47. Homecoming
forty-seven
Homecoming
Liam
It’s bright daylight by the time we pull up out the front of my place. What I’m about to spring on my mother is bad enough—it definitely doesn’t need to be delivered in filthy, blood-stained, bullet-holed clothing. And Jem definitely does not need to turn up in his burial suit.
The drive back to Archer’s place was long and exhausting, but necessary. Hot showers, changes of clothes into Archer’s things. He’s taller than both of us, but we were able to make do, and I’ve never been more thankful to be clean and changed in my whole life.
I’m amazed Archer has kept smiling, kept talking all the way back to Ickenham.
He’s a little shaky, but you’d never know there was anything off if you didn’t study him as closely as I do.
I can’t help it. He’s superhuman to me. Not because he is literally superhuman.
But the strength and the care of this man…
He’s the best person alive. And every time he looks at me, he makes me feel like I’m that to him too.
It doesn’t feel possible he should look at me that way. That he should do all this for me. Should be by my side, even now, as I’m about to walk through my front door with my recently resurrected brother.
I stop for a moment to prepare myself. I need to be the one to start this. I need to go in there and deliver the news to my mum.
I give Jem a final nod, then drop my fingers onto the door handle. Archer’s hand falls on mine. “Are you sure you want me to come in?”
“Please. I want her to meet you. And… And I could use the support.”
He squeezes my hand, then I open the door.
The place is lit with sunshine, looking lovelier than it has any right to in this old building.
My mum’s on the sofa reading a book. She jumps up as soon as she sees me, then pauses when Archer enters behind me, putting on the smile she keeps for people she doesn’t know, which I see so rarely now, because neither of us ever bring anyone home.
I step in with a tug at Archer’s hand, letting the door close behind us. “Mum, this is Archer.”
She takes a moment, eyes on mine in that not-at-all-subtle way mothers do things. “Archer, as in…”
“Mmhmm.”
She stares at us both. Looks at our joined hands.
“Archer’s, um… I’m seeing… um…”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Locke,” Archer says, holding out a hand. It’s disarming. He sounds like a school friend come back to play Xbox.
I think it charms her too because she says, “Call me Steph,” as she shakes his hand.
He nods, then looks to me. It’s time.
She begins some light chatter about how she didn’t realise I’d gone out so early. How if she’d known I was bringing someone over she’d have bought some biscuits. I motion Archer to the armchair, then drop down on the sofa next to her, taking both her hands. She stops talking immediately.
“So, you know I’ve been, kind of, seeing Archer for a while now…”
“A while?” The corner of her mouth wrinkles. “Sure. Yeah. ‘A while.’”
“Yeah.” I laugh, slightly embarrassed, because she makes a good point. It feels like a lot longer, though. I push on. “We’ve grown, um, close. And… Archer’s helped me with a few things.”
She scans Archer again, wary this time.
He puts on as sweet and encouraging a smile as he can.
I melt, so I don’t know how she couldn’t, but I don’t give her time to voice whatever it is that’s deepening the frown on her face. “You know I’ve had… a bit of an emotional week.”
“I did notice that, yeah,” she says, her protectiveness of me thick in her voice and deep in my heart.
“It’s because… Archer here, uh, he runs a sort of… d-detective agency.” My eyes fly to him for help.
“Private,” he puts in. “A private agency.”
“Yeah, private,” I agree. “Like, um… like a private investigator.”
She’s twice as suspicious now. Clearly distrustful.
Maybe of whether I’m being taken advantage of.
Or maybe because of what she probably thinks I’m about to tell her.
She tries to slip away, so I hold her hands tighter and press on.
“I’m going to need you to prepare yourself for what I’m about to tell you.
And show you. And it’s good news, Ma, it’s really good news. ”
Her eyes are already wet, darting across the floor like we’re trying to trap her in a cage. “I can’t. Liam, I can’t—”
“He’s back.” Her breath catches. She stares at me, hard. “Jem’s back. He’s outside. And he’d like to see you.”
Lips parting, her gaze flies to the door, then back to me. Not a single word comes out. It’s an enormous shock, I know. Did I do this right? I can only hope so, because the door is already opening.
Jem enters, eyes so sad, but so loving. Tall and healthy and not a day older than when she last laid eyes on him.
