I glance back at Heath.
Then at Philip.
“Yeah.”
His throat moves.
He nods once.
And walks out.
I follow him to the front door.
Watch him load the suitcase into the taxi.
Watch him get in.
He looks back through the open window.
I lift a hand.
He does the same.
Then the taxi pulls away.
I stand there until it turns at the end of the road and disappears.
Only then do I go back inside.
Heath rustles in his beanie.
The radio is still playing.
And the house, which felt warm all weekend, is suddenly far too cold.
Chapter 14
Philip
By the time thetaxi pulls up outside Sophie’s house in Herne Bay, I feel wrung out.
Not physically.
Though that too.
Just... scraped thin.
Like the last forty-eight hours have used up more of me than they had any right to.
I pay the driver, haul my bag out, and stand on the pavement for a second staring at the familiar front garden with its plastic football goal, abandoned scooters, and one bicycle tipped sideways in the flowerbed.
Before I can ring the bell, the front door flies open.
“UNCLE PHIL!”
Two small bodies launch themselves at my knees.
I stagger, grabbing the doorframe before all three of us go down.
