Avril pulled her hood up over her head and I realized the hoodie bore the logo of one of my favourite bands. I forced myself not to say ‘Hey, I love The Cure, too,’ or anything thatwould provoke Gen Z disdain of my Millennial attempts to be hip.
‘Are you Holly’s new boyfriend?’ Avril asked, looking me up and down.
‘I am.’
‘Do you know when Lewis is getting here?’
‘Tonight, I think.’
‘Do you know what time?’ Her Scottish accent was thicker than her mum’s and I had to concentrate to understand her.
‘Sorry, I’m not sure.’
I had clearly disappointed her. She turned away and thumbed her phone until Morag reappeared. Before she went, Morag turned and said, almost whispering, ‘If you need anything, let me know. You can usually find me at the pub.’ She paused. ‘You might need a break at some point over the next few days.’
‘Thank you. That’s kind.’
‘Good luck,’ she said, then followed her daughter out through the front door.
I carried the cases upstairs and found Holly in our room, sitting on the bed, wrapped in a grey wool blanket, illuminated by a thin shaft of fading light. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and, for the thousandth time, I marvelled at the cupid’s bow curve of her lips, the flutter of her lashes as she blinked up at me.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ she asked with a smile.
‘I can’t help it. Hold on. Let me take your picture.’
She protested, but I already had my phone out. ‘Please.’
She consented, and I captured her, a final gasp of sunlight kissing the lens, washing her out so she looked like an apparition, made of light instead of flesh. I wasn’t sure about it– I liked her in high definition– but she scooted over to take a look.
‘I like it. Filtered by nature. You can’t see the bags under my eyes. Send it to me. Also, you can stop staring at me now.’
‘I can’t help it.’
I kicked the door closed behind me and dropped the cases, then lay down on my back, head on the pillow. Holly crawled up the bed and lay beside me.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m cold. I always forget how freezing this place is. It gets into your bones.’
‘Missing your underfloor heating?’
Back home, she usually walked around barefoot; her flat was always warm, even when it was pissing down outside. Now, I noticed, as her feet poked out from beneath the blanket, she had slipped on a pair of thick woollen socks.
She saw me looking. ‘Sexy, huh?’
‘Cute, I’d say.’
‘Urgh. Just don’t tell Miranda I raided her sock drawer. I borrowed a couple of her jumpers, too.’ She nodded at a pair of garments that she’d chucked over the back of a chair. They looked like something a country lady would wear, not Holly’s usual style, which she described as ‘aspirational streetwear’, the kind of stuff they sold at her shop.
She rolled on to her back beside me and I craned my neck to take in the rest of the room. A wardrobe, a couple of paintings of Scottish scenery on the walls. Nothing personal. ‘It never stops being weird, coming here. You know, my mum died in the bedroom just along the hall. They came back here when she knew she didn’t have long left. A private nurse with a bag full of morphine.’
I sat up. ‘She died in your dad’s room? The master bedroom?’
‘Yeah. The same room he’s going to share with Jasmine.I wonder if he’s told her that.’ She stretched out the edge of the blanket so it covered me, too, and pulled me towards her. ‘Come here. I need you to warm me up.’
She kissed me, and I kissed her back, moving closer, hearing her breath catch, instantly aroused– but then a noise came from outside. A car engine, wheels on gravel.
