Page 32 of Only Ever You

Her heartbeat rose as Bash edged them through the open gates of a driveway, with two four-by-fours parked along one long length of hedging.

The house that welcomed them was indeed huge, neither old nor modern; brown brick, oddly cubed in shape with cute, white detailing around the windows and the cornice by the roof. The main building stood to the left with an annexe extending into the driveway that crunched underneath them.

The front door swung open beneath an arched porch and Faye looked over her shoulder as Michèle burst from the house, dodging around potted greenery and the edge of a hibernating flowerbed.

Bash parked and looked across his car at her. “Are you sure that you’re ready for this?”

“Not at all. And it’s all your fault,” she teased.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said with a wink that made her glad to already be seated, then hopped out of the car to meet his mother.

The kind of silence that only the countryside could boast enveloped her as Faye closed the passenger door behind her,followed by the abrupt trail of cold across her skin. If the middle of nowhere truly existed, this was it. For once, she couldn’t hear cars or sirens or people yelling on street corners.

Michèle’s arms flew out wide as she beamed a direct line for Bash. “Sebby! Enfin, tu es là!?*”

“Maman.” Bash met her and Faye found herself smiling as they wrapped one another in the tightest of hugs, knowing how much he’d wanted to visit his parents but hadn’t had the time between work recently.

When they parted, Michèle’s eyes sparkled as she patted her son’s cheeks. Her dark hair cut off above her shoulders was streaked with more wisps of grey than the last time Faye’d seen her, but her excited smile wiped away as her focus drifted to the remnants of Bash’s graze.

“Mon Dieu, qu’est-ce qui est arrivé à ton visage??*”

Faye guessed by Michèle’s worry and the swipe of her thumb across his cheek what the expletive had meant.

Bash sneaked a glance her way and began to smirk – a look that made Faye’s insides feel as though they burned. “Got into a fight defending Faye’s honour.”

His mother gasped like an old cartoon.

Do not roll your eyes,Faye’s inner voice warned.Not in front of his mother.

“He was hit with a tennis ball during practice,” she countered.

Bash widened his eyes at her. “You couldn’t let me be a hero for one minute –Aïe!?*”

Michèle whacked him playfully on the arm – Faye loved her already – and turned to her next. “It is lovely to see you again, Faye,” she said in a broadly French accent. Her hands reached out and took hold of Faye’s, pale blue eyes gently appraising.

“You too.” Faye smiled, and finally she turned to Bash’s father who’d crept up behind them. “Hi, Doctor Phillips.”

“Hello dear.” Bundled beneath a heavily knitted cream jumper, his smile was sweet. “Please just call me Arthur. Seb, did you not tell Faye to call me Arthur?”

Bash chuffed. “You know Faye, Dad, she never listens to me.”

“I do! I do, Arthur,” Faye protested. “I promise.”

Arthur smiled, and after greeting Bash similarly to Michèle with a long-held hug, turned to Bash’s car. “Let’s get your bags, shall we?” His refined accent made him sound as though he was a butler transported to the wrong decade. Wrongcentury, even. Faye loved to hear such gentle tones reminding her of her own father.

They lugged their two bags inside of the house, handing over the winter coats for Arthur to stow away in a cupboard further along the spacious hall. Despite knowing Bash for a decade, this was the first time Faye had ever been to his family home, which meant she soaked it all in like a Victoria sponge.

The off-white walls were warmly lit by a lamp upon a sideboard and a string of yellow lights winding around a thin Christmas tree. Her gaze snagged on two wall-mounted family portraits; both professional with the same backdrop of mottled blue. Only, one had clearly been taken at Bash’s university graduation day, and the other at Matt’s. She could see the difference in Bash’s maturing face even with only a few years between the pictures. He had the same slight European warmth to his complexion as Michèle, but his plump cheeks and strong jaw were entirely Arthur.

Both of Bash’s parents had been surgeons. After retiring from practice a few years ago, they now toured the UK’s universities and hospitals giving lectures. Sometimes they travelled abroad for conferences that lasted for days on end. Faye knew Bash’s older brother in passing, only meeting once or twice at birthday parties and the one time that he stayed with Bash for a week. Matt, shevaguely remembered, worked part time between a general practice and teaching at a university.

But the medical gene had stopped there.

Bash had said before that he’d never felt pressured into following in his family’s footsteps. Never in the years they’d known one another had he mentioned feeling anything less than supported.

“Where’s Matt? His car’s not outside.” Bash still had the strap of his hold-all weighing down one shoulder as he looked between his parents.

“Your brother’s arriving later,” Arthur answered.

---