Page 46

Willow

We dried as we drove the final leg of the journey.

Having passed through a small village, we eventually turned off a country road and through double gates that were flanked by stone walls.

Beyond the walls, was a dense woodland, full of firs and bushes I’d never be able to identify.

Every plant and rock had its allocated space, a habitat for wildlife that would seek solace in the space.

Scotland’s weather was a heightened version of Newcastle’s.

If Newcastle was cold, Edinburgh was colder.

If Newcastle had a blustery wind, Glasgow had howling gales.

But the weather never negated the beauty, in fact it usually increased its magic.

Right now, the mist hung between the trees, like we were in a plane, balancing at the same level of the clouds.

Jack’s family lived on the outskirts of Melrose, a village with hard stone cottages and a cosy community vibe, with a large village green in the centre.

It was located a few hours beyond the border of England and Scotland, or that’s what Jack said.

If you’d asked me to pinpoint it on a map, I’d fail miserably.

Jack made countless turns that I’d lost track of and wondered how he managed to remember the way.

We drove up a single-track driveway. The tarmac was perfectly smooth, as if fresh.

Jack drove slowly, giving me the chance to hang my head out the window in awe at the misty forest. Trees cleared and the driveway curved around a pond with reeds around the edge, lily pads floating on the surface.

A wooden birdhouse sat on the grassy slope with steps for ease of access.

The steps led to the tarmac road we were driving on.

Once I peeled my eyes from the wholesome pond, my attention was pulled to the enormous house before me. To describe it as a house was harsh, this was a palace .

Where there would once have been an old wooden door, there was now a modernised porch.

The extension was lined with dark grey wood panels, and dark slate roof, where the main house remained light stonework.

Deep but low steps rose from where a number of cars were parked up to the grey front door, a ramp sloped inclined alongside .

To the right of the entrance was a huge double levelled bay window, the bottom floor’s upper windows were mottled with stained glass.

The other side was home to sash windows and, sprouting from the roof on the second floor, were turrets and dormer windows, suggesting there was a lived-in third floor.

Though I couldn’t see the back of the house, I felt teased with the promise there was more to it than I could see.

To say I felt giddy at the prospect of spending the weekend here was an understatement. Based on the deep chuckle from my right, Jack could tell too, as he parked the car next to a people carrier.

“You live here?” I queried in awe.

“You live in my house, Willow, so no. My parents do and I was raised here, if that’s what you mean. Come on, let’s get inside.”

I met Jack at the boot of the car, collecting our respective luggage. The front door to the house opened. Looking over Jack’s shoulder, I saw his doppelganger standing with his arms crossed, beaming down at us.

Suddenly aware of the man’s presence, Darwin and Dickens bounced excitedly, whining in desperation to be released from the car.

Sighing, Jack dropped the bags in his arms and opened the door.

Both dogs bolted from the car and, he rolled his eyes in mock irritation.

He picked the bags up from the floor, and we made our way up the steps.

“Jackie!” the man called out, sporting a Cheshire cat smile as he uncrossed his arms and held them out as an invite for a hug.

“Hi Dad, good to see you,” Jack replied, hauling his father into his arms, bags dropping to his side.

There was no doubt Jack was his father’s son.

They shared the same hair, though Jack’s was a few decades-worth lighter, and had the same blinding smile.

They were a similar height. Where Jack had adapted to living in Newcastle, and now had a soft accent to match, his father had a soft Scottish accent, which battled with an old south-of-England after years of living in Melrose.

After a few seconds, they did a masculine pat on their backs, before Jack’s father peered at me over his son’s shoulder. Jack followed his gaze, his own softening when he looked at me.

“Dad, this is Willow. Willow, this is my dad, John.”

“Hush, Jackie. I know Willow. There’s no need for formal introductions.” He held his arms out to me, and I sheepishly wrapped my arms around him too. “It’s good to finally place a face to the voice though, good to see you Willow,” he muttered into my ear.

It wasn’t uncommon for me to take calls from Jack’s parents, and when he was stuck in meetings or out on-site visits, I’d find myself on the end of a gossip with Jack’s mother .

