Chapter Five Domestic Warfare #2
Freddie winced, already bracing for judgement. “We can’t remember what rotation we’re on. Sorry. Tilly’s mum’s sleep-deprived, and I’ve had three hours and a KitKat.”
Mr Harper didn’t miss a beat, as if he fielded this question daily with the grace of a saint.
Freddie envied that. Unlike him, who could barely hide the twitch in his eye when someone at three a.m. asked if they really needed to do a breathalyser test when they were sure they’d only had a Coke despite their breath reeking like a brewery.
“Fish fingers week,” Mr Harper said. “Tilly, do those sound good?”
Tilly gave a serious nod like she was signing a legally binding contract, then waved and ran off through the gates.
Freddie made the brisk walk back to his sister’s, where Piper was still a wreck in a onesie and baby Ry-Ry had worked himself into a fresh state of rage. So he picked the baby up, tucked him against his chest, and rocked gently side to side.
“Go.” He nodded to the stairs. “Shower. Maybe brush your teeth.”
Piper mouthed thank you , then disappeared upstairs .
Freddie bounced the baby. “And they say I’m not a morning person.”
When Piper reappeared, towelling the last of the damp from her hair, she was dressed in her mum uniform.
Leggings, oversized hoodie, and that look that said she was clinging to sanity by her fingernails.
Freddie slouched on the couch, Ryan snuggled on his chest in a content, milk-drunk sleep and he rubbed slow, soothing circles over the baby’s back while Good Morning Britain blared another shouting match about the state of the nation.
Piper sat on the edge of the sofa beside him.
“Where’s Mum off to now?” Freddie asked without looking away from the telly.
“You’ll get mad.”
“Give me the headline.”
“She’s… learning to be a clairvoyant.”
Freddie turned to look at his sister. “Please tell me you’re taking the piss.”
“I wish I was.” Piper raked the comb through her hair. “Says she’s got ‘the gift’. Booked a weekend course with some woman from the Isle of Wight who calls herself Mystic Shaz. Says she’s gonna learn how to make a mint from it.”
Freddie groaned. “Oh, for f—course she has.”
“She’s already ordered tarot cards. Says she saw a blue aura around the postman and that means she’s aligned with the spirit world now.”
Freddie stared at the ceiling trying to summon strength from the gods. “Do you think we can get her banned from Etsy?”
“Not unless you want a hex put on you.”
“Might be worth it.”
Piper snorted. “But in other news. Have you heard who’s back in town? ”
She couldn’t be talking about Nathan. “Who?”
“Nate.”
Ah. So, she was. Jesus. News in Worthbridge travelled faster than broadband.
“Yeah. I know. How do you know?”
“Mandy.”
Freddie wrinkled his brow.
“Cook?” Piper reached for her phone. “Married Lenny from your old football team. Works the fryer at Oh My Cod! . Her eldest’s in Tilly’s class, so she’s in the WhatsApp group. She sent a pic last night. Nate’s arse leaving the chippy.”
She unlocked her phone with a swipe and handed it over. Freddie blinked at the screen. The photo was, technically, illegal. But was also undeniably hot .
Nathan, the back of him anyway, caught mid-stride, running shorts clinging to an arse that looked like it could break hearts and furniture, with his T-shirt soaked through, plastered to a torso that hadn’t seen the inside of a takeaway in years.
And across the top of the image, in bold group chat energy, was the caption: The one that got away’s back in town with three heart-eyes emojis, a scorching hot face emoji and a flame.
Freddie handed the phone back. “Classy.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t zoom in.”
He didn’t dignify that with a response.
“So…What do you think about that?”
Freddie glanced at her. “I think I should caution Mandy for a creepshot.”
“Miaow. Someone’s jealous.”
“Fuck off. It’s been a long time since I had to watch Mandy snog him behind the youth club bins.”
Piper barked a laugh. “You were such a moody little shit after that. ”
“Fuck off.”
“Even to me. You didn’t talk to either of us for a week. And I had a crush on him first, remember?”
Of course, Freddie remembered. How could he not?
Half the bloody town had fancied Nathan Carter.
