I don’t want to give up medicine, or the madness of A&E, but imagine finishing a busy shift and coming home to this. It’s a prospect I can’t get out of my head.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to move home to Huxley Castle with Archie, but maybe there’s an alternative solution…
As we bidAndie and Roger farewell, a lump forms in my throat.
Wesley said his goodbyes earlier and is currently taking an afternoon nap, although I think it might be his way of avoiding having to say goodbye. Andie throws her arms around me, pressing her tiny frame against mine. ‘Come back as soon as you can, and as often as you can.’
‘We will,’ I promise. She might not be quite so enthusiastic if she knew how quickly I’m imagining us returning. Or for how long.
Archie’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his eyes look suspiciously glassy as he gazes at the upstairs window where his father is supposed to be sleeping. The curtain twitches and Archie raises a hand. ‘We’ll definitely be back in a couple of months.’
‘Take care of each other,’ Andie urges, with Roger at her side. A sombre expression etches on his sullen face as he wraps an arm around his wife’s shoulder.
Archie opens the passenger door of the car and I slip in.
I’ve been off the radar for the last couple of weeks, but in the best possible way. The prospect of going back to the real world seems colourless in comparison to the violet flower baskets overflowing with pansies. The ice-blue lake. The rolling emerald countryside.
The engine starts and I raise a hand, wondering why tears are threatening at the corners of my eyes. This is not my home. They’re not my family.
But if you get married, they will be.
The secondwe reach civilisation again, my phone beeps with a million notifications. I can’t bring myself to look at any of them.
Archie’s phone pings with a voicemail. He lets the message from Declan, the guy Ryan uses to find out things, play over the car’s handsfree system. ‘Archie, I have an update on Lily-May, the girl you asked me to look into. No blood relation has come forward to take her in. They’re interviewing families for a more long-term solution right now. I’ll keep an eye on the situation and keep you posted on the outcome. Cheers.’
Archie casts his eyes towards me.
Is he thinking what I’m thinking? Or has the sunshine and family time gone straight to my head?
My mind churns faster than the wheels of the car, silently swirling with possibilities and weighing the risk.
The drive back to Edinburgh takes an age. The traffic is horrendous. The air seems thicker. Polluted. My lungs feel jammed with smoke and smog.
‘You’re quiet.’ Archie’s gaze flicks sideways to me.
I nod, unsure whether to voice the mad ideas floating around my head on autopilot. ‘Is it mad that I miss your sister already?’
‘I know the feeling. How did I let all those years pass? All that time I’ll never get back.’ His hand falls to my thigh, his thumb brushing tiny light strokes over my skin. It’s not just sensual. It’s loving.
I’ve never felt more loved by anyone.
The sky is streaked with pink and orange by the time we pull up outside the house. It’s only been a few weeks, but it feels so much longer.
Marissa and Kristina are outside their own house. Kristina locks the door then Marissa double-checks it, testing the brass handle with a twist.
They are both immaculately dressed as usual. Flawlessly applied make-up accentuates Kristina’s already stunning cheekbones and lips. Before I might have asked where they were going with the hope of being invited along too.
Now, I can’t get into the house quickly enough.
I wave and watch as they hop into a taxi that waits for them, grateful for once that there’s no time for small talk.
The alarm isn’t set. Miriam, the cleaner, must have been in. Archie tuts but doesn’t say a word.
Inside, everything looks exactly as it was when we left. The “country style” kitchen looks laughable in comparison to the true, authentic country kitchen in the Cotswolds. It’s about as authentic as a fifty-year-old’s tight, flawless forehead.
I open the fridge. Miriam has at least emptied and restocked it. The thought of mouldy food turns my stomach. Blood, bodily fluids and bullet wounds, no problem. But maggots are in a league of their own.
I light a candle, hoping to create some sort of cosy ambience, but I just don’t feel any ounce of joy at being home. Because it’s dawning like the brightest sunrise that whatever shade I paint the front door, the walls or any other room, this house has never felt like home.
