Chapter Five Domestic Warfare
Chapter five
Domestic Warfare
Freddie woke to the trill of his phone vibrating on the bedside table, cutting clean through a dream he was pretty sure involved him winning the lottery and never having to wear his stab vest again.
He groaned, rolled onto his front, and burrowed his face into the pillow as if it might save him from reality.
He wasn’t on call, so this had to be something else.
The screen lit up. Piper . Course it was.
He snatched the phone with a grumble, squinting at the time, then answered without lifting his head. “What?”
“Can you please, please, please take Tilly to school for me?” Piper’s rushed, frazzled voice layered over the unmistakable shriek of a baby in full meltdown.
Freddie sighed so deeply it rattled in his chest. “For fuck’s sake, Pipes. It’s my first day off.”
“I know. That’s why I knew I could count on you.”
In the background, Ry-Ry was clearly attempting to summon the dead with his wails.
“I’ve had zero sleep. None. Zilch. I look like fucking shit.
Ryan won’t stop crying. I think he’s teething, poor sod, but I literally cannot face Tilly’s hot as fuck teacher dressed in a sick-stained onesie without my extensions in or my eyelashes on.
And Tilly’s already got one shoe on the wrong foot.
Please, Freddie. She’s going to be late and I’ll get bollocked again. ”
Freddie rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Why can’t you ask Mum?”
“She’s away.”
That jolted him enough to sit up. “Away where?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Please, Freddie. Tills is waiting by the door. She dressed herself.”
Which could mean anything from a princess gown to pyjamas and wellies.
He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face, abandoning any last hope of a peaceful lie-in, and maybe a lazy wank under the sheets.
Not that that was going to happen. Not when the only image creeping behind his eyelids had blue eyes, a bad leg, and a voice he hadn’t heard in fifteen years.
Had seen him, though.
Online.
Did a deep dive one night after too many drinks and too little self-restraint.
No social media. None in his name, anyway.
But he’d found a forces newsletter with a blurry photo and a caption that mentioned a promotion.
Staff Sergeant Nathan Carter. Another time, he stumbled across a local news clip, some charity run for injured veterans.
Nathan had been in the background, helping someone into a wheelchair, sleeves rolled up, buzz cut, eyes sharp.
That was the last time he looked.
Because it hurt like fuck.
No good ever came of watching someone live a life you weren’t in .
He exhaled, defeated. “Fine. Be there in five. But I’m warning you, I look like shit, too.”
“That’s alright. Pretty sure Mr Harper’s straight.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“Prick,” she chuckled fondly. “Hurry up.”
Freddie ended the call, dropped the phone onto the duvet, and let his head fall back onto the pillow for exactly three seconds.
Then he sighed again, louder this time, rolled out of bed, and started pulling on yesterday’s jeans.
So much for Monday being his Sunday.
By the time Freddie pulled up outside his sister’s place, Tilly was already bouncing up and down at the garden gate as if she’d had a double espresso for breakfast, and as soon as he stepped out of the car, she launched herself at him with all the force of a pint-sized rocket.
“Uncle Freddie!”
He caught her with a grunt, nearly slipping on the wet pavement as he hoisted her up. “Jesus, Tills. You been mainlining sugar again?”
She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he pressed a kiss to her temple before carrying her towards the house.
Piper’s place was organised chaos at the best of times.
A rented terrace with a wonky fence and a front garden half-covered in broken chalk drawings.
It wasn’t much, but she made it feel lived in.
Home. Somehow. She’d been doing it on her own for years now.
Tilly’s dad was technically still “around,” but only in the loosest, most disappointing sense of the word.
He popped up now and then with promises he never kept.
Birthdays missed, school plays skipped, the occasional half-hearted video call that ended with Tilly more confused than comforted.
He liked the idea of being a dad more than the actual work of it.
Ryan’s dad was another story altogether.
A mystery, even to those closest to her.
Piper had never said much, and Freddie had learned not to push.
But he had his suspicions. The father was a married man, someone she’d met while cleaning his house during a stretch of rough months, picking up cash-in-hand jobs to keep the lights on.
Whether it had started as a misguided affair or something murkier, something she hadn’t had the power to say no to, he didn’t know.
Maybe she didn’t, either. She’d never tell him.
Not when she knew exactly what he’d do. Freddie had never needed much of a reason to swing first and ask questions later.