“Baby?” she whispers. She stares up at him for such a taut moment that I’m not sure how she’s going to handle it.
It would make sense to deny this completely.
Call fraud, or put it down to a mental break.
It’s too strange to be true. But something finally snaps.
She’s up and across the room in half a second, stroking a trembling hand down his face.
“My baby,” she cries, then throws her arms around him, holding him against her, both of them in tears.
It’s a long time before either of them stops holding the other, before she looks to me for an explanation. And even then, I don’t think she really needs one. This is enough. Her son back in her arms as though the world never laid a scratch on him.
Archer disappeared to make tea somewhere in the middle of it all, leaving us alone together to have this moment.
A moment where Jem explains that he was in witness protection.
That Marsden was a crooked cop and that he was the very person he was hiding from.
That he’s gone now. ‘Removed from the police force.’ And that we won’t be hearing from him ever again.
When Archer finally wanders in, two cups of tea in hand, my mum just about drenches him in them in her rush to thank him, pressing a huge kiss to his cheek. “You did this? After all these years?”
“It was…” I guess he doesn’t have to lie a whole lot in his business because he’s not very good at it. And neither am I. And I think I love that for us.
“He did, Mum,” I provide for him. “He located him through some… former associates who’d been… through the program already. He helped me reach out. That’s why… That’s why it’s been a roller coaster week for me.”
“Aw, darling,” she sighs, coming back to sit down next to me. “Because you couldn’t talk about it, could you? Witness protection and all.”
“That’s right.” I’m so thankful she found the perfect excuse for me.
“And when we got our first lead, I wasn’t sure what we’d find.
But Archer, he held my hand all the way through it.
And he took care of me. And he brought Jem home to us.
And…” I think my mother will go into a full tailspin right now if I declare my love for this man she just met in front of her.
I can only hope my eyes tell him everything I want to.
All the things I’ll say to him over and over again, a hundred thousand times if he’ll let me.
I think he must know. He’s got that rare bashful look when he disappears back into the kitchen to get the rest of the tea.
So I chase after him. Corner him against the bench before he can even pick the cups up and spill my guts right at his feet.
“You’re everything to me, Archer. You’re everything from this day forward.
I will never, ever be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for us. ”
He presses back against the kiss I’ve been desperate to give him all morning, since the last time we were alone, ever so briefly, at his house, dawn pink and freezing over his farm.
“The only thing I want, Liam, is you. Even if it’s five minutes of your day. I know you’ve got a lot on here. I know it won’t be easy sorting through everything that’s happened, all those years of grief and trauma. But I want you to know, I’ll wait. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”
Wait? What on earth is he talking about?
I’m not going to let him wait one more minute.
“I don’t want you to leave my side. I want you to stay with me.
” His smile is the kind of indulgent that reminds me maybe I’m being just a little forward.
“I mean, I also know you have a lot on, ghosts and all that, and you must be pretty exhausted. But… I’m here. ”
“Honey,” he laughs, taking my hands, “I’d love nothing more than to stay with you for as long as I can.” He places a peck on my lips, sweet, if tired, then asks me, “How’s your ghost stuff going?”
“There are a lot of ghosts,” I admit, looking out the window, down at the street. “I’m doing like you said and just not making eye contact. But it’s weird.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty weird.”
“Yeah. It is. But unlike you, I have someone to talk to about it. Someone who gets it. And you know, you’ve built a whole business around it.
A whole life. So maybe one day…” I chuckle, embarrassed.
“I don’t know. All I do know is I’m heading over to see Gerald this morning to get that mirror.
Hopefully, that will calm things down a bit. If he fires me, it will be worth it.”
I reach past him to grab the mugs, but Archer’s hand finds the small of my back, pausing me. “If he fires you? You’re planning to stay and work for him if not?”
“I don’t know. I guess so? It’s not that I want to work for him, especially knowing that he’s so shifty. And knowing that the work will probably dry up as soon as I get that mirror out of his hands. But I have to do something, don’t I?”
I reach for the mugs again, and I’m halfway across the kitchen with them when Archer suggests softly, “I can think of something you could do…”
I pause, swivelling around. “Oh, yeah?”