Chapter One
“You can never just stick to the plan, can you?” My dad chuckled through the phone. The faint echo to his voice told me he was still driving and I was on speakerphone.
I smiled as I dumped my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, already relaxing as I breathed in the familiar scent of the potpourri Mags liked to keep out in the hallway. “You know I have to throw a wild card in every now and then, Dad. I’ve been gone too long. You’ve gotten soft.”
“Soft!” Dad tutted. “Watch your mouth, Son. How did your last exam go?”
I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me as I made my way down the hall towards the kitchen at the back of the house, my boots thumping on the old wooden floors of the cottage.
“Fine, I think. Wasn’t hungover for it, so that’s always a plus,” I couldn’t help but tease.
“Pretty sure I was drunk for most of my last year of uni, so you won’t be getting any lectures from me there.”
I laughed as I stepped into the old kitchen with its unlit woodburning stove that usually kept the room on just the wrong side of warm, even in the dead of winter. Two mugs were sitting beside the big white butler’s sink that had had a chip on the edge since I was a little boy. One of Mags’ ancient cake tins was beside the kettle, promising some delicious baked goods hidden inside.
“Well at least you’ll get a few days to yourself,” Dad was saying. “Mags decided to go and see Aunt Carol while I was away. I’m picking her up from there on Friday and we’ll drive back down together.”
Dad was on a business trip in Scotland for the next few days, and my step-mum’s sister, Carol, lived in Yorkshire. I had come home from university a week earlier than planned, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t glad to get a few days on my own, even though I couldn’t wait to see Dad and Mags.
“That’s okay,” I said absently, wandering over to the back door to stare out into the garden. It was a cloudy June day, but I could see hints of blindingly blue sky peeking out. The lake sparkled in the distance.
“Does this mean you’ll be alone for your birthday? We assumed you’d have a massive blow-out with your mates before you all left.”
“I don’t mind spending it alone,” I said, turning away from the back door. “We’re celebrating when you’re back, aren’t we?”
“Of course. Mags has been planning your cake for weeks. Before you ask, no, I won’t tell you what it is. She wants it to be a surprise.”
I chuckled. “I can wait.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that Mags has already stocked the cupboards with all your favourites. Careful you don’t end up with a gut like me before you find your own place.”
Dad chuckled, and I could practically see him patting his small belly and declaring that night’s dinner his favourite his wife had ever made. He’d done it every night since they got married, and it never failed to put a pleased flush on Mags’ face.
I turned towards the ancient fridge and yanked the door open, grinning at the sight of ice-cold cans lined up neatly in the door. “I’ll text her to let her know I’m home and say thank you.”
“You do that. She’d love to hear from you.” I heard the indicator clicking faintly in the background. “Right, Ash, I’d better go. About to get off the motorway and need to concentrate on where I’m going.”
I chuckled. Contrary to popular sexist beliefs, Dad was terrible at directions. “No worries. Have a good trip and I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Happy birthday for tomorrow, Ash. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
“Love you, Son.”
“Love you too.”
I clicked off the call, knowing it would take Dad a few distracted moments to figure out how to hang up from his end. Grabbing a can from the fridge, I kicked the door shut behind me and made my way to the back door, wanting to sit and chill out for a while after the long journey home from uni before I went upstairs and unpacked.
It was warm despite the clouds that were slowly thinning out overhead. I could hear a lawnmower running in the distance, and the almost insidious rustle of the aspen trees in the forest to the side of the house, but apart from that it was quiet. Peaceful.
Dad and Mags had recently bought new garden furniture, and I pulled out one of the dark green chairs and slumped down on it, cracking open the can. After taking an achingly sweet sip, I set it down on the table and forced myself to pocket my phone so I wouldn’t just sit mindlessly scrolling through social media.
I leaned my head back on the chair and took a long, deep breath through my nose, closing my eyes. I could smell freshly cut grass mingling with the dry heat of early summer. My open can hissed softly beside me on the table.
I might have drifted off for a few moments, but a distinctly animal-like rustling jerked my head up. It was only a blackbird, perched on the fence at the end of the garden. As I lazily watched it, picking up my drink to take another sip, its orange-rimmed, beady black eyes fixed on me and its head cocked sharply. It hopped a few paces on the fence, then stopped and looked at me again.
I remembered my promise to Dad to text Mags, so I pulled my phone out and typed out a quick text telling her I was home and that I couldn’t wait to see her and Dad in a few days. She replied a few minutes later, telling me she loved me and to check the cake tin for homemade brownies.