

The sounds, separate at first and slow, get speed. Become one.

“Dan.”

He grins. “If I were called Dan, I could read ‘I am Dan’. Now I have to learn to read ‘I am

Steve’. Just my luck.”

Writing the letters down from memory is relatively easy after that. He even gets his own name

done just before Daniël gets back, although that’s mostly from learning by heart. It still looks good,

though.

DANSTEVE

Daniël is as proud as anything when Steve shows him what he has learned during his absence.

They share stories about their hour and a half without each other. Words lovingly wrapped in eager

kisses and roaming hands.

Days on end are filled with work. And in the hours between, Degaré and Matthew and Gael and

Francesco and Anthony and Ray and Niko and Kurt and Dag and the others come to say hello and

admire his progress. Come to tell stories about the world outside.

“I swear those two can read each other’s minds. Downright spooky, I call it. I mean, Matthew

wasn’t even looking in Gael’s direction...sweet goal, though. The Everton keeper never knew what hit

him.”

“Dag didn’t tell you he crashed his car into a tree? Nah, not a scratch on the boy...his Audi,

however...poor thing, and only after such a short life...”

“Is it okay for me to hide here? Nat has her girls over for a fashion party. You have no idea

how lucky you are...But now I come to think of it, why aren’t you boys interested in fashion? You’re

doing something very wrong on the queer front...ow, that hurts…”

*

The only day he doesn’t go for physio is when he’s in the dental surgeon’s chair as a first step

to getting his teeth repaired. Stopping his body from trembling, fear bordering on panic a constant

companion as soon as the chair gets into the reclining position, is more exhausting than any kind of

exercise. The device to keep his mouth wide open, so the doctor can actually work inside Steve’s

mouth, doesn’t exactly help.

He’s told it will be a lengthy process because so much needs to be done; that the surgeon

waited this long because his jaw had to be healed fully and he had to be strong enough to undergo the

complete procedure, including several hours of anaesthesia.

The days before the operation to restore his teeth, the implants have to be made first, are filled

with yet more walking and reading lessons.

Steve stops wondering if walking will ever be possible without pain and the feeling he could

stumble at any moment. It takes him a good week to master the very basics of reading. After that, it

slows down a bit, but that doesn’t mean he slows down. He even tries to skip his afternoon nap, but the

nurses and Daniël are adamant about that one. They are right, and only he fully appreciates how much,

but still Steve tries to smuggle in a few extra exercises.

He thinks about going home. He knows it can’t be long now. The thought excites and scares

him. He tells Daniël, so they can be excited and scared together. They talk about their marriage and

confess to each other it’s easy enough to see the years ahead of them, of simply being together. But

making plans for the actual day? He just learned to write his own name again, so can’t they just bring

the papers so he can sign them? His name and Daniël’s, next to each other, they say “yes, I do” to a

registrar and really, what more could they possibly need?

“After they patch up my teeth, how long will it be before they discharge me from hospital? But

what’s left of me, Danny, to send home?”

Daniël becomes quiet, almost withdrawn. His eyes are still filled with love when he looks at

Steve, his smile no less genuine. He’s not stingy with his kisses. His hands hardly ever stop touching

his lover. But when Steve does his exercises to train his sense of balance, he can’t help but notice the

way Daniël bends over the bike, pedalling with furious aggression, his face set in full concentration.

Steve would even go as far and call it over-concentration, like his lover is trying to get away from

something as fast as he’s able to, without getting anywhere. There’s no fun, and certainly no joy, to be

found in the way he works his body to the point of exhaustion. His breathing becomes fast and

panting; sweat staining his shirt.

The physiotherapist notices it, too, but doesn’t comment on it. He reminds Steve to concentrate

on his own work, but that’s it. No questions, no concerned look, like Daniël’s uncontrolled explosion

of physical activity isn’t something he’s seeing for the first time.

Daniël needs longer than usual to take his shower and Steve knows all too well why. The

lingering musky smell of sex, of overpowering masculinity, is impossible to ignore. Steve feels he’s

not ready for this kind of aggressive sexuality, this blind need to take, to conquer. That doesn’t seeing

the loneliness in his beloved’s eyes hurt any less.

“I’m sorry ...”

What else can he say?

Daniël makes a helpless gesture. “I feel so...angry and helpless and frustrated. You work your

arse off, and what’s your reward? Getting around on crutches, reading books about a magic key, or

what’s it called. It took you so much courage to stay on that dentist chair. And I couldn’t even hold

your hand to help you, because I would have been in their way. And now I hurt you again by pleasing

myself under the shower. It feels like I’m cheapening you and your love for me.”

“Look at me, Danny. You can’t make the impossible happen. No one can. That’s why it’s

called the impossible. But without you, I don’t know if I would have the strength and the faith to do

even what is possible.”

Daniël gets up and starts to walk up and down the room before he sits again. “Now you’re

trying to cheer me up like you always do. What about you? How much more can you take?”

Steve looks at Daniël for seconds without saying a word. He can’t help asking himself the

same question again: will love be enough in the end? Or will love, however humanly inadequate, be

their only chance? Will it be the one thing that will always be there, when everything else fails and

crumbles apart, because it’s the one thing strong enough to carry the burden?