We pulled apart and his smile put me at ease.

“It’s lovely to meet you properly, John. Thank you for having me this weekend.”

John collected the bags and gestured for me to follow him into the house. Inside, Jack laid the dog’s beds in an alcove by the stairs.

The extension and large windows meant that the once-dark room was now lit with natural light.

They’d kept the traditional interior with blue and green tartan wallpaper and dark walnut wood panelled half-walls.

There was a large red ornate rug lining the stone flooring, instantly bringing warmth to the room.

While the decor didn’t necessarily match, it made for a comforting entry.

A door to my right opened, making an electronic whir.

Seconds later, a lady I presumed to be Jack’s mother, entered the hallway.

She was in an electric wheelchair, which she manoeuvred using the toggle on the right arm rest. While the chair itself was black, she’d bedazzled it with multi-coloured fairy lights around the frame of the chair.

“Willow, how lovely to see you,” Aileen called, smiling broadly. I stepped towards her, and we enveloped each other into a warm hug, as if we’d met countless times before.

She smelled of Chanel No5, reminding me of Nana Jean. Being low on cash, she never allowed herself any luxuries, but Nana Jean made sure to buy herself Chanel No5 every Christmas and savoured it throughout the years.

“Thank you for having me, Aileen, you have a lovely home.” I smiled at her. She placed a hand on my cheek, and I realised that she shared her eyes with Jack. Her once black hair had faded to a dark grey with white hairs battling dark-haired genetics. Jack shared her colouring.

“No, thank you ,” she replied with a stronger Scottish accent than her husband. “Bringing you here gave Jack the perfect excuse to finally see his parents,” she whispered loudly enough for Jack to hear behind me.

I laughed, stepping back and allowing him to greet his mother. After a brief kiss to her cheek, Jack stood back, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Your rooms are made up. You’re the only ones up there this weekend.

Ruth and Josie will be here for tea later on.

” When nobody moved and she realised everyone was staring at her, her tone became more serious.

“Stop your gawking will you. John, take them upstairs while I get reacquainted with my grandchildren.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion, not understanding her meaning, when Jack caught my eye and mouthed “dogs” with a roll of his eyes.

Before I could grab my suitcase, it was in Jack’s arms. He cocked his head as a silent instruction to follow him .

John led us up the wide stairs to the left of the entryway, directing us to bedrooms on the second floor.

It hadn’t occurred to me that we’d be sleeping in separate rooms, but realisation dawned on me when John opened the door to an enormous bedroom with red floral wallpaper and a dark wood four poster bed facing the huge bay window I’d seen earlier.

“This is your room, Willow. You have an en-suite through that door.” He pointed to the right. “Jack’s room is just across the hallway. We’re downstairs, so you have the run of the first and second floors, if you need it.”

I responded with a polite thanks and a tight smile, avoiding Jack’s gaze. I wondered if he was suddenly struck with loss at the prospect of separate beds and rooms as I was.

The idea of change being thrust upon me in a place I didn’t recognise sent anxiety coursing through me, but I was in no position to argue.

John couldn’t know that I’d be using his son as a snuggle-buddy after escaping domestic violence.

That wasn’t a little anecdote I planned to share over a family dinner.

I followed them out the door, watching where they’d go just in case I needed anything. Thankfully, Jack’s room was only a couple of metres and across the hallway. John slipped off downstairs and I stood in the doorway watching him.

When I turned, I found Jack mirroring my stance in the entrance to his bedroom, a cautious expression lacing his face.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m going to have to be,” I mumbled, grazing my fingers over the door frame.

My sarcasm did little to ease him and he stepped into the hallway.

I met him halfway and wrapped my arms around his middle, his long arms engulfing me.

His chin rested on the top of my head, and we breathed each other in for a moment, unspoken hopes passing between us that we could never be sure would come to fruition.

I pushed back from him slightly, enough to see his face, his jaw covered in a sprinkle of grey stubble since he’d been working from home every day.

