Page 47 of Carry Me Home

‘People shouldn’t feed any animals chocolate.’

‘People shouldn’t do a lot of things.’ She’s studying me, slightly too perceptive, seeing everything except the one thing that’s right in front of her. ‘You’re allowed to have an opinion, you know. About Freddy.’

‘I don’t have an opinion about Freddy.’

‘Liar.’ But she’s grinning, and the flour is still on her cheek, and she has no idea what this conversation is costing me. ‘Lunch? As a thank you for the machine?’

I came in for food, running towards the café on an automatic pilot, but I find myself saying, ‘I can’t. RNLI drill at four. Afternoon appointments first.’

‘Boring.’ She’s already turning towards the kitchen. ‘Fine. Go be responsible. But I’m sure we are due a proper lunch at some point. A long one. Multiple courses. No veterinary emergencies.’

‘I’ll check my hamster schedule.’

‘You do that.’

I leave, following in the wake of Freddy the holidaymaker and linguine proposer. The heat hits me and I walk back to the surgery with the memory of her breath against my ear and the flour on her cheek that I didn’t touch.

Tom Darcy is moving on. That’s the plan.

So, I go back to work. I see a dog with an ear infection and a cat that’s eaten a sock and a rabbit with overgrown teeth, and I am competent and calm and professional, and the entire time I am thinking about crab linguine and a terrace in Amber Cove.

The RNLI drill runs long. It’s too hot for drysuits, too hot for hauling ropes, too hot for Bill’s endless commentary on engine maintenance. By the time we’re done I’m soaked through and my shoulders ache and the sun is still hammering down like it has something to prove.

‘Drink,’ Brynn says, shoving a water bottle into my hands. ‘You’re bright red.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Sit down before you fall down.’

I sit on the harbour wall because arguing with Brynn is a waste of energy I don’t have. The stone holds the day’s heat beneath me. The water is glassy and still, not a breath of wind, the boats barely moving.

Jude drops down beside me. He’s in better shape. I find this deeply irritating.

‘So,’ he says.

‘So.’

‘Brynn told me about the tourist.’

‘What tourist?’

‘The one at the café. The one flirting with Nina.’

‘How the hell…’ I begin to ask, but then stop. This is Sea Salt Bay. If some tourist was flirting with Nina the entire place would know by the time the cream for the scones had run out. ‘It’s not my business.’

‘No,’ Jude agrees. ‘It’s not.’ He takes a long drink of water, casual, unhurried. ‘Except you’ve been in love with her for years and you’ve never told her, and now some bloke with good bone structure walks in and you’ve got a face on you that’s leaning towards murderous.’

I shrug. Casual. Collected. Moving on. ‘Nope.’

My answer sits there. The heat presses down.

‘Can I say something?’ Jude says.

‘Can I stop you?’

‘No.’ He turns to look at me directly. ‘You’re using the friendship as a hiding place. You’re telling yourself what you have is enough because reaching for more is terrifying. And I get it. But at some point – tell her. Or don’t. But stop standing in the middle.’

‘And if I tell her and she still doesn’t feel the same way, will never feel the same way, or it’s too soon after Peter and she hates me for trying to ruin his memory?’