Chapter Eight
Freya
Clara: OMG have you guys seen Rory Bennett, the hot rugby guy that everyone is talking about? He’s so pretty!
Emma: STOP. I haven’t seen him for years. Also, Clara, aren’t you happily married?
Lou: Isn’t he that rugby guy that left Oakwood years ago? The one who went city big time and was with that supermodel, what’s her name?
Clara: Sienna! Yes. And guess what… Mark just told me… he’s SINGLE!!
Freya: Is it PE day tomorrow? I am so lost with the new timetable
Clara: Nice way to avoid the Rory chats, Sunshine.
I put my phone down and pretend I’m too busy to respond, which is ridiculous because I’m not busy at all, not really, not in the way I usually am.
I just don’t know what to do with Clara’s hints when she doesn’t know the extent of the history, and I’m not ready to pick at that thread yet, because Rory has always been the sort of distraction that doesn’t stay in its lane.
I can cope with gossip and I can cope with awkward run-ins, but I don’t trust myself with the version of Oakwood that includes him properly.
The crunch of tyres on gravel outside pulls me back. It’s handover day. Finally! Four days apart and James is bringing Theo back.
I grab my keys, mutter a half-hearted “great” under my breath, and open the door to find James leaning against the car in that familiar way he always does, as if he’s trying to make this look easy even when it isn’t.
“Morning,” I say, forcing the smile I’ve practised into something that looks civil.
“Morning.” He nods toward the back seat. “Ready for your mum?”
Theo barrels out of the car, backpack bouncing, cheeks pink from excitement, and I scoop him up before he can dart off entirely, pressing my face into his hair like I can absorb the last four days through scent alone.
Relief hits first, then joy, then that ache that always comes with realising how much you can miss someone when they are your entire world.
James lingers, fiddling with Theo’s coat straps, and we slip into the routine we’ve built over time, one that relies on politeness and restraint and pretending there isn’t a whole complicated past between us.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“He’s missed you,” James replies, voice softer than his posture. “Be good for mum, yeah?”
“I will,” Theo beams, and my chest tightens again because he says it so easily, like being split between homes is just a normal part of life and not something I still haven’t learned how to carry without flinching.
We’ve gotten better at being civil, better at keeping it smooth for Theo, and sometimes I almost forget that the man standing in front of me used to be everything and nothing at the same time.
I carry Theo inside, talking over him as he launches into a mile-a-minute recap of his week, his imaginary creatures in the classroom, the football goals he scored, what he ate for breakfast, and how James let him stay up “a little bit” later than usual.
I’m halfway through putting his lunchbox on the counter when I glance toward the window.
Rory is across the street, leaving his parents’ house with Isla beside him, her small hand in his as though she’s tethered to him with something invisible and unbreakable.
The sight of it does something irritating and immediate to me, because single fathers should not be that magnetic.
He doesn’t see me behind the glass, but he notices movement outside as James gets back into the car. His head tilts slightly, just a flicker of attention crossing his features as his gaze follows James.
My stomach twists. There is something about being watched, even indirectly, that makes everything feel suddenly more exposed.
Theo’s hand is in mine, warm and familiar, and I squeeze it gently, grounding myself in the solid reality of him. Four days is too long, and every hug I give him, I try to hold for as long as possible. Until he’s wriggling free of me and moving onto the next exciting thing.
Christmas is coming, and it’s not my year to have him on the day itself.
I can’t think about that without tears springing to my eyes, because that’s the part of co-parenting no one teaches you how to do, the part where you accept you will miss whole chunks of life you would have once assumed you were entitled to.
Theo laughs at something I don’t even catch, and it snaps me back into the room. I smile automatically, because that’s what I do.
“Mum!” Theo wriggles free, eyes wide. “Can I get ready now? For trick or treating?”
I blink at him. “Ready? Theo, it’s three-thirty.”
“So?” he says, genuinely offended by my lack of urgency. “It’s Halloween.”
And honestly, he’s not wrong. Oakwood does Halloween properly.
No sad pumpkins dumped on doorsteps, no half-hearted bowls of sweets.
The whole town commits, cobwebs across hedges, carved pumpkins glowing in windows, inflatable spiders climbing brickwork and parents pretending they don’t enjoy it as much as their children.