“I’ll be okay.” More confident in my response, Jack smiled and squeezed my upper arms before stepping back.

“I’m going to check my emails. Fancy a walk around the woods ” —he peered at the watch on his wrist— “ in about half an hour?”

“It’s a date,” I responded without thinking, until realisation hit and my eyes widened in surprise. Saying nothing, Jack chuckled and returned to his bedroom.

I retreated to mine and pulled my phone from my coat pocket, sitting on the bed to check my messages. There was one from Elle, and one from Mack from a few days prior. I opened the thread to Elle first.

Me: You sneaky little thing, keeping secrets.

Elle: Enjoy your lil trip, boo. Can’t wait to hear all about it x

Me: Seriously though, thank you. The packing. The planning. The best friending.

Elle: What's the plan while you're in bonnie Scotland? Jack gonna show you his kilt collection?

Me: He’s only half Scottish. I don’t think you get an automatic kilt collection for Scottishness.

Elle: It's less about the kilt… more about what's underneath ;)

I rolled my eyes at her sense of humour. Where I’d always left people to their own devices, Elle was the most beautiful bulldozer; always nosey and pushing for information.

Me: That's none of my business.

Elle: But wouldn't it be dreamy to make it your business?

My cheeks flushed at her suggestion. She knew what she was doing. It wasn’t like I was against the idea of seeing Jack in a new light, but it was for us to experience and figure out. And there’d be so much to figure out, so much it made my head spin.

Me: ELLE! STOP!

Elle: WILLIE! NO!

Elle: Please, I'm living vicariously through your hot age-gap romance.

Me: There's no romance.

Me: What do you mean you're living vicariously through me??? You're in a relationship with your childhood sweetheart! That's the dream!

Me: Is everything okay??

Elle: Fine.

I frowned. That was the least-Elle response ever.

Me: You're not fine, are you?

I flicked through other apps on my phone, waiting for her response. I could sense something was off the other week, and she’d just provided all the confirmation I needed to know that it was her relationship with Ant that was the cause for concern.

Elle and Ant met during the final year of GCSEs at school.

Elle called out the PSHE teacher for only teaching boys how to place a condom on a banana, rather than educating the whole class about safe sex.

Old Mrs Thomas turned beetroot-red and sent her into isolation, where she bumped into Ant, the high school bad boy.

He’d been banished there for refusing to wear the school-brand tie and she was instantly crushing on the slit in his eyebrow, ruffled hair, and cut on his lip.

I’d never understood the attraction, but he’d made her happy and that was all I cared about.

While Elle pushed herself out of the expected limitations that came with being a child raised in care and trained herself from the ground up in photography, Ant remained stagnant. I wasn’t sure what he’d done, but I had a feeling the teenage bad-boy appeal was long gone.

Unfortunately for me, Elle was like Fort Knox. Despite our two-decade long friendship, she was as impossible to get information out of as she was successful getting information out of us. It would take hard work and investigations to figure out the root cause of her problems.

Shrugging off the worry, I opened the thread with Mack. The last message he’d sent was two days ago, and I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to respond. The longer I left it, the worse I felt.

Mack: Hey Willow. I haven't heard from you in a while. Just checking to see if you're okay. Let me know if you need anything.

Me: Hi Mack. I'm so sorry I've not replied sooner. An intervention was staged. I'm doing much better. Jack dragged me to Scotland for a break. I'm sorry for worrying you.

Mack: All good. I'd rather check than not. I'm glad you're okay.

Mack: Enjoy Scotland. And Jack. I'll see you soon.

Locking it and flinging my phone on the bed, I grumbled and dramatically flung my head back until I landed on the pillows.

A knock at the open door woke me from my thoughts and I jerked upright to find him at the door, looking at me with a smile.

“Ready?” He popped a thump over his shoulder. I nodded and stood to grab my coat.

I moved past him through the door, and he followed me closely, placing a hand on my lower back when he opened the front door. It lay just above the waistband of my jeans, sending flickers of warmth across my skin.

I yearned for his hands to never leave me, to cling to me like I clung to him.