Page 72 of Carry Me Home

The ceiling. The dark. The harbour sounds through the window.

I don’t sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

NINA

Tom arrives at six, just as I’m flipping the sign to CLOSED.

‘Ready?’ He’s standing in the doorway, backlit by the evening sun, hands in his pockets, that particular half-hover he does when he’s trying to look casual and overshooting slightly. We’ve been doing this for years – the outdoor cinema at Pencross, every summer, old films on a big screen under the stars. Our thing. One of the few traditions that survived us growing from teenagers into adults.

‘Two minutes.’ I untie my apron and toss it in the basket. ‘Just need to sort Chips.’

Chips is at my feet, watching me with those patient eyes. I crouch down, scratching behind his ears.

‘I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t destroy anything. Don’t eat anything you’re not supposed to. Don’t let Brynn in if she comes by – she’ll give you too many treats and then judge me for it.’

Tail thump. Once. Acknowledgement.

‘Good boy.’ I press a kiss to the top of his head. ‘Guard the café. Important job. I’m trusting you.’

When I stand up, Tom is watching me from the doorway. His face has gone soft in a way that makes my stomach do a slow, uncomfortable turn – not unpleasant, just unfamiliar, like hearing a chord change in a song I thought I knew.

‘What?’ I say.

‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re good with him.’

‘He’s easy to be good with.’ I grab my cardigan and my bag. ‘Right. Cinema. Let’s go. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.’

We walk out together, the evening air warm but finally starting to ease. Tom’s Land Rover is parked at the top of the harbour, same spot, same always. I’m already talking about the film – Brief Encounter this year, which feels almost too on-the-nose for a summer outdoor cinema but I’m not complaining – when we reach the car and I stop.

Cara is in the passenger seat.

She waves through the window, bright and friendly, and my chest constricts – a sharp, physical squeeze, like a hand closing around a fist. I don’t understand it. I have no reason for it. She’s waving. She’s being nice.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Right. Yes. Of course.’

Tom is already opening the back door for me. ‘I mentioned it to Cara – she’s never seen Brief Encounter, can you believe that? I thought she should come. The more the merrier.’

He’s explaining too much. Tom doesn’t explain things this much. Tom says things once, plainly, and moves on. The over-explanation is its own confession – he knows what he’s done. He knows this was ours and he’s opened the door.

‘Right,’ I say, climbing into the back seat. ‘The more the merrier. Absolutely.’

Cara twists around to smile at me. ‘I hope you don’t mind me tagging along. Tom made it sound magical – blankets, stars, old movies. I’m a sucker for all three.’

‘No, it’s great. It’ll be fun.’

Tom starts the engine. I sit in the back seat, and here’s the thought that arrives uninvited and won’t leave:

I never invited Peter.

Not once. In three years together. The outdoor cinema was always just Tom and me. I told myself it was because Peter wouldn’t enjoy it – old films weren’t his thing, he’d fidget, he’d want to leave early. And that was true. He would have fidgeted.

But I never asked. I never even thought to ask. I kept this one thing – this particular evening, this particular tradition – sealed in a box marked Tom and Nina and I didn’t examine why.

I told myself it was about the films.

Tom asked Cara.