Page 19 of A Dark Fall

“How are you?” I ask. “Smells delicious. Where’s Dad?” I pinch a piece of buttered bread as I pass.

“Fine, darling. I’m fine. He’s in the garden. How are you? How’s work? Nick is still coming, isn’t he?” She looks up at me from the pot of boiling potatoes.

“Yes, he’s coming, Mum.” I nod.

I leave her watching the mash and head into the garden to see my father. He’s spraying the border plants with the hose just off the patio. Since he retired, the garden has been his surgery, the flora and fauna his patients, and so my parents’ garden is a thing of beauty.

“Hey, you,” I shout over the sound of the hose.

He turns, beaming at me. Dad’s face never fails to put me at ease no matter what’s going on. It’s the doctor in him. The reassuring manner once learned is never forgotten, it seems. He turns off the hose and comes to hug me, squeezing tight.

“There’s my girl. You’re early. Or is your brother late?” he asks gently. “She’s been fussing about all day.” Sighing, he inclines his head toward the house.

“No surprise there.” I smile. “How are you doing, Dad?”

“Great, love. How are you doing? How’s the practice?”

“Slow, mainly.” Unless sexually arrogant, tattooed hard men barge in demanding you stitch them up. “I should have gone to A&E for some excitement.” I sigh.

Dad laughs, and we walk together into the conservatory/dining room, his arm still around my shoulders. “Well, you can still switch sides, sweetheart. It’s never too late. You’ve only started out. You don’t want to be stuck with something that makes you unhappy,” he says, eyes wide and sincere. Somewhere behind his familiar green eyes, I think this might be about Ben. I don’t know.

“Oh, I know. And I’m probably being silly, but it’s like I have this feeling constantly as if something’s missing, you know?” I shake my head. “God, that’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps what you’re missing out on isn’t work-related,” Dad says, sounding startlingly accurate. He’s always had this uncanny ability to pinpoint my exact thoughts before I’ve even thought of them myself. It’s as if sometimes, he can see into my bloody soul. “Perhaps if you had something else to focus on ...”

Yes, okay, this is definitely about Ben.

“I have plenty of things to focus on. Plus, I have a cat. And a piano,” I say lightly.

“That’s not really what I mean, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I know, Dad ...” I roll my eyes.

“I’m sorry, darling. I worry about you, that’s all.”

“You do? Or Mum does?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Both. Okay, well, mainly her. But there, that’s the talk out of the way. Now we can have a nice dinner, can’t we?” he says with a wink.

“Sounds great.”

He makes a clicking noise. “She worries too much about you all, you know that. But especially you now.” Meaning she used to worry about Nick the most, but now, since my fiancé cheated on me and moved in with another woman, it’s me she worries about. “I don’t. I tell her you’re the most sensible one of the lot, and you’ll be absolutely fine.” His face is still completely sincere as he says this, and it softens me.

The sensible one. That is me, isn’t it?

Just before 7:00 p.m., almost thirty minutes late, Nick arrives. He bounds into the conservatory buzzing with energy. I haven’t seen him in close to a month, and he looks good, his recent trip to South America ensuring he’s tanned and healthy. My older brother is dark-haired—far darker than I am—and tall, with a perfect white smile he uses to devastating effect. Nick’s looks made me very popular at school with smitten girls. If only they knew.

“Little sis, you look bloody great. Come here,” he says, leaning down to pull me into a citrusy hug and kissing me on the cheek. He moves to hug Dad in the same fashion. “Old man Marlowe, how’s it going?”

“Fine son, fine. You look well. Maybe we’ll get fed now the guest of honor is here.” Dad winks at me.

Nick beams and rubs his hands together before drumming his fingers on the table as Mum comes scurrying in with the first of the plates. Nick’s is put down first, of course.

Throughout dinner, Nick chats excitedly and enthusiastically while the rest of us listen. As ever, I wonder where he gets his energy from, since his job in the city has him working, like, seventy-two-hour weeks. He talks about his recent trip to Colombia and Peru, his new car, and how he’s looking at buying a new flat south of the river as an investment. We have another lighthearted argument about London again because unlike me, Nick loves living there and still can’t understand why I chose to live miles away in a village with a community of OAPs.

It doesn’t take long before Mum steers the conversation toward Nick’s inability to settle down and find a nice girl. It was only a matter of time. I’m off the hook tonight, thank god, but Nick and I still meet eyes across the table as soon as she starts.

“Oh, Nicholas, really. I mean, you’re thirty-three years old now. All this, you know, messing about”—she waves her hands dramatically—“won’t satisfy you forever, you know?”