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We don’t find a bird at the first, second, or third shop we go to, and as we drive down the motorway, putting more and more tarmac between us and home, the hope to find a bird for Waverley seems to lessen with every mile covered.
I have my head rested against the seat, the fields whipping past one after another as I take in the views.
I’ve not been this far from home since getting out of prison. When I was inside, I’d fantasise about all the places I’d travel to once I was out, the places I’d go on my bike—the freedom I’d have. But now that I know about Waverley, and with my duffed-up leg, I can’t help but not want to be anywhere but one place. On the estate.
It’s the only place I’ve ever felt a sense of home.
Charlie’s phone starts to ring through the car’s speaker, and he reaches out to answer. “Lis. I’m not alone.”
I hear her tut. “Who’s the fun sponge today?”
Charlie glances across at me, his face stony. “Lance.”
“Oh. Well, that’s unexpectedly wonderful. Am I to add him to the Christmas card list after all?”
His lip twitches the slightest bit. “Not yet.”
“Keeping it awkward and honest as always, Mr Aldridge. What time should I expect you home?”
“I’ll be late.” He checks the time. “Maybe eight-ish.”
“Hmm. Make it eight fifteen with a bottle of our favourite, and I’ll meet you in the tub.”
Charlie readjusts in his seat, his smile creasing his eyes. “Deal.”
“Lance,” Lissie adds.
I glance at Charlie, and he shrugs.
I sit up a little in my seat. “Yes?”
“He’s been like a lovesick puppy ever since you got home and not over me. Don’t let his stubbornness fool you into thinking he doesn’t love you. He’s really good at that. I find flattery and a good push-up bra works wonders on the man.”
I laugh out loud. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”
I hear her chuckling. “I love you, Charles.”
She hangs up before he can reply.
“Lissie Aldridge,” I mutter into the silence, letting her name hang in the air between us as I continue to rest back in the seat.
I sense Charlie’s smile without needing to look at him.
“How’d you two meet?”
“The club.”
My brows rise as I drop my head to the side. “Really?”
“And the office.”
“The office? A client?”
He shakes his head. “No. Of course she wasn’t a client.”
“Then what? She worked for you?” I ask, shocked. “Fuck, you broke rules.”
He sniggers as if remembering that time. “All of them.”
