Chapter 1: An Empty Home

Saturday 4th January 2014

An eerie silence greeted me as I opened my front door. It was cold and inside, the air stale, having been empty over Christmas and New Year. I flicked the switch in the wall just inside, flooding the entrance with light, then walked through the hallway and the kitchen and into the utility room, where the heating controls were. I’d left the house to stay with Vicky for Christmas, on the same day that Hannah had left Westmouth with her father. Before locking up, I’d turned the heating off entirely. Partly to try and save some money—not that I really needed to save money—but more to do my bit to help save the planet.

After all, there’s no point heating an empty house.

I ended up staying with my sister and sister-in-law for almost two full weeks, and it was a welcome change from my usual routine at university—a break from the worries and responsibilities of study. It also kept me from dwelling on the end of my relationship with Hannah. I lent a hand in her restaurant—waiting tables like I used to do up at Micester Hall back when I was in sixth form. I worked from the twenty-third until the twenty-seventh—yes, that included Christmas Day itself and Boxing Day because Vicky was able to charge nearly triple her usual prices for meals on those days. She then closed the business for four days and we had a belated Christmas celebration at her home.

Her home. Hers and Jessica’s. Not mine. I was just a guest.

Vicky reopened the restaurant for a New Year’s Eve celebration, again charging far more than she usually would have been able to for a set menu. Guests—including Emily, Lisa, and their families at my expense—began arriving just before eight and stayed until well after one. It was a lively, laughter-filled evening with friends.

It really was a great couple of weeks.

But now I was back in Westmouth, in a cold, empty house, all alone.

Well, all alone for a little while, at least.

My phone beeped and vibrated in my pocket. I took it out, unlocked it and read the message from Imogen.

It was late afternoon—or early evening if you prefer. Imogen had sent me a message just after lunch to say she and Mark were leaving Manchester, and she kept me updated for the entire trip.

After spending Christmas Day and Boxing Day with their respective families, Mark had gone down to South Wales to meet Imogen’s parents on the twenty-seventh. He stayed for a few days before he drove them both back to stay with his parents for the New Year celebrations.

They were then coming back to Westmouth together. It was about a five-hour journey, although Mark insisted he could do it in under four hours if the traffic was kind.

But the traffic was never kind on the motorways he’d be using. He’d have to come down the M6, and then either the M40 or the M1, and then around the M25—and all of those roads were notorious for heavy traffic.

I knew they were in love, but I wondered if they still would be by the time they got back. That kind of journey can be hell on relationships.

My plan had been to arrive early so that I could get the house warmed up after two weeks with the heating off and make sure there was plenty of hot water because I was sure they’d both want a shower—or want a shower together—and then order some pizza for delivery once they’d settled in.

I smiled to myself at the thought of seeing them again. I know it had only been two weeks, but I’d missed them. And I wanted to make sure they felt welcome. In many ways, they were as much a part of my family as Vicky and Jess—maybe even more so after the last year and a half. And this was as much their home as it was mine—at least, I hoped that’s how they thought of it.

Vanessa was due back the next day—I was picking her up from the train station again. We hadn’t been as close in the last semester as we had been back in the spring, but I still missed her too—she was as much a part of the rich tapestry of our household as anyone else—always laughing and smiling and with a kind word for everyone.

Term didn’t actually start for another week, but our household had returned to Westmouth early because Chloë had invited us to the World Première of her latest blockbuster movie in London’s glamorous Leicester Square.

I can’t say I was looking forward to the start of term. We had a ‘Reading Week’ for the first week, during which optional revision sessions replaced lectures. Two weeks of exams followed to round off the first semester. I sighed as I thought about the exams.

I hated exams.

I was confident that I knew the material because I’d studied hard, but I always worried that I’d mess up somehow on the day. I never had, up to now, not in my GCSE, A Levels or at university—but it was an ever-present niggle in the back of my mind.

Still, worrying about exams rather than anything else showed how far I’d come in a such a short space of time.

These exams represented the half-way point of my degree course—the end of the third of six semesters. I found that hard to believe. The first year and a half had flown by so quickly and so much had happened in that time. Eighteen months ago, I’d just returned from my trip around the USA and wasn’t in any better frame of mind than when I’d started the trip nine months prior.

If anything, I was in a worse mental state.

But things improved with the help of old friends, like Emily and Lisa, who already cared about me, and new friends like Mark, Imogen, Vanessa and, latterly, Hannah, and I was in a far, far better place now. Immeasurably better.

The exams took us to the end of January, and the new semester started at the beginning of February—that meant a whole new set of modules with a new timetable of lectures, seminars and tutorials, including the elective module I was taking on Economics. I figured that was appropriate given my circumstances.

Chloë’s Première was on Wednesday evening, starting at seven, and our plan was to travel to London by train as a group on Tuesday—Emily and Lisa had been invited too—and stay in a hotel. We were going to get there early, do some shopping and sightseeing during the day on Tuesday and again on Wednesday morning before attending not just the Première but also the ‘after-party’ in the evening until late. We’d then stay one more night in the hotel before getting the train home on Thursday morning. Emily would then head back to her Student Village house on Friday, and Lisa would head back to Cambridge on the same day.

Well, that was the plan. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

“Paul! We’re back!” The call came from the hallway. “Paul?”

“In the living room,” I called back. “Thought I’d watch the big telly while I have the chance.”

“Oy!” Mark said, knowing full well my comment was meant for him—he spent more time in front of the fifty-five-inch TV in the living room than I did.

The two of them came into the living room, Imogen first and Mark behind. I was in “Mark’s” armchair, and he gave me a dirty look before sitting on the sofa next to his girlfriend.

“Good journey?” I asked.

“Horrendous,” Mark replied. “That section of the M6 around Birmingham is a fucking nightmare. And don’t even get me started on the M25. And the road works! Fucking everywhere!”

Imogen put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said. “Not really.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose. At least I had you there to talk to.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is this what you two were like last term when I wasn’t around?”

“Fuck you,” Mark said with a smirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t be mean,” Imogen said, also grinning.

Mark shrugged. “I’m going to make a brew, anyone want one?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Imogen said. “I’m going to take my bags upstairs and have a shower.”

Mark nodded, then looked at me. I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks. But I was going to order a pizza, you both okay with that?”

Both nodded, and while Mark went into the kitchen, Imogen went upstairs, and I went to get my laptop so I could order the pizza, smiling to myself as I did. It was good to have them back.

Just under an hour later, we sat around the kitchen table finishing the last of the pizza and washing it down with a beer. Well, Mark and I were washing it down with a beer—Imogen had opened a bottle of white wine and poured herself a large glass. It was about half-past nine.

“I’ve been wondering...” Imogen said. “Well, we’ve been wondering...” Her tone was that of someone with a question to ask, but hesitant to ask it. “Would you mind if I ... Well, if we ... replaced the bed in my room with a double?”