Page 33 of Carry Me Home

‘I know I don’t have to.’ He pulls on his jacket, adjusts the collar. ‘Same time tomorrow?’

‘Same time tomorrow.’

He lets himself out. The door clicks shut behind him, and the café settles into a different kind of quiet – not the empty quiet of three weeks ago, but the quiet of a space someone has just left. I can still smell the faint trace of his aftershave – clean, plain, the same one he’s worn for years. I’ve never thought about it before. Now I’m thinking about it.

I sit at the counter, the darkness stealthily growing outside, Chips breathing at my feet, and I think about what Tom said. That’s someone I⁠—

Chapter Eight

TOM

Quiz night at The Ship is a contact sport.

Not literally – although there was the incident two years ago when Bill accused the Harbourmaster of cheating and things got briefly physical – but emotionally. Reputationally. The kind of low-stakes warfare that villages excel at, where the prize is nothing and the glory is everything.

Nina and I have been a team since we were nineteen. We’ve won more than we’ve lost.

‘Right,’ Brynn says, sliding into the booth with three pints balanced on a tray in her hands. ‘The Treloars are here. They’ve brought reinforcements.’

‘What kind of reinforcements?’

‘Cal’s cousin from Plymouth. Apparently she has a degree in history.’

‘We have a degree in history,’ Nina says, pointing at me.

‘You have a degree in veterinary medicine.’

‘There was a history module,’ I say. ‘First year. I got a B.’

‘A B isn’t going to defeat Cal’s cousin from Plymouth.’ Brynn distributes the pints with military precision. ‘We need a strategy.’

‘Our strategy is the same as always,’ I say. ‘Nina does culture and geography, I do science and sport, and we both panic during the music round.’

‘The music round is a hate crime,’ Nina agrees. ‘Who decided that identifying songs from three-second clips was a reasonable thing to ask of people?’

‘Sadists. The answer is always sadists.’

Kit appears at the edge of the booth, Jude trailing behind him with a plate of chips. They both look freshly showered, with Jude’s shaggy hair curling at the corners. He leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Brynn’s mouth.

‘Room for two more?’ Kit asks.

‘Depends. Are you here to support us or spy for the enemy?’

‘Support. Cal’s been insufferable since they won last month. I need him taken down a peg.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Nina shuffles along the bench to make room, and because the booth is not designed for five adults, this means she shuffles into me. Her thigh presses against mine under the table. She doesn’t adjust. She doesn’t notice. I notice. I take a sip of my pint and catalogue the specific amount of pressure along the outside of my left leg and then stop cataloguing because that way lies insanity.

‘How’s Isla?’ she asks Kit, who rubs his jaw, his shoulders slightly slumped.

‘Cross. I’d say she’s definitely cross tonight.’ Kit slides in next to Brynn. ‘She was going to come, but, well, then…’ He pauses, rubs his face again. ‘She decided not to.’

‘It’s the hormones. Don’t worry, apparently they can do crazy things,’ Brynn says. ‘What’s she going to do instead?’

Another rub of the jaw and a slight huff. ‘She said, and I quote, “Why do I want to sit and answer a damn bunch of dumb questions. I’m going to read fairy smut, and believe me he’s better than you.”’

We all whistle through our teeth. Literally all of us.

‘Just the hormones,’ Brynn assures him again just as Jude settles at the end, pushing a portion of chips into the middle of the table. ‘These are for everyone. Don’t let Tom eat them all.’