“I don’t want to know how close I am to desperation because that’s a truth I can’t face at the

moment.” His voice is flat and expressionless. But his hands are safe in Daniël’s.

“You’re with me. I’m with you. All the rest I can learn to deal with, somehow.” Daniël bows

his head, like he has done dozens and dozens of times, and kisses Steve’s arm.

“What if I’ll never learn to walk again like I used to? What if I can never again read at normal

speed? What if my speech stays this slow? What if ...”

Ghosts of years before them, when finally both of them realise things won’t be better in time.

Healing has stopped. Miracles come at a price.

Daniël shrugs. “Then I’m married to a guy who needs a bit of extra time for certain things. I

can live with that. But seeing you unhappy because you’re afraid I might find you less intelligent for

not being able to read like other adults,or scared during medical treatment, or think what your body

has to offer is no longer enough for me, that makes me so bloody sad and angry.”

“We’re never really alone, here. They’re good people, all of them, but this is not our home

ground. I think it’s time for us to go home and get married. I know I’m not finished with all the

therapies and I’m scared as hell, but do you think the doctors will be okay with us going after I’m

recovered from the operation?” Steve hears the hesitation but also the longing in his own voice.

Daniël smiles brightly. “I bet you’re not half as scared as I am. There’s so much we need to do.

We need a house, with things we both like. That’s what mum told me on the phone a few days ago;

make sure you start your married life in a house that really belongs to the both of you. Make a home.”

He pauses. “Am I going too fast?”

“Much too fast, but I like hearing you talking about a house that’s going to be our home.”

“Don’t forget a bed. One that’s comfortable and huge. You bet we’re going to spend an awful

lot of time in the bedroom, and lots of it won’t be for sleep.” Daniël’s eyes light up; he even blushes.

Steve isn’t aware of it, but from Daniël’s sudden change of mood, he concludes something

must be wrong with the expression on his own face. “What is it, Danny? You doubt I want exactly the

same thing?”

“I thought I was perhaps frightening you with my need and, you know, the reason why I jerked

myself off under the shower, an hour ago.”

Steve stops him with a kiss. “Never apologise for being a young, healthy man with matching

needs. And I’ll try not to apologise for being less strong and having far less stamina than before. We

both know you can give me everything I need from a lover, but I can’t do the same thing for you.”

“I need a good, hard fuck. I miss the feeling of your fat cock up my arse like mad. On some

days, I miss it so much it actually hurts. I’m honest with you about that. But I need you.”

“What about the other way around?” Steve has to ask, even if he’s uncertain about his own

feelings at this very moment.

“Is that even a question?” Daniël’s head a bit tilted, surprised. “I guess it is.”

“Tomorrow’s the operation. Will you sleep in my bed, with your arms around me? I’m so

bloody nervous.”

Daniël grins. “Not even half a dozen registered nurses and their fearsome matron will be able

to stop me.”

“Thank you. Oh, and another thing ...”

“Yes?”

“The next time you give yourself a little, you know, personal attention, warn me, so I can

watch and enjoy the view.”

Chapter 18

Daniël holding his hand while he falls asleep on the dentist chair is without a doubt the best

medicine to keep blind panic far enough at bay to pretend it’s not even there. And Daniël is holding

his hand when he wakes up again, if only for a few moments. The rest of the day is more or less lost in

painkiller sleep.

The first time he looks into a mirror, he sees a familiar face, but also more of a stranger than

he had anticipated.

“I don’t know, Danny...” Steve struggles for words.

Daniël, just as helpless, gently touches his lover’s face. “It’s you, believe me, it’s you.”

“What if I’ll never be the man I was when I walked into that park, even if I start looking like

him again?” He takes another look in the mirror.

Daniël cradles Steve’s face between his hands. “Still you, always you,” and kisses him.

Initially the kiss is chaste, but no more than a few seconds. Daniël is as curious as the first

time he kissed him with his teeth still in ruins. As curious as the very first time he kissed Steve. His

tongue teasing, exploring.

Finally they stop kissing; blushing a little, panting a bit.

“To me you couldn’t be unsexy if you tried,” Daniël whispers, “And believe me, what I’m

seeing now is sexy as hell. Those eyes and cheekbones and lips and... I wasn’t surprised when mum

told me all her friends are jealous she’s got such a handsome son-in-law. I would say, more than

ninety per cent is you being you, and the rest is added by a surgeon doing a pretty good job.”

Steve wonders if what he sees in the mirror will ever again be roughly the same as what he sees

in his mind. But he doesn’t doubt Daniël’s words.

Two days later, the petite doctor he remembers is called Nisha tells Steve he’s ready to be

discharged from hospital.

“Am I ready to go home?” he asks Daniël. “Do I have a home to go to?”

“We have to decide if we’re going to stay at your place or mine for the time being. I’m sure

we’ll find a good house before we get married. I was thinking about a nice little place with a garden.”

Daniël happily talks. Then he seems to realise something. “You’re not talking about where we’re