Page 142 of Carry Me Home

And the morning light is on her face, and the café is behind her, and she’s smiling, and I turn the corner knowing – with the calm, absolute certainty of a man who has finally stopped running from the obvious – that I’m coming back.

Two weeks. That’s all.

And then home. For good this time.

Chapter Thirty

NINA

The first three days are easy.

We text constantly. Stupid things, mostly. Photos of his terrible Scottish coffee. Updates on a donkey’s digestive saga. A selfie of him looking miserable in the rain with the caption: Miss you. Miss the sun. Miss everything.

It’s raining here too, I text back.

Yeah but it’s Cornish rain. Cornish rain has character.

Rain is rain.

Wrong. Cornish rain is romantic. Scottish rain is aggressive. It’s horizontal. It has intentions.

I laugh out loud in the middle of the café. Dot looks up from her crossword.

‘Something funny, dear?’

‘Just Tom.’

‘Ah.’ She goes back to her puzzle. ‘The boy finally pulled his head out, did he?’

‘Dot.’

‘What? I’m old. I’m allowed to be blunt.’ She fills in a word with great satisfaction. ‘I thought you’d both die of stubbornness before anything happened.’

‘We weren’t stubborn.’

‘You were the dictionary definition of stubborn. Both of you. Dancing around each other like a pair of nervous pigeons.’ She looks up again. ‘But you got there in the end. That’s what matters.’

I don’t argue. She’s not wrong.

Day four, the texts slow down.

Busy day, Tom writes. Surgery backed up. Talk tonight?

Of course. Good luck with the animals.

Thanks. Miss you.

Miss you too.

That night, he calls. He sounds tired – the bone-deep tired of a man who’s been on his feet for twelve hours and hasn’t sat down.

‘Long day?’

‘The longest. Remember I told you about Mrs Buchannan when I was back home? Apparently that insane King Charles spaniel of hers, Sir Archibald, has been looking at her suspiciously again.’

‘Maybe he’s just judging her life choices.’

‘That’s what I said. She didn’t appreciate it. Maybe they are both as insane as each other.’ He yawns. ‘How’s the boat coming?’