The Way Back Home by Freya North

Author:Freya North
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780007507696
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-06-18T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘Did you come in through the window, by the way?’

‘Of course I didn’t come in through the window. I used the front door.’

Oriana’s indignance made Malachy laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, curious but not offended, not really.

‘The funny thing is, you didn’t even make my list of possible intruders,’ Malachy said. ‘The fact that it might be you never crossed my mind.’

‘I told Jed that I’d be here tomorrow – that I’d have Cat’s car. I assumed he wouldn’t mind me dropping stuff off earlier, you see.’

‘But he doesn’t live here.’

‘I didn’t know that. He didn’t say.’ Oriana paused and helped herself to more wine. She looked over at Malachy who was making patterns out of pistachio shells. She didn’t speak for a while. ‘Where does he live?’

‘Sheffield.’

Sheffield. I’m going to live in Sheffield. Stainless steel and the Supertram. Joe Cocker and Jarvis Cocker. A. S. Byatt and Malcolm Bradbury. Heaven 17 and the Human League. ABC and the Arctic Monkeys. The Full Monty and The History Boys. And Meadowhall. Sheffield Hallam and Sheffield Wednesday. And Hillsborough. Hi, I’m Oriana Taylor – I live in Sheffield.

‘It was a peculiar concept – that I was coming back here to Windward to live. But to think I’m going to live in Sheffield –’ She paused, trying to absorb this huge new fact. Reluctantly, she conceded that, however bizarre the thought of living in Sheffield, ultimately it was far more plausible than Windward. Windward, from where she’d run away so often, the home she’d ultimately been banished from, the one place she’d never expected to return to.

‘Are we going to eat?’ said Malachy, gently butting into her runaway train of thought. ‘I can cook, you know.’

Oriana brought herself back into the kitchen. For however long this evening might last, she was here, at the Bedwells’, alone with Malachy.

‘Sour milk, manky cheese and beer?’ she said. ‘That won’t get you onto MasterChef.’

Malachy flicked a pistachio shell right at her. She giggled. It was good to hear. Her face was bright and he could barely look.

‘I will cook,’ she said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘Can I help, at least?’

‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘It’s all under control.’ Just then, the meal was about the only thing in her life to be so.

‘I’ll just take a quick shower then.’ Malachy made to leave the kitchen, stopped at the doorway and turned to face her. ‘OK?’ It had nothing to do with the shower.

‘OK,’ she nodded; a distracted smile.

‘You OK?’ he persevered, the chosen phrase, his tone of voice, the way he looked at her, rocketing both of them back to years ago.

She thought about it. ‘Me OK.’

Alone in the kitchen Oriana knew it was useless trying to compute the last hour into any kind of logic. At some point, Jed would come. Explanations, reasons, excuses, whatever. And then he’d be taking her to Sheffield to live. She could no longer remember whether the point had been to stay at Windward, or whether it had been

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