Chapter 5 Baggage
Baggage
Lily-Anne
A warm hand grazes my shoulder.
“Lily-Anne. We’re here.”
Brandon’s deep voice slides through the haze of sleep, smooth and velvety. Not the worst thing to wake up to.
I open bleary eyes. He’s standing by my car door, the overcast light catching the lines of his face.
“The service station?” I mumble.
“No. Whitstable. I need to move the car—someone’s stolen my parking space. But I’ll let you into the house with your luggage first.”
I shiver as he steps back, a cool draught meeting me.
We’re parked in front of the narrow houses I saw online, their pastel colours even lovelier in person—postcard-perfect as they face the North Sea.
The water is a muted sheet of grey-blue beneath the cloudy midday light, bordered by a shingle beach, though from here the pebbles gleam like sand.
Air tinged with the smell of seaweed cools my face as I take it all in, a part of me yearning to explore.
“Oh, how pretty,” I murmur, stepping out of the car and drawing my cardigan close.
I turn to see Brandon watching me, the breeze ruffling his brown hair, my suitcase and backpack beside him. He’s holding the guitar case tentatively, waiting for me to take it.
Embarrassment prickles as I remember how I reacted at the airport when he offered to carry it.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the handle. Our fingers brush briefly—just for a second. He only nods and starts towards the blue cottage, but as he climbs the steps, his hand flexes, and a shiver skims across mine.
“This is us,” he says, pulling out his keys.
“Not the pink one?” I tease, nodding to the neighbouring house. It’s very Legally Blonde, its matching garden of bubblegum-pink roses creeping through Brandon’s neat hedgerow.
“That belongs to the neighbours, Rupert and Barbara.” He gives me a wary look. “You’ll be invited over there soon enough, if you aren’t careful.”
“You make it sound ominous.”
“Yes, that was my intention.”
His expression is deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitches as he unlocks the door. He wheels my suitcase inside, then ducks back out.
“Make yourself at home—feel free to look around. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The hallway smells of cedar, timber floors warmed by cinnamon-brown walls. A coastal-blue runner mutes my steps as I set down my guitar case and bags.
In the kitchen, white cabinets and modern appliances gleam.
Glass doors open onto a shady patio with cushioned chairs around a wrought-iron table.
At its centre, a dark aqua bowl with gold, marble-like veins catches the light.
Its beauty feels a little peculiar, sitting outside like that.
Beyond it is a narrow-fenced garden of lawn and trees.
Off the hall is a living room. A flatscreen TV hangs on the wall, but the blue couch points towards the window’s view of the sea. A stack of travel books sits on the coffee table. No speakers, no vinyl, no photos—nothing to suggest he enjoys music. I’d hoped for at least an instrument.
A closed door at the back likely leads to his bedroom, but I return to the kitchen, unwilling to pry.
I sit at the island bench and message Mum and Ellenor to say I’ve arrived. Ellenor replies instantly with emojis. Mum’s typing lingers for a long while, and I brace for a thesis, but all she says is, Thanks, love. Glad you’re safe. Talk soon.
I send her an extra heart and pocket my phone just as Brandon steps back into the hall. He hangs his coat on a hook before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Found a parking space?” I ask.
“Barely—just outside Kent.”
It takes me a moment to realise he’s joking.
“A few streets away,” he clarifies.
“Oh, right.” I stand, gesturing around. “Your place is nice, by the way.”
“Thank you. But I think you’ll like upstairs more. Come with me.”
He leads me up a narrow spiral staircase, carrying my suitcase like it weighs nothing. I’m slightly embarrassed by how much I packed, cramming that thing full of outfits and shoes that Ellenor insisted I borrow. I han’t had a chance to un-Tobify my wardrobe yet.
Still, seeing how nicely Brandon dressed just to collect me from the airport makes me wish I’d bought the daisy dress back in Sydney.
At the top of the stairs, the light shifts. It’s brighter, pouring in through a round port-style window near the tiny landing.
“This is your flat,” Brandon says, holding the door open for me. “You can lock it if you’d like, but I’ll leave my side unlatched. You’re welcome to come down whenever you like.”
“Thanks,” I say as I step inside. The flat is…coastal, yes, with whitewashed walls, blue accents, and linen curtains. But there’s more to it. So much more.
“Oh my gosh…”
A silver chandelier hangs from the living room ceiling, sparkling blue crystals catching the light like water droplets. Built-in bookshelves line one wall, half-filled with a mix of classics and weathered paperbacks.
