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Her bookshelf still held her old Jacqueline Wilson books, her Sarah Waters collection, and a few DVD box sets of The L Word. Stepping around the bags her dad had placed on the floor, Lucie opened the drawer in her desk to find an old iPod and a stack of art supplies. A box in the corner of the room caught her eye, revealing all her forgotten university work.
A sinking feeling hit her in the chest as she realised she had nothing to show for the last ten or so years of her life — no physical possessions, at least. Life had gone digital, and not knowing how long she would be in Southern Africa, she’d never bought much, only the odd book and a pair of speakers for her flat. Her most prized possessions had been her plants — a bird of paradise and a desert rose. She had watched them grow and cared for them lovingly, and then she’d had to leave them with her neighbour Grace.
With her eyes beginning to burn, she moved her thoughts away and lay down on the bare mattress. Her Pride flag still hung across the ceiling. She’d expected her dad to have packed everything up, but like her, he’d never known when she would return. Weeks had turned into months, then years. Before she knew it, a decade had passed. Her room had sat waiting for her, and now, finally, she’d returned — though not by choice.
It was nice to be horizontal after two days of travelling. As soon as her boss had called her with the news, she’d urged her to pack up and leave before any visa complications arose. An available flight from Maun to Johannesburg the next day had her scrambling to say goodbye to neighbours, colleagues, and the friends she’d made along the way, unsure if she’d ever see them again. She hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to some of the people she’d helped in the more rural communities, with whom she had become friendly.
Realising she wasn’t going to be spending another Christmas in Botswana made her eyes burn again. She’d spent the last five with Grace and her extended family, who had taken her under their wing. The celebrations centred on barbecues, with music and dancing in the hot summer air until the afternoon rain drove everyone inside.
She tried to focus on the cosiness of a traditional British Christmas and spending the day with her dad and Mandy. Nothing beat a poorly decorated tree, eating too much turkey, Christmas pudding soaked in brandy, and the silly hats and jokes in the crackers, all accompanied by a roaring fire and snow, if you were lucky. She’d loved them growing up, and although the holidays following Gran’s death were difficult, she had missed them.
With Christmas less than eight weeks away, Lucie knew what she needed now was a bath to wash off Botswana and the life she was unlikely to return to. It would give her time to mull over what she would do next. Maybe it was time for something new; she quite liked the idea of becoming an elf.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, Lucie jolted awake at the shrill of her alarm. Expecting to see the white walls of her bedroom in Botswana, she found herself instead in her childhood room, surrounded by things that no longer felt like her own. It was like she’d returned to a version of her life that didn’t quite fit. She would need to begin blending her old life with who she was now — whoever that was.
Pulling on a musty dressing gown from the wardrobe, she realised a mountain of laundry awaited if she was going to wear any of her old clothes. Thankfully, her preference for simple, neutral styles had remained much the same since she’d left, as had her size.
She made her way to the kitchen, where her dad stood at the hob, tea towel flung over one shoulder, whistling along to the radio. A large frying pan sizzled so loudly it was drowning out the radio, though sadly not his out-of-tune whistling. Annoying as it was, it made her smile.
She’d had little chance to talk to him since her arrival. He’d been busy once the pub had opened the previous afternoon, and into the early evening when she‘d given up on the day from exhaustion. After Mandy had mentioned her dad didn’t like surprises, Lucie had hoped he wasn’t avoiding her. Her sudden return was likely as much of a shock to his system as it was to hers. He would need time to adjust, as she did, and they had plenty of time.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, love. What can I get you? I have eggs, bacon, sausages, and mushrooms.”
“You don’t need to make me breakfast.”
“The least I can do is to look after you whilst you’re here. It might even make you stay a bit longer.”
Their eyes met; sensing regret in his expression, Lucie looked away and took a seat at the table.
“Coffee?”
Lucie was about to say she could get it herself when he reached for a mug from the cupboard and filled it from the cafetière. He turned and placed it on the table in front of her.
“Thanks, and I’ll have a bit of everything. So, how are things here? Is the pub doing okay?”
His face twitched. “Pubs that don’t serve meals are really struggling these days, and we’re no exception. Mandy has all these ideas about offering food, trying to capture some of the visitors from the hall.” He exhaled. “I don’t know.”
Lucie watched him as he filled their plates, passing one to her. His shoulders seemed heavier than they had a moment before.
“What’s that face for?” he asked.
Not realising her concern for him had reached her face, she forced a smile as she took the plate from him. “Nothing. Thanks, Dad.”
He picked up his own plate and sat opposite her at the small kitchen table.
“So, are you really not going back to Africa?”
His head dipped as he spoke, making her heart squeeze. Had she not considered him enough over the years? Now in his sixties, he should be thinking about retirement. Maybe she should stay in the village a little while and mend some bridges she hadn’t quite realised were broken.
“I have no plans to,” she replied. “I’d need to find a new job and apply for a visa. Is it okay to see how things go? I’ve only been back in the country a day.”
“Of course. I’m pleased you’re home. I could have done with a heads-up, that’s all.”
She assumed he was referring to the dampness in his eyes when she’d arrived and how he’d stepped away soon afterwards. What was it with men not wanting to show their emotions?
