Down London Road

spring day and the sun was out and the little village was fairly busy. But me? I was too busy gnawing my lip. Despite both Cam’s and Malcolm’s assurances, little mini-versions of me had started freaking out together in my stomach. I could feel them kicking and screaming in there.
    We turned left at a roundabout, I knew that, and Cam had pointed out the grand red-stone gatehouse to the Gosford estate, babbling on about something his father had told him about it. Cole had replied, so I gathered he was actually listening. I, on the other hand, was just trying not to upchuck.
    When we pulled into a well-groomed housing estate and parked in front of a medium-sized whitewashedhouse with a red roof, I lost my ability to breathe. Cam laughed at my reaction, giving me a quick, hard kiss before ushering us out of the car and into his parents’ house.
    They had been lovely so far. Helena, or Lena, as she preferred to be called, was warm, kind and dry-witted, and Anderson – Andy – was quiet, friendly and genuinely interested in me and Cole. Their dog, Bryn, was an energetic fourteen-month-old King Charles puppy who immediately fell in love with Cole, and vice versa.
    We’d gone to the local inn for lunch together, where we chatted about work, my work, Cam’s work, their work, and Cole’s talent for drawing and writing. I gathered Cam had told them something about Mum because they trod very carefully around the subject. Surprisingly, I didn’t mind if they knew. Cam was obviously close to them and shared a lot about his life with them. If that included me and my life, I could only take that as a good sign for our relationship.
    That night we’d watched some telly with them and Cole had been drawn into a history programme Andy was watching, finding Andy’s knowledge about historical events completely fascinating. He had multitasked, listening to Andy while tormenting the life out of Bryn, who loved every minute of the attention. I’d sat in the kitchen with Cam and his mum while she pulled out old baby photographs that I giggled over. Cam had been a funny-looking pre-adolescent. It was so cute.
    It was all so normal.
    So perfectly ordinary.
    It was wonderful.
    At bedtime, Cole took the couch and Cam and I crashedin his old bedroom. It had been completely preserved from his teen years: posters of bands looking a decade younger plastered over his walls, cutouts from film magazines, as well as his own drawings. Like his sketches now, they consisted of cool little cartoon paradox people. He tended to draw cartoon people in an action that was completely at odds with their physical appearance. I’d stolen one of his recent drawings, sketched on a napkin at work. It was a cartoon mercenary – big, bulging muscles, leather vest, motorcycle boots, chains, bullet clips strapped around him, headscarf, guns in holsters and a knife tucked into his boots. In his hands was a big open box of chocolates in the shape of a love heart and as he ate them he wore this dreamy, goofy smile on his face. It was now my bookmark.
    Cam’s old room just exploded with his teenage personality and I loved it. I felt like a teenager myself as we began quietly making out on his bed. I’d stopped before it got too hot and heavy, refusing to have sex under his parents’ roof. He had not been pleased by this, but considering that he had the squeakiest mattress on planet earth I would not be moved on the subject.
    Cuddling up with him to just fall asleep had been nice anyway. Sweet. A little bit emotional. Safe.
    I’d woken up contented, to the smell of breakfast.
    After stuffing us with a huge breakfast that included amazing haggis fritters, Lena was now determined to kill us. Or me. The boys looked perfectly happy with the idea of scarfing down pancakes.
    ‘Maybe I’ll sit these out,’ I told Lena with a wry smile. ‘I’m pretty full.’
    ‘Nonsense.’ She grinned back at me as she dumped theplates by the sink. ‘If you can eat all you want and still keep your beautiful figure, then you should.’
    Glowing under her compliment, I rinsed the plates quickly and then put them in the dishwasher. By the time I turned around, Lena had already piled a mound of pancakes on to two plates.
    ‘Grab the syrups.’ She nodded to the bottles of golden and chocolate syrup.
    I followed her back into the dining room and sat down, watching as everyone dug in, ignoring Bryn, who wandered from one seat to the next, her gorgeous brown eyes begging someone