* * *
Present Day
It’s Sunday afternoon. I’m exhausted from my journey, and even though I ate practically nothing on the way here, I’m sure I might throw up any second.
I’m standing outside a Georgian townhouse in London. It’s four storeys tall and has a thin strip of yard separating it from the pavement. It takes me five minutes to build up enough courage to ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, a young man opens the door. I’d guess he’s in his early twenties. He’s wearing a close-fitting T-shirt and skinny jeans.
He flicks his gaze over me. “You must be Rory’s friend.”
I fake a smile. “Aye. Is he in?”
“I’ll go get him.” The young man turns and jogs up the stairs, leaving me standing outside, with the door wide open.
I don’t have to wait long before Rory walks down the stairs and approaches me. He’s changed. Grown up. I know I have too, but it’s weird to see Rory as a man. He’s been a fourteen-year-old boy in my head for a long time. Some things are the same—his dark hair with its pronounced widow’s peak and his deep blue eyes—but his jaw has more shape now. It’s not square, but it’s lost its youthful roundness. His neatly trimmed beard and moustache suit him and look out of place simultaneously. Does he have the same easy smile he had as a kid? I’m not sure I’m going to find out anytime soon. He’s wearing a crumpled white shirt and black trousers. His feet are bare.
“Callan.”
“Rory.”
“You look well.”
“So do you.”
Small talk and lies. Rory looks rough. He’s got sleep dust on his eyelashes and huge bags beneath his eyes like he hasn’t slept much. I catch a slight whiff of alcohol on his breath as he talks. It sparks a need inside me, one I have to keep buried.
“What brings you to London?” Rory asks.
“Work.” Why am I lying? I nod at him. “Good night?”
Rory tugs at his crumpled shirt. “Two of our housemates got married. They’re away at a hotel right now and then going on holiday. I’m sorry you won’t get to meet them.”
I shrug and look around. “It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”
“I like it.”
“Hi again.” The young man who opened the door looks around Rory. How long has he been listening to our conversation? “Are you going to introduce us?”
“Callan, this is one of my housemates, Hendrix. Hendrix, this is Callan, a—”
“Old friend.” That’s the truth, isn’t it? It’s all we are to each other now: old friends.
“You’re staying in Fraser’s walk-in wardrobe,” Hendrix says.
Rory rolls his eyes. I almost chuckle because he looks like a long-suffering uncle.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s a bedroom. If you prefer, you can stay in my room.”
In Rory’s room?
His cheeks become bright pink. “Not with me. I’d sleep in the top room.”
My shoulders relax a fraction. “It’s fine. I’ll only be here for a few days.”
“You said a week.”
“About that.” I’m not sure the baby will come on cue, as Niamh thinks. I don’t know what to do about work if it’s late. Grovel? “I was sorry to hear about your dad.” I’m not sure why I’m changing the subject.
“Thank you.” Rory’s voice is stiff. “How are your parents keeping?”
