Page 168 of The Unlikely Pair
I climb out of the car, and the cold hits me as I look up at the house.
This is the place where I was born, where I spent my childhood, where I moved into when I married.
My wife is inside.
How is it, then, that it no longer feels like home?
But what is home to me now? A cabin in the Scandinavian wilderness that burned to the ground?
I swallow down the lump in my throat as the truth strikes me.
Toby. He’s my home.
“Harry!” The door opens, and the warm light from inside and Prunella spill out onto the doorstep. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry, I just needed to get away from London for the night.”
Her expression softens. “You don’t need an excuse to come home.”
Home. There’s that word again.
Without Toby, am I destined to spend the remainder of my days feeling as though I am homeless?
“Come in. I gave Cheryl the night off, so I’ve just made myself some eggs on toast. Do you want some?”
“That would be marvelous, thank you.”
I follow Prunella into the kitchen. The room is bathed in soft, warm light, reflecting off the polished surfaces of the cherry wood floors and the hand-painted Italian tiles that adorn the backsplash. I can’t help thinking about the stark contrast between this and the rustic space of the cabin.
Prunella bustles around the kitchen, scrambling eggs.
I sit at the table and watch her as she cooks and chats with me about the charity function she was at this afternoon.
She has been a dear friend for so long, yet I still find myself yearning for Toby’s presence. To have him in the room with us, contributing to the conversation.
He’s such an integral part of me now that I can’t fathom I will ever feel like something isn’t missing.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up, Harry?” she asks softly as she sets the plate in front of me.
To avoid answering her, I take a small bite of the eggs. But they’re chalky in my mouth as I chew, which I know has nothing to do with the quality of Prunella’s cooking. I finally force myself to swallow, then look up to find Prunella watching me, her eyes soft and patient.
“All I wanted when I was out in the wilderness was to come home…” My breath is ragged as I stare at the pristine English oak table. “And now…now all I want is to be back there with him.”
In the silence that falls between us, I hear the carriage clock ticking. It was a gift to my grandfather from his constituents, a token of their appreciation for his tireless work on their behalf.
To what extent should we be beholden to our history? Should the choices of our family members in the past determine our future going forward?
The weight of my family history, which I’ve always been so proud of, now feels like it will suffocate me.
“Harry, we always said when this wasn’t working anymore for either of us, we’d walk away,” Prunella says gently.
My head snaps up to look at her. “You want to end our marriage? Now?”
There’s nothing but kindness in her gaze. “You’ve been the most amazing husband I could have ever imagined,” she says, reaching across the table, her hand covering mine. “But this isn’t fair to you anymore. It was fine when you were prepared to shut away that side of yourself, but not now. Not when you’ve fallen in love.”
I look away, out through the window, where there is nothing but blackness.
I can’t deny her words.
