“And who’s scared to start a relationship because she can already see the bitter end,” she said wryly.
“Is this what would be the end of us? My habit of zooming out?”
She blinked rapidly, and he realized he’d done it again: suggested a future between them. “I guess it’s no more of a crime than my tendency to zoom in.”
“Still. I thank you for your feedback and assure you that we at Sundew Abbey Tours will take it on board in order to improve our future customer experience.”
Surprisingly, she stretched up to kiss him. He eagerly met her halfway. It was amazing how natural it felt to go for the kiss. Like how it felt right to hold her hand.
As they pulled apart, their gazes locked, and he could see the same confusion in hers that he felt. What was this thing between them, and was it still chemically enhanced? It felt almost tangible. He pulled her in and they wrapped each other up.
Over her head, a dozen rectangles of light shone through the trees from various windows in the abbey. As a child, he’d drawn comfort in coming home from rugby training or whatever and seeing lights on in the house. It was a physical memory: warmth and calmness. Miss Havisham gathering her inhabitants in her protective embrace. A cocoon, as Amelia would say. A hug, even. His parents would be in the drawing room, watching TV, his grandfather drinking whiskey beside the fire in the smoking room, Eddie in his bedroom, reading graphic novels. Tom would join him and they’d sprawl on the rug, sifting through the pilesof comics, hoping to find one they hadn’t read, or at least hadn’t read in the previous week. But tonight, the house’s welcome was a mirage—the lights he and Amelia had evidently left on during the previous night’s ramblings.
The night his grandfather had disappeared, every light in the house had spilled into the night, as if Miss H. herself was joining the search. Outside, dozens of torch beams had swept the grounds, bouncing like fireflies. It was probably the last time the place had been full of people.
You’re allowed to be sad about losing your home.
Hewassad. Yes, he had more immediate problems, and yes, the world had bigger concerns, but the thought of not having this anchor left an emptiness in his stomach. Would his memories fade, once he could no longer stand in the rooms where they were made? The image of his father slumped over his desk was a recollection he would readily part with. Ditto the sight of his grandfather stalking off into the darkness. But racing toy cars along the floorboards in the basement with Eddie and Connor? Watching his mother pull a tray of golden scones from the big old oven? Swinging into the river on a rope Duncan had hooked up?
Through the wood behind him came a rustling noise, getting louder. Something was coming for them, through the undergrowth, fast. Tom spun to face the threat, standing in front of Amelia, his arms splayed.
A shadowy creature shot out of the bushes, and bounded to a halt as it clocked them, barking. One of the dogs. In the distance, a whistle. The brothers. They couldn’t be more than a hundred meters away.
“Will it attack us?” Amelia said as the dog alternately bounced and crouched, barking.
“It wouldn’t be trained to attack large prey. Rabbits and pheasants, maybe. But it’s wearing a GPS collar.”
“So they know exactly where we are.”
“Change of plans,” Tom said, turning. The dog snarled. “You head for the road. I’ll go the other way, get the dog to follow me.”
“The road? But?—”
“If they think we’ve gone the other way, you’ll get a head start. I’ll keep this guy occupied for a bit. Provide a distraction, while shaking him off. Just don’t stray far from the road. It’s easily done in the fog.”
“Uh, okay.”
“I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can. But don’t wait for me. If I don’t make it, keep going. There are houses on the outskirts of the village. Knock on any of the doors you come to—they’re all good people.”
“That’s what you said about your neighbors.”
“I never said they were ‘good.’ I just didn’t think… I’ll run first. Wait a second for the dog to follow me, and then go yourself. And watch out for imps.”
“Copy that.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand, then started running, glancing back. The dog seemed to weigh its options but its instinct to join the chase won out. It quickly caught up with Tom and bounded alongside, barking and occasionally jumping and snapping. Tom hoped he was right that it wouldn’t attack a human. He couldn’t risk an injury right now. It probably considered the wood its territory—it spent enough time there.
Tom stayed within the tree line, focusing mostly on the terrain, not that he could see far through the thickening fog. Running through the forest with a weapon—it was like army training. Mad dog aside, it was almost a relief to divert his excess adrenaline into running hard, though he had to be careful. There might not be much he could do about the dog, but he could at least make sure he didn’t turn an ankle.
A rifle shot boomed. Tom instinctively ducked, not that it would help. Another shot. Not the crack-boom you’d expect to hear if it was being fired at you, and the bullets didn’t sound like they were impacting around him. Amelia? The dog leaped, snapping at his elbow. Tom felt the nip of teeth, and hoped it was inadvertent.
He stopped, turned, and said “no” in a quiet, commanding voice. The dog stretched back on its hind legs for a second, confused, and then lunged, barking more intensely, teeth bared. Tom picked up a small, thick stick, waved it in front of the dog’s eyes and then tossed it, hard. The dog was almost fooled. It took a step in the right direction but then reassessed.
More rifle shots, several this time. Tom tensed. Unless they were chancing it, there was only one other living creature they were likely to be taking shots at right now. He had to lose the dog and get back to Amelia.
There was one place the dog would be happy enough to wait this out, while taking its owners on a wild-goose chase. Tom led it around to the western side of the house. As they neared the chicken coop, it twigged and bolted ahead. When Tom caught up, it was barking at the wire fence. Tom opened the little door to the run and the dog rushed in, tail wagging, and started sniffing the ground. “Sorry, pup,” Tom said, closing the gate. “Only ghost chickens left. Your owners will be along soon though.”
Tom left the dog scrabbling in pursuit of chickens that were now safely in the yard of Mrs. Ellis from the village tearoom, who had insisted on repaying Tom with more Earl Grey tea than his mother could consume in a year.
