Alfie and Spot run ahead, making their presence known by loudly yelling and barking the entire length of the wheelchair-adapted path, something I’m sure the neighbours appreciate at 9pm. As the door opens, I see a tall, thin woman in a long tie-dye dress waving us in.
‘Oh, and my parents are total hippies,’ Sarah whispers. ‘I hope you like the smell of patchouli.’
‘Sweetheart!’ Sarah’s mum says excitedly. ‘Come in. . . oh my, who’s this handsome chap?’
‘Spot,’ Alfie informs her. ‘He has three legs.’
‘One more than me,’ she replies as Alfie runs inside. ‘And who do we have here?’
‘Hey, Mum,’ Sarah says, hugging her tightly. ‘So, thisotherhandsome fella is Nick.’
‘Linda,’ she says, holding out her hand. ‘We’ve heard so much about you.’
They have? I clumsily shake her hand with my left, while she lifts her glasses to peer at my blood-speckled T-shirt and plaster cast. ‘Tell me, did my daughter do that?’
‘Mum!’ Sarah exclaims. ‘Just let us in, it’s freezing!’
We step inside a porch and then directly into the living room, where Alfie and Spot are sitting with Sarah’s dad. Where Matt’s parents’ living room wouldn’t look out of place in an interior design magazine, this is far more bohemian and homely. There are family pictures everywhere, colourful throws over the couches, a Christmas tree groaning under the weight of the mismatched decorations, and a large wooden coffee table covered with candles in all shapes and sizes.
‘There’s my girl,’ Sarah’s dad says, his face lighting up. ‘Seems like we have quite the full house this year.’
‘Hi, Dad,’ she chirps in return. ‘This is Nick – Nick, my dad, Stephen.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ I say, making my way across the room to shake his hand. ‘I’m sorry if I’m imposing. This was all very unexpected. . .’
I feel my cheeks flush slightly as my mind shoots back to Sarah’s mouth on mine. Everything about this day has been unexpected.
‘Nonsense,’ he replies. ‘It’s about time we put a face to the name. Any friend of Sarah’s. . .’
‘. . . obviously needs their head checked,’ say both Sarah and her mum in unison. I chuckle as Stephen winks at them both before gesturing to Sarah to give him a hug. She obliges, joking that he needs a shave before quietly checking on how he’s been doing and if he needs anything. Their bond is immediately unmistakable and she’s as gentle with him as she is with Alfie.
I help Sarah take the bags upstairs, where she dumps hers in a pretty pink room before showing me to the spare room.
‘Mum and Dad had an extension built round the side, so they sleep there. The upstairs is all ours.’
She flicks on the light and I’m instantly greeted by a giant stuffed panda perched at the end of the single bed. Who knew they madeDuck Talesduvet covers?
‘And this is your room. Obviously, Alfie would normally sleep in here,’ she says, turning on a little star-shaped lamp, ‘but. . . well, I wouldn’t want to just jump into bed. . . well, actually, I would but. . . oh God, I’m not good at this, am I?’
I grin. ‘Listen, it’s your parents’ house, I get it. It’s not a problem. Besides, I’ve slept in weirder places and I once hadFraggle Rockbedcovers. . . why are you staring at me like that?’
She kicks the door closed with her foot and kisses me hard, while my functioning hand reaches behind and grasps her hair.
‘When we get back to London,’ she whispers, ‘I swear—’
‘Nick, can Spot have some of my banana?’
I pull away and rest my forehead on Sarah’s, quietly laughing while Alfie’s little voice echoes up the stairs. ‘Yes, buddy, just not too much. I’ll be down in a second.’
‘Sorry,’ she says, sighing. ‘Maybe not the best timing but. . .’
‘Bit of a recurring theme for us, eh?’ I reply, kissing her forehead. She smirks and attempts to flatten the patch of hair I’ve managed to mess up during our three-second tryst. I take a deep breath to calm my galloping pulse and hope that the rest of my body follows suit.
We get back downstairs where Alfie is now sitting crossed-legged in front of the television, happily munching on his passion-killing banana. Spot pads over to me and gruffs, indicating that it is well past his dinner time. Along with clothes and toiletries, yet another thing I didn’t consider when agreeing to spend the next couple of days with Sarah. I’m killing this.
‘Is there a shop nearby?’ I ask Sarah. ‘He’s hungry, I’ll need to get him some food.’
‘Not one that’s open,’ Sarah replies; ‘nearest supermarket is a few miles away. We could—’
