Page 48 of Carry Me Home

‘Are you still going on about the one time you kissed in sixth form?’ I hate the fact he knows this, that we all know everything about each other, all the fucking time. It’s exhausting. Inescapable.

‘Nope.’

He eyes me shrewdly, the sun blasting down and turning his hair gold. ‘Mate, if you don’t tell her, then you’ll never know. And knowing is better than this.’ He gestures – at me, at the harbour, at everything. ‘This permanent waiting. At least if she says no, you can actually move on instead of just talking about it.’

‘Cara’s been texting me,’ I say, and I don’t know why.

Jude blinks. ‘Cara? The one from Scotland? Uni Cara? The one you dated?’

‘She’s coming down next month. We, uh, we…’ I pause, skipping through my still-jagged memory of the wedding weekend. ‘We…’

‘Fucked?’

That’s Jude. Always to the point. Although his sand-coloured eyebrows are up near the hairline of his tanned face, so I’m guessing this point was slightly unexpected.

‘I was not expecting that,’ he muses, shaking his head.

‘Yeah, well, tequila, sambuca, champagne, and I guess…’

‘Guess what?’

‘Guess it felt nice, familiar even, even though it’s been years since uni. Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe I need to stop waiting and just⁠—’

‘Tom.’ Jude’s voice erases all jokes. ‘Don’t use Cara as an exit strategy. That’s not fair to anyone and it won’t work anyway. Not while Nina’s across the harbour.’

He stands up and walks towards the lifeboat station. Kit’s winding ropes, not looking over, with the posture of a man who has definitely been listening to every word.

I sit on the wall. The stone is warm beneath me. The harbour stretches out, flat and bright, and across the water the café windows are lit against the evening and I can just see the shape of Nina moving behind the counter, and Jude is right, and I hate that he’s right.

Complicated is easier than brave.

The Ship is packed by the time I get there.

The whole village has turned out for Kit and Isla’s engagement celebration – every table full, people spilling onto the terrace, noise level somewhere between cheerful and deafening. Someone’s put up fairy lights. Someone else has made a banner – CONGRATULATIONS in lopsided but very enthusiastic letters.

I find a spot at the bar and order a pint. The heat has followed us inside, even with all the windows open. Tilly’s fanning herself with a menu. Bill’s complaining about the lack of air conditioning. Dot’s offering unprompted opinions about ring choices, wedding venues, and the optimal number of bridesmaids.

‘Tom!’ Kit appears at my elbow, flushed and grinning, a drink in each hand. ‘You made it.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’ The grin is ridiculous – the smile of a man who can’t quite believe his own life. ‘Still feels surreal. I keep waiting for someone to tell me it’s a joke.’

‘It’s not a joke. You’re marrying Isla. Who is—’ I glance across the pub to where Isla’s sitting, surrounded by well-wishers, her bump prominent, her face bright. ‘Comprehensively out of your league.’

‘Oh, I know. I’m very aware.’ He takes a drink. ‘Maisie’s already planning the seating chart. She’s firm about who sits where. Apparently I’m not allowed near the cake.’

‘That seems wise.’

‘Rude, but wise.’ His expression shifts – still happy, but something steadier underneath. ‘Hey. Thanks for coming. I know this stuff isn’t… I know it’s not always easy. Being here for this.’

He means the celebration. He might also mean something else. Kit’s not subtle, but he’s kind, and he sees more than he lets on.

‘I’m happy for you,’ I say, and I mean it completely. ‘Both of you. Truly.’

‘I know you are.’ He squeezes my shoulder – brief, firm, the gesture of a man who understands that some things can’t be said in a pub. Then someone calls his name and he’s pulled back into the crowd, back to Isla, back to the uncomplicated joy of a life that’s working.

I watch him go.