He was already asleep.
Chapter 23
Noah
“Ihave some news,” I declared at the dinner table, where my father was grimacing at something on his phone and my mother was fussing over a shop-bought lasagna.
“Tell us, darling. Don’t keep us in the dark. This sounds exciting.”
Mother, serving me up a plate of brownish slop.
I wasn’t being ungrateful, but suddenly I longed for Mrs Cook’s plastic boxes with piping hot stew and dumplings. Anything to bring me back. To him, to Scotland, where the air was cool and fresh and I didn’t feel so utterly bewildered.
“I’m having a midlife crisis,” I declared, as my dadlaughed out loud.
“Son, we’ve all been there. Why do you think I took up golf?”
“I’m not taking up golf.”
“Good for you. It costs an arm and a leg, and I’m still no good at it.”
“You just go for the free beer at the clubhouse. I know you,” my mother teased.
“It’s social interaction!”
“Dad, calm down. Now listen.”
“We’re listening.” Mother was doing nothing of the sort, running back to the fridge to get a bottle of wine out.
“You didn’t chill the red, did you?”
“I always do. I like it cold.”
“Mum,” I growled.
“I’ll just have beer.” Dad sighed. “Gill, grab one for Noah too, then you can have your ice-cold berry drink to yourself.”
“Can I speak?” I half shouted.
Family life. Was I good at this? I sucked. My family was a mess, but it was our mess and…
Fuck.
Could I really do this?
I’d been like this all week, on one side being organised and smart, sorting out a six-month sabbatical with the sceptical practice manager whom I suspected hated my guts. I was simple and unproblematic, but also? I pulled things like this. With no warning and no viable excuses. On the other hand? How the hell did you actually…get married? Where? When? I’d googled marriage licences and got myself in a pickle at first, but I think…Fox and I had that part sorted now.
“I’m going to get married.”
“Noah,” my mum breathed. “Are you going onMarried At First Sight? On TV?”
“No!” I roared. “I’m going to marry Fox!”
“Good for you,” my dad said, pouring beer into a glass. “That’s nice.”
“That’s very fast, darling.” Mum. Overpouring the wine, making me grab at the bottle.
“It is, but it’s right. I’m moving up to Scotland. Six months to start to see if it will work out. I’m confident it will, but we need to have some safeguards in place.”