Uniform or no uniform. And if Piper ever gave him a name, he’d be on his doorstep in minutes, fists clenched, ready to blow up whatever neat little life the bloke had.
He didn’t care if she never asked him to.
He’d do it, anyway. For her. For what that bastard had left her with.
Because she was his sister. And this chaotic, complicated, full-of-noise family was all he had.
And it was mornings like this that reminded Freddie why he stuck close. Why he hadn’t left Worthbridge behind. Even when every part of him had once wanted to.
Tilly wriggled out of his arms and raced up the path shouting, “Mummy, Uncle Freddie’s here!”
Freddie followed with a quiet smile, bracing for whatever level of chaos Piper had achieved before eight a.m. A trail of socks and crayons led to the living room where Piper, in a fluffy onesie, was attempting to zip up a reading folder with her teeth, cradle a wailing baby with one arm, and wedge a water bottle into a side pocket using her chin.
“You’re a sight,” Freddie said, stepping in .
Piper looked up, wild-eyed, hair in a pineapple bun, dark circles under her eyes.
“And you’re a fucking bellend but we move on.
” She shoved Tilly’s book bag into his hands like it was a live grenade.
“You need to ask the teacher what lunch is. Tilly has to pick what she wants in the morning, but I’ve no fucking clue what rotation we’re on.
Chicken nugget week? Jacket potato week?
Who bloody knows. And she needs her hair up.
I haven’t had a second to plait it. Green bow’s around here somewhere . ”
Freddie plucked a bow from the back of her sick-stained onesie. “This one?”
Piper blew a piece of hair from her face. “You’re a lifesaver. And a wanker.”
Freddie gave a cheeky salute, tickled baby Ry-Ry’s cheek, earning a fresh burst of sobs. “Go get your coat, Tils.”
Off she darted, bare legs and all.
Freddie watched her go with a smile, then turned to his sister. “You need a nap. Or a spa day. Or to marry a millionaire.”
“I’d settle for a shower and a coffee if you can come back and give me five minutes away from this tiny screamer?” She jiggled the baby on her hip.
Freddie shoved the green bow into his pocket, slung the book bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be back after drop off.”
“Has anyone told you you’re an actual Godsend?”
“Not recently. Although I’ve made a fair few blokes scream his name.”
Piper snorted, shoving his arm with her elbow. “You’re disgusting.”
“Accurate, though.”
Before she could fire back, Tilly barrelled back into the hallway, wriggling into her coat, tiny black shoes scuffed with the Velcro barely holding on, but she was dressed and ready, arms outstretched like a runway model twirling in invisible chiffon. “Let’s gooooo!”
Freddie took her hand with a mock sigh. “Come on then, Tiny Tornado. Let’s meet this teacher of yours.” He winked.
Piper rolled her eyes.
So he left, Tilly bouncing beside him the whole way down the street, swinging their arms and pointing out pigeons and clouds and a dog she insisted she’d seen yesterday wearing socks.
The winter air bit gently at their cheeks, and the pavements shimmered with last night’s frost still clinging to the edges.
Halfway there, he pulled her to a stop beside a crumbling garden wall.
“Right.” He crouched to dig the green bow out of his pocket. “Hair time.”
Tilly dropped her bag and stood patiently while he attempted to divide her hair into two passable pigtails.
He wasn’t exactly skilled. One side was always puffier than the other, and he still didn’t quite know what to do with the wispy flyaways at the back.
But she never complained. As far as she was concerned, Uncle Freddie’s hair magic was second only to Disney princesses.
Perhaps he should have been a hairdresser rather than a copper?
He fastened the green bow onto one side with a decisive twist. “Ta-da.”
Tilly beamed. “You’re the best.”
When they reached the school gates, the chaos of drop-off was already in full swing.
Kids running wild, parents shouting apologies, scooters everywhere.
And there was Mr Harper, the Year One teacher, all jawline and cardigan, smiling politely at every parent as if he hadn’t broken hearts in four counties .
Freddie handed Tilly off with a smile that was definitely not just friendly. More testing the water. Checking if Piper was correct in her suspicions.
“Sorry she’s a bit late. Last-minute hair emergency.” He had no idea how he made that sound like flirting, but he was sure he pulled it off.
Mr Harper smiled. Bright, boyish, and far too chipper for a man dealing with a herd of small humans before nine a.m. But there was absolutely no flirtation back. Piper had a chance, then.
“Happens to the best of us. Lunch choice?”