Page 154 of Carry Me Home

Ivy opens the door before we’ve reached the gate.

‘I knew it,’ she says. ‘I told Don. I said he’d come early.’

‘Mum, we’re not early. It’s half four.’

‘Early for you.’ She holds his face in both hands, studying him. ‘You’re thin. You’re tired.’ Her eyes slide to me. To our joined hands. Her whole face transforms. ‘Oh. Oh, Nina.’

She pulls me into a hug so tight I can feel her heartbeat. An Ivy hug – the kind that makes you feel like you’ve come home to a place you didn’t know you’d left.

‘I’m so glad,’ she whispers. ‘I’m so, so glad.’

Inside, Meg and Hayley are positioned at the kitchen table like sentinels.

‘So,’ Hayley says. ‘Finally.’

‘Don’t start,’ Tom warns.

‘Eleven years.’ Meg shakes her head. ‘Eleven years of watching you pine⁠—’

‘I didn’t pine.’

‘You pined, Tom. You were Olympic-level. You could have represented the country.’

‘I hate you both.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Hayley grins. ‘You love us. We’re delightful.’

Don peers over his paper from the armchair. ‘Leave the boy alone. He’s had a long night.’

‘He drove eleven hours,’ Ivy says, already heading for the kitchen. ‘Through the night. For love.’

‘For Nina,’ Don corrects her mildly. ‘Which is the same thing, apparently.’

‘It is the same thing.’ Ivy beams at me. ‘Isn’t it, love?’

I glance at Tom. His ears are pink with embarrassment.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely. That’s just lovely. Don, did you hear?’

‘I’m right here, woman. I’ve been right here for the last forty years.’

‘She said she loves him!’

‘I gathered.’

‘Our Tom!’

‘Yes. Our Tom. The one looking like he wants the floor to swallow him.’ Don turns a page with great dignity. ‘I’m very happy for you both. Now can we eat? I’ve been smelling that chicken since two o’clock.’

While Tom’s being interrogated by his sisters in the living room, Ivy catches me alone in the kitchen.

‘Nina.’ Her voice quietens. She sets down the dish she’s drying. Takes my hands. ‘I loved Peter. We all did. He was a lovely boy and what happened was a tragedy.’ She squeezes my fingers. ‘But I’ve watched my son love you for over a decade. I’ve watched him put your happiness above his own, over and over again. And I’ve watched you these last months – lost, grieving, finding your way back.’

My throat tightens.

‘I’m not asking you to forget Peter. I’d never ask that. But I want you to know—’ Her voice wavers slightly. ‘You’re family. You always have been, really. Long before today. But now it’s official.’ She smiles, eyes bright. ‘Welcome to the Darcys, love. Properly this time.’