Chapter forty-six
Rory
The strange thing about coming back from somewhere like that is how quickly normal life closes back around you.
One minute you’re standing in a muddy field in Wales supervising children who have spent the last four days setting things on fire with sticks and declaring themselves wilderness experts.
The next you’re pulling up to your parents’ house in Oakwood with a boot full of damp clothes and a child who smells faintly of campfire and marshmallows. The transition is… abrupt.
I cut the engine and sit there for a moment, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, while Isla chatters beside me about which part of the trip was the best.
“Definitely the canoeing,” she says decisively. “Except Theo nearly fell in which would have been even better.”
“That would have been a rescue situation, not entertainment,” I point out.
“Still funny though.”
I glance at her. “You’re a terrible friend” I laugh.
She grins unapologetically.
The front door opens before we’ve even got out of the car. My mum is standing there like she’s been watching through the window waiting for us to arrive. Which, knowing her, she probably has.
“Well,” she calls. “You both look filthy.”
“That’s the Welsh countryside for you,” I say as I open the boot.
Isla jumps out of the car and immediately grabs her backpack. “Nanna, I learned how to use a compass.”
“That sounds very impressive.”
“And Theo nearly fell in the freezing lake.”
Mum blinks. “Of course he did.”
Inside the house everything feels the same as it always does. The familiar smell of dinner cooking, the low hum of the dishwasher, the soft creak of the floorboards when Isla bounds up the stairs two at a time.
“I’m unpacking!” she shouts.
“Please don’t just throw everything on the floor,” I call after her.
“I won’t!”
There is a loud thud from upstairs that strongly suggests she already has. Mum gives me a look.
“She had fun then?”
“Yeah,” I say, dropping the bags by the door. “She loved it.”
My dad appears from the living room carrying a mug of tea. “You survive the wilderness?” he asks.
“Barely.”
“Good lad.”
He pats my shoulder like I’ve returned from an expedition across Antarctica rather than a school trip in the same country.
I wander into the kitchen while Mum checks on whatever’s in the oven.
For a few minutes the conversation is easy.
Isla’s canoe spinning in circles. Theo blowing his survival whistle indoors.
Someone setting a marshmallow on fire. The sort of stories that sound funnier once you’re no longer responsible for supervising them.
But somewhere underneath the conversation there’s a quiet shift in my head that I can’t quite shake.
Because for the first time in four days…
Freya isn’t nearby. She’s not across a fire.
Not walking ahead of me up a hill. Not laughing with Theo somewhere within earshot.
She’s just… gone home. And the absence of her is weirdly noticeable.
Yes. She’s just across the street, and if I looked out of the window long enough, I’d probably catch a glimpse of her in her kitchen. But that’s just plain weird.
“Earth to Rory,” Mum says, snapping her fingers lightly in front of my face and interrupting my thoughts.
“What?”
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“I’m tired.”
“Mmm.”
That’s her I don’t believe you sound.
Dad takes his tea back into the living room, leaving Mum and me alone in the kitchen. She leans against the counter and studies me for a moment.
“How was the trip really?” she asks.
“Cold.”
“I mean the people.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“The people?”
“Yes. The other parents. Teachers. Anyone interesting? Any good campfire gossip?”
Subtle. Very subtle.
“Everyone survived,” I say.
“That wasn’t my question.”
I grab a glass of water just to give my hands something to do.
“Freya went,” Mum adds casually, giving me the look.
God I hate that look. This woman seems to know everything.
“Yeah,” I say.
“She’s lovely.”
“Yep.” I reply, not making eye contact. Because if I do, I am sure she will be able to stare into my soul and see how I really feel about Freya Collins.
Another small pause settles in the kitchen. Mum watches me like she’s piecing together a puzzle.
“You’ve always had a soft spot for her.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement considering we grew up together.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I sigh quietly.
“Hypothetically,” she continues, “if someone had feelings for a woman they’d known since childhood…”
“Hypothetically,” I interrupt, “that sounds like a terrible idea.”
She smiles slightly. “Why?”
“Because friendships are fragile. Especially when kids are involved.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Or are you just afraid of changing something that feels safe?”
I lean back against the counter. “That’s a dramatic interpretation.”
“Is it?”
She crosses her arms. “Rory, I’ve watched the two of you dance around each other since you were about twelve.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Dance around?”
“Yes.”
“That’s… accurate, I guess.”
She laughs softly. “But it’s true.”
I stare down at the glass in my hand. Because the annoying thing is that she isn’t wrong.
Freya has always been… there. In the background of every stage of my life.
Always close enough that losing her would feel like something fundamental shifting out of place.
Which is exactly why this whole situation feels so dangerous.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Mum adds gently.
“Good.”
“But I will say this.”
Here it comes. She tilts her head slightly. “If you care about someone, you shouldn’t spend your whole life pretending you don’t.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Easy for you to say.”
“I’m just being honest, Rory. Don’t lose something special out of fear.”
From upstairs Isla shouts, “Dad! I found a pinecone in my bag!”
“Excellent,” I call back. “Nature has followed us home.”
Mum smiles faintly. “You see?”
“What?”
“You already look happier than you did last week.”
I pause and scrub a hand through my hair. “Nothing has happened,” I say eventually.
Mum raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t say it had.”
Right. I push away from the counter. Busted by my own mother. “I’m going to check on Isla before she dismantles the entire upstairs.”
“Alright.”
As I reach the doorway she says quietly behind me,
“Just remember something.”
I glance back.
“People can’t choose you if they don’t know you’re choosing them.”
Jesus. This woman always knows exactly what to say. I stare at her for a moment. Then head upstairs.
Isla is sitting on her bedroom floor surrounded by clothes and what appears to be a small pile of rocks she has decided are souvenirs.
“Look,” she says proudly. “This one looks like a frog.”
“That’s definitely just a rock, bug.”
“It’s a frog rock.”
“Of course it is.”
She grins. “Did you have fun too Daddy?”
I pause in the doorway. “Yeah,” I say slowly. “I did.”
I really did. But now I have a big problem.
The problem isn’t that I don’t know how I feel.
The problem is deciding whether I’m brave enough to do anything about it.
Because if I say it out loud… If I actually tell her…
There’s no pretending it’s just friendship anymore.
There’s no pretending that last night was a momentary snap in the tension.
And that thought is equal parts terrifying and impossible to ignore.