I wish I could say I was one of the organised ones.
I am not. I’ve left it too late, as usual, so I’ll be doing my emergency costume, all black, cat ears dug out of a drawer, eyeliner repurposed into whiskers and a nose, while Theo, of course, is entirely committed to his football kit, shin pads, socks pulled up ridiculously high because he insists that’s what all football players do.
We’re going as a group this year. Clara and Mark with Ollie and Mabel.
Emma and Dan with Oscar, Ruby and Sophie, who Theo has announced, with complete certainty, is the girl he’s going to marry one day.
I nod and smile every time he says it. And Lou and Harry with Freddie who is quickly becoming one of Theo’s football rivals.
By the time we step outside, the street is already glowing with pumpkin light and fairy lights, that early autumn dusk settling in quickly, making everything feel slightly magical if you let yourself buy into it.
Clara and Mark arrive first, and I should have expected nothing less.
They’ve gone full Addams Family. Clara is Morticia, dramatic and sleek and entirely too pleased with herself.
Mark is Gomez, moustache and all, grinning like he’s been handed a role he was born for.
Ollie is Pugsley, Mabel is Wednesday, and they’ve even brought a fake disembodied hand for Thing, which Ollie waves at people with unsettling enthusiasm.
Lou and Harry arrive next with Freddie in tow, also dressed head to toe in football gear, much to Theo’s dismay.
Emma and Dan follow shortly after, looking like they assembled their outfits in the five minutes before leaving the house, which makes me love them more.
Dan has fake blood at the corner of his mouth and a cape that looks suspiciously like a bedsheet.
Emma’s in black with a witch hat, same approach as me.
We exchange the kind of look that says accessories do the heavy lifting in this family.
The kids bounce and chatter and pile up at Mrs Carter’s door first, shouting “Trick or treat!” in various pitches, and she beams as she hands out sweets, making each of them feel like she’s been waiting all year for this exact moment.
Then we move on. Next door. Rory’s house.
He hasn’t been back long, but he’s already gone all in.
Cobwebs stretch across the hedge. A huge spider crouches dramatically in the middle like it’s guarding the place.
I stare for a second, surprised and, annoyingly, impressed.
The kids don’t hesitate. They sprint down the path, costumes rustling, buckets swinging, and the adults hang back at the end, chatting and waving and ready to call out reminders about manners.
The doorbell rings. Nothing.
They ring again, giggling. Still nothing.
The kids glance at each other, confusion creeping in, and I feel my stomach tighten with that ridiculous anticipatory thing that has no right to exist inside my body anymore.
Then I hear it, the soft shuffle from the other side of the door, footsteps, a thud.
The handle turns. The door swings open. And Rory Bennett stands there barefoot, towel slung low around his hips, hair dripping, skin still flushed from the shower as he rubs another towel through it like this is a completely normal way to answer the door to a crowd of children and half the parents in Oakwood.
I freeze. My eyes are traitors.
There is a very long second where I forget how to behave like an adult woman who should not be staring at a man’s shoulders in the dark like she’s never seen one before.
“Hey!” he says, laughing easily, as if he hasn’t just destabilised half the street. “Sorry. I literally just got back from practice. Had to shower before taking Isla out trick or treating.”
Around me, Clara makes a tiny choking sound, Emma goes statue-still and Lou and Harry both snigger to themselves. I don’t even need to look at Mark to know he’s enjoying himself.
Mark clears his throat. “Mate. You’re putting the rest of us to shame. Maybe go and put it away, yeah?”
Rory laughs, head tipping back, and it is unfair how easy he looks, like he’s not aware of the exact effect he has simply by existing. Then his gaze lands on me. His smile shifts into something smaller. Something that feels like it belongs to a different time.
“Hey, Frey.”
My name in his voice hits in a way I do not appreciate.
“H, hey,” I manage, immediately regretting every life choice that led me to this doorstep. I fix my eyes somewhere in the general region of his elbow because eye contact feels dangerous and I definitely can’t be letting my eyes wander to his torso and that perfect V that disappears under the towel.
Before the silence can turn into something worse, Isla barrels into view in a glittery purple cape, skidding to a stop in the doorway with the energy of a child who has absolutely dressed herself.
