A feeling of purpose I’d been missing since my placement ended settles in my stomach. ‘You know this calls for champagne, right?’
Archie sets down his whiskey on the counter before lifting me into his arms and positioning my backside on the granite while he searches the fridge.
‘This is a travesty! We’re out of champagne. You’re definitely not following the usual path of the Sexton sisters. If Chloe heard about this, she’d set up a counselling hotline or something.’
‘First world problems.’ My eyes rise to the ceiling. ‘Will you pop out to the off-licence on the corner?’
Archie’s head jerks in my direction. ‘I can’t leave you.’
‘Oh, come on, Arch. It’s not like someone’s going to steal me. Lock the door. I’ll grab a quick shower. I feel revolting after that drive. Then we can really start the celebrations, okay?’
A doubtful look forms on his handsome face.
‘Seriously? I’ll barely have turned the water on, and you’ll be back. Go. Please. Or I will call Chloe and get that champagne hotline set up.’
Archie reluctantly grabs his keys from the kitchen table. ‘I see you’ll compromise on the countryside, but not on your drink of choice. You’re more like your sisters than you think,’ he teases.
‘Only because we’re celebrating.’
He darts over to me, pressing a kiss on my lips. ‘I’ll be two minutes. Not even. Will you be okay?’
‘For two minutes?’ I roll my eyes. ‘I think I’ll manage. Come on, Arch. You’ve never babied me before. Don’t start now.’
‘Two minutes,’ he reiterates, intensely.
I hop off the worktop, opening the overhead cupboard in search of champagne flutes.
The front door bangs closed. The handle rattles as Archie checks it’s locked.
The exasperated sigh about to leave my lips is trapped and smothered by the cold, clammy hand that clamps over my mouth.
I’m dragged backwards, panic raging in my chest, as a familiar voice hisses in my ear. ‘Welcome home, Doctor Sexton.’
30
ARCHIE
There’s a queue in the off-licence. A white-haired woman tuts impatiently behind the glass-walled counter, pursing her deeply lined lips as the customer she’s serving counts out pennies from a small, worn purse.
Two teenagers giggle in front of me, nudging each other’s ribs. If their nervous laughter doesn’t give them away, their overly made-up faces definitely reveal they’re underage. The white-haired woman doesn’t seem to care. The teenagers take their time ordering what seems like every flavour of alcopop in the shop. I check my watch for the tenth time in two minutes.
I should be back by now. I shouldn’t have left her.
She’s a grown woman. In a locked house.
I pull up the security cameras on my phone to double-check. The front door is closed. The motion sensor lights haven’t been activated since I left.
She’s okay.
Eventually the teenagers hand over their money, practically running out of the store as if worried the shop assistant might change her mind.
‘Can I get a bottle of Bollinger, please?’ The good stuff is on the floor-to-ceiling shelving behind the counter.
I dig into my pocket for my wallet. ‘Actually, better make it two.’
‘Someone’s celebrating…’ The assistant’s pursed lips crinkle tighter as if celebrating’s frowned upon.
‘Yep.’ My eyes flick to my wristwatch again.