He was golden. Beautiful. Untouchable. Even the straight lads got flustered around him.
Too much eye contact, too many lingering handshakes.
Freddie had fallen early and hard and had spent most of his teenage years pretending he hadn’t.
Piper nudged his arm. “I noticed his thighs before you did.”
“I doubt that.”
Piper tilted her neck with that sympathetic look. “But you’re not over him, though.”
Freddie said nothing.
“So, how do you feel about him being back?”
Now that was the million quid question. The one chewing at the edges of his chest, wearing through the armour he’d built up over years.
What could he even say? That the moment he saw Nathan again, his world had shifted off its axis?
That the scar he’d spent years pretending didn’t hurt had flared up as if never fully healed?
That even seeing a stranger who looked like Nathan in a crowd had always tugged at him, like gravity refusing to let go.
And now, standing in front of the real thing, felt like a gut punch he couldn’t breathe past?
“Apparently he’s working at his dad’s garage now,” Piper said, filling the loaded silence.
“Right.”
She gave him a sly side-eye. “That rust bucket of yours still whining every time you turn the key? ”
Freddie huffed a laugh, but it came out thinner than he intended. “Subtle, Pipes.”
She grinned as Ryan began to squirm, his little head lifting from Freddie’s chest, mouth opening as if he was hunting for his tit. Since Freddie didn’t have one to offer, Piper leant over and gently scooped Ryan into her arms.
“I do my best,” she said with a wink.
As she bounced the baby on her hip and wandered towards the kitchen, Freddie stared at the front door, thoughts spinning.
Could he…?
It wouldn’t take much.
A quick fix made to look like a fault. Something harmless. Easy to undo. Loosen a spark plug lead, maybe unplug a sensor. Enough to make the engine stutter and justify swinging by the garage. Nothing serious. Nothing dangerous.
Long enough to need help.
Long enough to see him.
He told himself it was practical. Strategic. Curiosity. But he knew better.
He’d spent half his teenage years sprawled on the driveway beside Nathan, watching him tinker with old cars under his dad’s grumbling instructions.
Nathan had been all grease-stained fingers and focused frowns, as if engines listened to him when no one else did.
And Freddie had thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
Nathan with flushed skin, knuckles bruised and blackened, voice low and rough like the engines he worked on.
He’d be explaining something, and Freddie had no idea what.
He hadn’t heard a single word. He’d just stared, heat rising like a fever and falling in love, one sun-drenched Saturday at a time .
He cleared his throat. “Hey, Pipes? You still got that little tool kit under the sink?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Something I want to check on the car.”
A lie.
It wasn’t the worst lie he’d ever told.
No. That one was quieter. Simpler. One he whispered to himself in the quiet moments. One that had settled into his bones.
The one he still told himself, again and again.
That he wasn’t still in love with the best friend who’d broken his heart.
That was the lie he’d stuck to for years.
But crouched beside the bonnet a few minutes later, skimming his fingers over cold metal, Freddie felt it hit.
Sharp and stupid and inevitable. His pulse already quickened at the thought of seeing him again.
Because Nathan wasn’t just back in town.
He was back in his bloodstream. Taking up space in his chest like nothing else had managed to in years.
Why was he back? What had dragged him to Worthbridge now? Was it Katie? Were they together? Had they ever been together? Had he loved her, or done what he thought he was supposed to after that night?
Did he bury the past, scrub it clean, rewrite it?
Freddie didn’t know. Because Nathan didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address when he disappeared. And now he was back. Older, broader, battle-worn in all the ways Freddie hadn’t seen happen.
So he told himself a different lie.
That this whole thing…this pathetic, half-baked reason to swing by the garage was about closure . Curiosity. Not hope .
That whatever version of Nathan stood behind that forecourt door now wouldn’t look at him the way he used to.
Wouldn’t lean in too close or smile as if it meant something.
Wouldn’t let his voice soften just for him .
That he’d gone into the army with questions and come out with answers.
Straight ones. Clean ones. Ones that didn’t leave room for Freddie Webb and everything messy they once were.
And if none of that was true?
Well.
That was tomorrow’s lie to deal with.