“Daddy! Are my friends here?” she squeals, then gasps dramatically. “You all look AMAZING!”
Theo steps forward immediately. “Hey Isla, you should come with us!”
Her eyes go huge. She whips around. “Yes, Daddy, can we?”
Rory hesitates, glancing between the group, the kids, the adults, and then, briefly, at me, like he’s checking whether this is okay or whether I’m going to combust on the spot.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he says.
Clara snorts. “Intrude? Please. The more the merrier. You can come dressed as a Greek god.”
Rory’s mouth quirks. “I actually do have a costume. Give me two minutes.”
Two minutes is not enough time for my heart rate to return to a normal human setting.
He disappears inside and reappears exactly two minutes later as Cowboy Rory, which feels like a personal attack on my nervous system. Faded jeans, fitted plaid, sleeves pushed up his forearms, boots, and a tan cowboy hat that should not look that good on a man who also happens to have dimples.
Clara leans close enough that her witch hat bonks mine. “Save a horse…”
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“…ride a cowboy.”
“Clara,” I hiss, but she’s cackling already, drifting away before I can elbow her.
We set off down the street, the kids a noisy, glittery parade, buckets swinging, excitement spilling out of them. Rory stays near the front with Isla and Theo, and I position myself very carefully between Emma and the kids so I don’t have to be overly aware of Rory existing. It almost works.
Oakwood is loud with laughter and doorbells and parents clustering at gates, debating chocolate bar rankings.
I keep joining conversations, laughing at the right moments, complimenting homemade costumes with perhaps too much enthusiasm, all while tracking Rory without meaning to, the shape of him under streetlights, the sound of his laugh, the stupid cowboy hat.
Seriously, who dresses as a cowboy for Halloween?
By the time the buckets are satisfyingly heavy and the kids are tipping into tired wobbliness, the group starts peeling off, one goodbye at a time, until the streets narrow and the cul-de-sac looms ahead, quieter and dimmer than the busier roads behind us.
And then it’s just us. Rory and Isla. Me and Theo.
The kids walk a few steps ahead, comparing loot like tiny accountants. Rory falls into step beside me. Silence stretches, not awkward exactly, but loaded enough that I can feel it in the air between us. We both speak at the same time.
“So…”
“Hey…”
We stop, then laugh, a little surprised, a little relieved, and I hate how familiar that feels, how easy it used to be to laugh with him.
“You go,” he says.
I tuck my hands into my pockets so he can’t see them fidgeting. “I was just going to say… it’s nice, having you back.”
His expression softens. “Yeah. It’s good to be back.”
A beat passes.
“I heard about what happened,” I say carefully. “With Isla’s mum. Mark told me. I’m really sorry, Rory.”
Of course, I don’t know the full extent of what happened but I know that she’s now with someone else.
He nods once, gaze dropping to the pavement for a second. “Yeah. It’s been a lot. But we’re figuring it out.”
“You’re a good dad,” I say quietly, because it’s true, because it feels important to say. “She’s lucky.”
That earns me a smaller smile, not the showy one, not the easy public one, but something real.
“Thanks, Frey.”
God it kills me when he says my name like that.
We reach my driveway first.
“Well,” I say, rocking back slightly on my heels, suddenly aware of the proximity between us. “This is me.”
“Yeah,” he replies, nodding toward the house. “Night, Frey.”
“Night, Rory.”
Theo barrels inside without looking back.
Isla waves dramatically, then Rory turns her toward their side of the cul-de-sac, his tall shape and her glittery cape shrinking under the streetlights.
I watch for a heartbeat longer than I should, then go inside and shut the door.
I lean back against it. Coat still on. My heart is doing that stupid thing again, the hopeful, fragile flutter that makes me feel like I’ve forgotten how to protect myself.
It was only small talk. A short walk. A few ordinary sentences between two adults who should know better.
But hearing him say my name like that, laughing with him under the streetlights while the kids ran ahead, brought something back that I had worked very hard to quiet.
I am not sixteen anymore. I have a child upstairs brushing his teeth. I have a life that is steady and built and mine. Whatever this is, it does not get to undo that. I will not let it.