Will freezes. ‘Yeah. Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘I just wondered . . .’ I begin. ‘Who were you texting?’
‘Nobody,’ he snaps, undoing his seatbelt.
Kit, then. I can only speculate about whether something’s up between my brother and his boyfriend – last time I asked, Will didn’t want to talk about it. But I haven’t seen Kit around at school for a few days.
I don’t say anything now, though, because Will’s opening his door and getting out. Dad appears to greet us, so I follow his lead.
Arthur opens the boot. ‘Let me get that, Victoria,’ he says, before I can take my bag from it.
‘It’s not heavy,’ I lie, heaving it over my shoulder. The wide strap digs in a bit, reminding me very clearly of the seven books I packed because I couldn’t decide what to read this weekend. Even though my room here bears a strong resemblance to the Dunbridge library.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, as he comes down the last few steps towards me having greeted Will.
‘How was the journey, love?’ he asks, taking my bag and giving me a hug. ‘Let me see you. Is everything OK?’
I hate it when he does that because it means I’m going to have to work at keeping my face under control. Smile then. Glow. Everything’s fine. ‘Missed you,’ I mumble, pressing my face into the smooth cotton of his shirt.
‘Missed you too, kid,’ he says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. Then he lets go. ‘Come on, inside with you now or you’ll freeze.’
I turn back. ‘Thanks for the lift, Arthur.’
He smiles. ‘Nice to have you home.’
I glance at Dad in mild confusion – Arthur isn’t putting the car away in the garage as he usually does.
‘Your mother’s still out,’ Dad says. ‘Theresa Tomlinson’s birthday. She must have lost track of time – she was planning to be back before you arrived.’
‘Oh, right.’ I don’t say anything else. I’d rather not think about what that means.
‘Have you two eaten?’ Dad asks, as we walk into the house.
‘No, not yet,’ I say. ‘Aren’t we waiting for Mum?’
‘I was with a client until just now but I tried to call her.’ Dad shrugs. ‘Martha’s getting dinner for seven o’clock.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Will mumbles, slipping off his shoes and coat. He pockets his phone. ‘And I’m tired. Is it OK if I go straight up to my room?’
Dad hesitates, and I see the disappointment in his eyes. It’s rare for us all to sit round the table together as a family, especially since Will and I have been at boarding school, and the evenings when we do mean the world to our parents. I know that as well as my brother does. But then Dad smiles. ‘Of course. Get some rest. Martha can put something aside for you in case you get hungry later.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ he mumbles, grabbing his bag and vanishing upstairs as fast as he can.
‘Is he all right?’ Dad asks, under his breath, as Will’s footsteps fade away. ‘Trouble with Kit?’
I shrug. ‘I hope not. I couldn’t get anything out of him.’
‘Hm . . .’ Dad’s silent for a moment. Then he puts my bag at the foot of the wide staircase. ‘OK. Do you want to freshen up and then we can have dinner on the sofa instead?’
I have to smile. ‘Only if we can watchSpider-Man.’
‘The Tom Holland version, of course.’ Dad nods. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘See you in a bit, then.’
Will’s door is shut as I cross the upstairs landing. It’s only a week since I was last here but, as always, stepping into my childhood bedroom feels like entering a whole new world. It’s at least three times the size of my room at Dunbridge, but it feels less like home. I’ve rarely slept here for more than a few days at a time since the juniors. We spend most of the holidays away. It’s ages since I stayed in this room for more than a week. And every time I’m back here, I think what a shame that is. It’s dark outside so I can’t see the sea, but when the tall lattice windows are open, I can hear the waves breaking against the cliffs.
I turn away and feel an overwhelming urge just to drop onto my bed. But I resist. Instead, I open my wardrobe, swap my school clothes for leggings and a fluffy jumper, and head back downstairs. Dad’s just carrying two plates of lasagne into the sitting room.
