Chapter Forty-One
William stepped through the back door into the scullery, his car keys still in one hand.
The twelve-hour day shift at the fire station had been long, but his mind felt remarkably clear.
He found himself humming as he shrugged off his jacket — an easy tune that had become part of his drive home since the Carnival.
He’d been thinking about Lydia on the way back, remembering how excited she’d been earlier in the week as she polished banisters and fussed over welcome hampers.
Her first paying guests were due the following afternoon, just in time for the summer holidays, and she had been determined that everything would be perfect.
The thought had made him smile as he stepped into the house.
He walked into the kitchen, expecting the familiar warmth of a Friday evening.
Instead, his humming cut off instantly and his smile froze. The world inside Cliffside House tilted on its axis.
Sitting at his kitchen table, in the middle of his house, were Richard and Sally Vance.
William stopped on the threshold, his keys still clenched in his hand.
A cold shock ran straight through his veins, followed by a wave of frustration.
They weren’t due until Saturday afternoon.
To find them here — a full day early, without a word of warning — felt like an immediate, invasive breach of the boundaries he had spent months trying to build.
The atmosphere in the room was suffocatingly tight, the natural rhythm of his home off. Sam and Jean stood back near the stove, their postures unnaturally rigid. Jean still held a tea towel, but she had retreated a step from the counter, her face careful and guarded.
The children were behaving differently too.
Sophie sat on the bench, twisting the hem of her pyjama top, her eyes darting between her grandmother and the floor.
Mia sat close beside her, one hand resting protectively near her sister’s elbow.
Ollie had placed his blue cast carefully on the table and was staring down at it, unusually silent.
Jake was on the rug, his red toy car motionless in his lap, his small hands clenched tight as he watched the adults.
Ethan stood near the dresser with his arms folded, his expression guarded and unreadable.
Sally was already inserting herself completely — head tilted, smoothing the collar of Sophie’s pyjamas with sharp, possessive efficiency. Richard sat opposite her, arms folded, his gaze travelling over the pale stone walls, the dresser and the clean lines of the kitchen with cool appraisal.
Sally looked up, her expression tightening into a brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“The traffic was much lighter than we expected, William. We decided to come straight through rather than wait until tomorrow.”
She smoothed Sophie’s sleeve, then added lightly,
“We were hoping the B&B next door might be able to take us tonight instead of tomorrow afternoon. It seemed silly to stop elsewhere when we were already here.”
As she spoke, her fingers paused beside a washed cake tin labelled with a strip of green masking tape: Lydia.
Her gaze lingered on the name for a fraction too long, and William felt heat prick behind his eyes.
The children had clearly mentioned their neighbour already.
He could almost see Sally beginning to form conclusions.
A deep, suffocating discomfort settled over the table.
William looked at his parents standing in the shadows, then at his children’s guarded faces, and a quiet, immovable determination hardened in his chest. His family had finally found its footing, and he would not allow this unexpected arrival to make the children feel unsafe in their own home again.
“Hello, Richard. Sally.” His voice was steady, his expression unreadable. “You’re early.”
Jean quietly folded her tea towel and laid it on the counter, shooting a brief, supportive look toward William.
“Right then, William,” she said softly. “Now that you’re home, Sam and I will head back and leave you to catch up.”
Sam picked up his car keys from the sideboard, offering Richard a polite nod.
“Have a good evening, everyone. We’ll leave you to it.”
William watched his parents leave through the back door. When the scullery door closed behind them, the kitchen seemed suddenly smaller. There was no longer any buffer between the peaceful household he had built and the family history that had just walked back into it.