Until Harry(2)

I was pulled from my thoughts when the train came to a sudden stop. I blinked my eyes a couple of times and looked out the window. I was no longer looking at the countryside; I was staring at the busy platform of my final stop. York.

Welcome home, Lane.

After exhaling a deep breath, I nervously got to my feet and shoved my phone back into my coat pocket before grabbing my small suitcase from the storage compartment above my head. I was walking along the platform a few minutes later, pulling my suitcase behind me. I got a taxi from the station to the Holiday Inn, a small hotel roughly ten minutes away from my parents’ house, and checked into the hotel, settling into my small but cosy room. I was freshening up when my phone pinged. At the sight of my brother’s name, I groaned.

Lochlan was looking for confirmation that I was coming home for my uncle’s funeral. I didn’t blame him for checking in – I’d never replied to his letter. I just read it and acted by booking the next flight out of New York.

I’m here, I thumbed out. Where is he laid out?

I swallowed the bile that rose up my throat as I impatiently waited for his reply. I had so many questions, but I didn’t want any answers. I wanted to know why my uncle was dead when he had been perfectly healthy. I wanted to know why he had been living Monday night and was dead Tuesday morning. But if I got the answers my mind sought, then it would be like I was accepting that my uncle was gone, and I just wasn’t ready to do that yet.

I jumped when my phone pinged with a new email.

Mum and Dad’s house. We’re all here.

A lump formed in my throat. It made sense that my uncle would be at my parents’ house; my uncle adored my mother, and she cherished him in return. She was his little sister, his partner in crime and his twin.

I rubbed my eyes when they began to sting.

I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

I grabbed a pair of black fitted jeans, black ankle boots, a black long-sleeve T-shirt and a grey blazer. When I was dressed, I turned to the full-length mirror and stared at myself. I looked the same as I always had, but noticed the subtle differences others would see when they looked at me. My chocolate-brown hair was longer now, almost to my waist. My breasts were fuller, and hips were a little wider, giving a curve to my body that now showed me as woman, and not a girl. My porcelain skin had a splash of light freckles, and my emerald-green eyes were still hidden behind the glasses that sat atop the bridge of my nose.

I adjusted my blazer and blinked. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to dress down to see my family for the first time in six years. I wanted to look put together, even though inside I was falling apart.

I plaited my hair back into a French braid to keep it out of my face, and didn’t bother with make-up, because seeing my uncle would open a floodgate of emotions, so it would get ruined anyway. I picked up a pale blue scarf from the bed and wrapped it around my neck before grabbing my phone and key card.

As my parents’ house was close by, I decided to walk. It wasn’t raining out, for once, but being the middle of October, it was already pitch-black by 6 p.m. and starting to get really cold. I folded my arms across my chest and kept my head down as I scurried past my nanny’s café. It was closed as expected. I saw no lights on out of the corner of my eye, but just in case, I kept my gaze averted.

The walk to my parents’ place was quicker than I remembered, and before I knew it, I stood in front of the door of the house I grew up in. I blinked as I took in my childhood home. It was mildly adorned with some Halloween decorations – reminding me of the upcoming holiday – but that aside, it looked the exact same as the last time I’d seen it six years ago, just like nothing changed . . . or happened.

You can do this, I told myself.

I repeated the thought over and over in my mind as I lifted my hand in the air and prepared to knock on the darkly varnished door. I didn’t get the chance, though, because the door suddenly opened, revealing a pair of women in their mid-twenties who were exiting the house. I had no idea who they were and found myself staring.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman with platinum-blonde hair said on a gasp before composing herself. “Can I help you?”

Who is she? I wondered, and why is she asking if she can help me?

“No, thank you,” I replied civilly. “Can I get by you?”

The woman didn’t move, and the brunette next to her folded her arms across her chest and stepped closer to her friend. I glanced to her, then back to the blonde. It looked like they were trying to keep me out of the house.

“Who are you?” the blonde asked.

Her tone wasn’t rude, just curious.

I impatiently tapped my foot against the ground and counted to five before answering. “I’m Lane. This is my parents’ house. Can I please get by you?”

“Lane?” the blonde woman gasped.

She spoke as if she knew me, but I didn’t recognise her. I nodded to her question, and it caused both of the women to widen their eyes and instantly separate, forming a passage between them. I thanked them, stepped between them and entered my parents’ house. I took a nervous breath and walked across the hallway and towards the parlour.

I glanced over my shoulder when the blonde and brunette rushed by me and headed down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. I looked away from them and back to the parlour door. I knew my uncle would be in there; it was where my Aunt Teresa had been laid out after she’d died many years ago.