Chapter 40
‘Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.’
Rocky lifted his leg against the arrivals sign and relieved himself, as if Heathrow itself had personally offended him.
I stood behind our mound of luggage, sheltering from the sideways rain and squinting through the smeared grey curtain of car headlights for any sign of Dad’s car.
My phone was no use, roaming off, no international plan, and I wasn’t about to donate my life savings to a three-second ‘Where are you?’ call.
Rocky’s eyes were closed in bliss, puddle expanding in all directions.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ I muttered, nudging a suitcase back from the growing lake.
A screech of tyres. A car door slammed.
‘Christ alive, it’s bucketing down,’ came the familiar bark of Dom, just before he pulled me into a bear hug. He was in pinstriped trousers and an open white shirt, sleeves rolled and rain-soaked already.
‘Is Dad okay?’ I asked, glancing towards the car.
‘Fine,’ Dom said, already hoisting a suitcase into the boot. ‘They were faffing about the bloody flight time, some drama with roadworks on the motorway. Then Mum started going on about sandwich fillings for the journey and I thought, sod this, I’ll pick you up and save everyone the drama. He okay?’
He nodded at Rocky who was now sniffing a bollard with the focus of a bomb disposal unit.
‘Think so.’
Somehow, we folded ourselves into Dom’s Porsche.
Rocky stretched out like royalty in the back, with me crammed up to the dashboard in the front, with another case wedged in behind the seat.
No sooner had I pulled the door shut than we were off like a rocket, Dom weaving us out of Heathrow as if he were on an F1 track.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I said, trying not to slide sideways as he cut across two lanes.
‘No problemo,’ he said, one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with the stereo.
‘Shifted a couple of meetings. Tania’s got me going to some nursery school quiz night tonight.
Tried to rope me into hosting it at The Hungry Eagle.
Can you imagine? Half-price pints, posh parents pretending to slum it.
It’s not happening. I said no bloody way.
Thursday’s one of our busiest nights. Told her the quiz could fund itself. ’
He slammed the car into the next gear like it had personally insulted him.
‘So.’ A sideways glance. ‘What’s the plan? Apart from moving back into your old attic room…’
Trust Dom to skip the pleasantries.
‘Start from scratch,’ I said. ‘Job, flat, routine. Try not to look too much like a failure in the meantime.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He meant it. That’s what I loved about Dom – no drama, just straight-up belief.
We were quiet for a moment, the motorway traffic gliding past.
‘So, the divorce,’ he said eventually, as if he’d been holding it in.
‘Done. I’m officially Florence Elliot again. Total possessions – a dog, some homewares presently in a shipping container on their way across the high seas, and a few grand in cash.’
‘Jesus, Flo.’
I gave a tired smile. ‘It’s alright. I got my freedom.’
‘You should’ve got more. You were in it for long enough.’
‘I did get something. Perspective. And Rocky.’ That was my party line to whoever asked, and also to myself. The toxic world of the Fullers was in the rear-view mirror.
Dom snorted. ‘Perspective doesn’t pay rent.’
‘No, but it does let me sleep at night.’
We lapsed into silence again. The car hummed along, tyres whispering on wet tarmac.
Rocky snored in the back. My spine relaxed into the curve of the leather seat.
I could let it all go now. Rivertide had understood my need to get back home.
Rhiannon and Conor had said it was the best thing for me.
They too thought that one day sometime in the future they’d both end up back in Europe.
‘Still,’ Dom said finally, ‘if I’d known it was that bad, I’d have flown over and kicked him in the balls.’
‘Thanks.’
The rest of the journey passed quickly. Dom even made me laugh. I hadn’t realised how much I’d needed it.
Back at the house it was raining sideways. Dom screeched to a stop outside the back door. No warm reunion on the gravel drive, we rushed inside, dripping, bags and dog in tow. The familiar smell of red wine, onion, and thyme hit me. Mum’s shepherd’s pie. Always a classic.
My parents were older. There was no ignoring it.
Mum had put on lipstick and brushed her hair, but the colour bled slightly into the fine lines around her mouth, and the careful blow-dry couldn’t quite disguise the silver threading through the brown.
Dad moved slower. The last time they’d visited was San Francisco for Christmas, but somehow they’d aged a decade.
It struck me suddenly and uncomfortably that time had not been standing still at home while I was away.
‘You must be shattered,’ said Mum, hugging me. ‘You look drawn.’
‘Lovely to see you too,’ I said, smiling.
Rocky, of course, was immediately doted on. Dad rubbed under his chin. ‘It’s good to have a dog back in the house,’ he said, offering Rocky a hunk of stilton from the fridge.
‘You spoil him and he’ll never leave,’ I warned.
‘He’s even bought a bed for him,’ Mum said, pointing at the enormous tartan beanbag by the radiator.
Dom raised an eyebrow. ‘When we brought up the guinea pigs for the weekend, they were chucked in the garage.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Well, you’ve got your old attic room,’ said Mum. ‘The guest room’s made up too if you’d prefer it, but I thought you might want to be back in your own space.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I said.
Dom grabbed my bag and led the way upstairs, Rocky thudding behind us. Every step creaked in just the same place. It was like slipping back into a version of myself I’d left locked up in a cupboard.
At the top of the narrow stairs, I opened the latch and stepped inside.
Not much had changed. The wallpaper had faded a bit, and they’d added another single bed for Dom’s daughter when she visited, but other than that it remained a time capsule: the little window with the view of the orchard, the oriental rug hiding the old nail polish stain.
‘See you downstairs,’ said Dom.
‘Yep. Be there in a mo.’
I sat on the bed. Rain tapped on the window. I leaned back on the pillow and let myself drift. I was back.