There’s a kitchenette with a kettle and sandwich toaster, along with the most adorable floral teacups hanging from little brass hooks.
A wide canvas painting of a phoenix dominates the space above a cream couch, upon which sit cushions embroidered with stars.
When Brandon hands me my keys, my eyes widen at the snowy white owl charm dangling from the ring.
“Wait. You didn’t—” I whirl around, spotting a full set of Harry Potter books lined neatly on a high shelf. Beside me, a tree-stump coffee table bears an ornate lantern, and I notice I’m standing on a fluffy rug, the green-and-silver shades suspiciously Slytherin-green.
“Did I get it right?” he asks, hands in his pockets. “I had a navy rug picked out, but Ellenor texted to say it should be green.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. I can’t believe it. He did all this because of some silly, throwaway list Ellenor badgered me to send? She’s going to scream when I tell her that Brandon followed through.
“Yes, you have. But I didn’t really expect you to…” I spin slowly on the spot. “How on earth did you find time to do all this?”
“Most of the renovations were already complete—it was just the bathroom I’d been putting off.”
“Yes, but…the chandelier…the bookshelves!”
He shrugs. “I had help from a good friend of mine who used to be a cabinetmaker.” A faint smile touches his lips. “There’s no rolling ladder, though, I’m afraid. It wasn’t clear from your instructions on where, precisely, you would be rolling to.”
“Anywhere,” I say breathlessly. “But it doesn’t matter. This is already incredible.”
Most of the bedroom is taken up by a double bed with pale blue covers. It’s a small space, and I’m relieved to find no pop culture references in here. Less is more, and Brandon’s nailed it.
He shows me to a glass door leading outside, where a metal fire escape runs down the side of the house.
“Those stairs lead down to the back garden. And you’ve got the key to the side gate, which takes you back out to the street.
That’s your separate entrance, as promised.
But you’re welcome to come through the main house anytime. ”
He gestures towards a small kitchenette. “This is fine for the basics, but feel free to use my kitchen. You saw the espresso machine?”
“I did, but I wouldn’t know where to start with one. And I’m not much of a cook. However…”—I lift my chin with mock solemnity—“I do make a mean cheese toasty.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says. This time, his smile lingers longer.
He nudges the bathroom door open, and my stomach drops.
“Are you kidding me? A clawfoot bathtub?”
It sits proudly beneath the window like a centrepiece, deep and porcelain-white, with curved edges and ornate golden feet shaped like lion’s paws.
“Is that real?” I ask, slightly breathless.
“Yes,” he replies dryly. “But it’s docile, I assure you.”
I’m too much in awe to think of a comeback.
Brandon sent me photos of the bathroom a couple of weeks ago, but it was only plasterboard then.
Now, there are black-and-white chequered tiles underfoot, the pedestal sink has been replaced with a vanity, and a pink glass sconce glows above a mirror, the walls painted—
“Beige, as promised,” Brandon says, brushing the walls as if to check they’re dry.
That’s when I notice the faint smell of new paint.
He must have worked around the clock to finish this.
“Brandon, this is too much…”
He sighs. “I knew it. Beige can be quite overwhelming, can’t it?”
“Funny,” I mutter. I’m about to say that he shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for me, but he’s already returned to the hall.
It gives me a moment to realise how presumptuous I’m being. Much as I love the flat, I’m only here temporarily. He would have chosen the decorations with future holiday guests in mind.
It makes me even more aware that he’s not charging me to stay here. While I’m grateful, it also makes me uncomfortable.
I step back into the hallway, my heart ticking faster. “Brandon? I probably should have clarified when I was back in Australia, but…how come you’re letting me stay here for free?”
His brow furrows slightly, and I rush to fill the silence.
“I mean, this flat is amazing. Beautiful and modern, with a seafront view…basically right on the beach—”
“Not quite on the beach. You’ve got to cross the road.”
“Seriously.” I gesture around me. “It’s coastal meets Hogwarts meets Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s a lot of pop culture.”
“Most people would kill to stay in a place like this even for a weekend. And you’re just handing it over for the summer?”
It doesn’t make sense. I expected something smaller, simpler, less picture-perfect. This flat is begging to be on Instagram. His lip quirks, and I hurriedly add, “I know you were friends with my dad, but even so—”
“There’s more to it than that.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
My smile falters. “Will you tell me? Please?”
The shift is small, but I feel it, like the room exhales. He leans back against the wall, gaze drifting past me to the balcony where rain speckles the glass door.