Chapter 20: Meet the Carringtons

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lana said. “Mum’s going to insist on inviting us in and making tea and ... God, she might even have made an apple crumble and force that on you.”

“Force it on me? Is her apple crumble that bad?”

“No, it’s to die for but—”

“Then I look forward to it.” I grinned. “In fact, I’m going to be disappointed if I don’t get some now.”

We were parked outside Lana’s family home—a post-war semi-detached like so many of the other homes in this part of Micester. It had a good-sized front garden, half of which was lawn and half of which was a block-paved driveway—no doubt a relatively recent addition—on which sat a six-year-old silver Vauxhall Astra.

“Come on,” I said. “They already know you’re coming after you texted them. We can’t exactly back out now.”

She nodded. “Okay, but...”

“But what?”

She winced. “I’ve never actually brought a boy home before and ... well...” She blushed.

“They’re going to assume I’m your boyfriend?”

She nodded silently.

“And what do you want me to tell them?”

“I...”

“How about the truth?” I said. “That we’re very good friends, but there’s nothing ‘romantic’ between us.” I made air quotes with my fingers.

“Is that...?”

“Is that what?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

We got out of the car and walked up the driveway to the front door—a deep, dark red door that looked like it had received a fresh coat of paint not long ago. Perhaps last summer. The white door frame was also freshly painted and had been cleaned recently. The brass letterbox shone, as did the matching door handle and house number between the two narrow glass panes in the top half of the door.

I’d expected Lana to ring the bell, but instead, she fished a key out of her ever-present mini messenger bag and used it to open the door.

“Mum! Dad!” she called as she entered the house. I followed her inside, into a narrow hallway with a door to the left, another door at the far end and a staircase against the wall to the right—the party wall with the adjoining house.

Lana closed the door behind me and revealed a radiator on the wall behind it. There was a small shelf above the radiator, on which were three small photos in silver frames. One was of a couple on their wedding day—I assumed Lana’s parents. Another was of the same couple with a toddler—perhaps taking some of her very first steps—and the final one was of an older version of the same couple, but this time they were with the same young woman standing next to me now, taken in a photographer’s studio somewhere.

“That’s after I got my A Level results and got into Uni,” she said, pointing at the final photo. She smiled.

“Alannah!” came a female voice from the door at the end of the hallway. It was followed by an older, slightly softer-around-the-edges version of Lana. Same long blonde hair. Same piercing blue eyes. Same curvy build that, for a few years after she’d developed, Lana had tried so hard to hide.

Lana’s mother strode confidently down the hallway and immediately wrapped her daughter up in a warm hug.

“I’m so glad you’re back safely. I was so worried. You hear so many stories about plane crashes.”

“Mum,” Lana said, sounding exasperated. “Flying is by far the safest way to travel. I told you that. There are more people killed on the road in a day than in an aeroplane in a year.”

“Yes, well, when you’re a mother, you’ll understand.” She called into the other room downstairs. “Frank, Alannah’s here.”

“I heard,” came the rather gruff reply.

Lana’s mother rolled her eyes. “Go on in, I’ll put the kettle on.” It was only then that she looked at me. “So ... This is him, is it?”

She sounded ... I don’t know how to describe it. She wasn’t hostile. But she didn’t exactly sound happy.

“Mum,” Lana said after taking a short breath. “This is Paul. Paul, this is my mum, obviously.”

I held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Carrington.”

She looked me up and down, then took my hand and rolled her eyes. “Mrs Carrington, indeed.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Paul. Tea or coffee?”

“Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re making. Whichever’s easier.”

“Tea it is then. I’ll make a whole pot.” She looked at Lana. “I assume you want coffee?”

Lana grinned but didn’t answer.

“Always so awkward,” her mother said as she turned and headed towards the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Sorry,” Lana said quietly. “Come on, come and meet Dad.”

She led me into the living room, where her father was sitting in an armchair, watching golf on the television.

The room was a ‘bit’ smaller than mine—although, it may have just seemed that way because it was so full of ‘stuff.’

The TV sat on a cabinet in the corner of the room, tucked away, but viewable from all five seats in the room—two armchairs and a three-seat sofa. The sofa was directly opposite a fireplace with a roaring gas fire, while the armchairs were on either side of it, angled slightly to create a cosy group while still allowing the chair closest to the television—the one Lana’s dad was sitting in—to have a perfect view of it.

Against the far wall was a sideboard stretching almost the entire length of the wall. There were more framed photos on top of it, as well as some decorative glassware and china.

Above the fire was a mantlepiece, on which were more framed photos—a young Lana in her school uniform, probably her first day at Micester High, being one of them. There were also more from the same photo shoot as the one in the hallway—one of Lana on her own, looking stunning, and one with each of her parents.

And hanging on the wall above the fireplace was a large canvas print. I recognised the location immediately, since it was only a few weeks ago that I’d had my photo taken there with Carly. It was the bandstand on Westmouth promenade, with Westmouth Bay as a backdrop. Lana and her parents were standing by the back railing, all of them smiling broadly. Lana looked a little younger in this one, maybe fourteen or fifteen, something like that. Her parents were standing with their arms around each other’s backs, and Lana stood next to her dad, with his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him.