“Yeah. I’m not sure there’s much more for me out here, though.” The words are true. Perhaps I’ve been avoiding this for a while, and Ivy’s just stirred up something.
“It’s been a long time, mate.”
I know Dan hates that I’m still out here. He left the Army back when I moved to the Logistics Corp. It’s been a long time since we were in the same place together for more than a couple of days, but aside from my Mum, he’s the only other person I consider family. Even after everything.
“Are you still there?” Dan prompts.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. It’s been a while. Hey, how’s Hayley?”
“Jennifer.”
“That’s what I said.” I chuckle, lightening the tone.
“Nice try. So, is there a reason for the call, or did you genuinely want to check in?”
Dan knows me better than I remember.
“I’m thinking about coming back to England. I need a break. Or to re-evaluate,” I admit, leaving out the catalyst for this change in headspace.
“You deserve one. What’s the plan?”
“It’s only a thought at the moment. There’s no plan. But maybe it’s time.”
“You’ll need somewhere to stay.”
“If I come back, I can sort myself a place to stay. You’re good.”
“Just give me some notice about the house, okay?” Guilt grips me in the gut. I’ve always hoped Dan trusts that I won’t go back on my word. He brings this up at every opportunity, but I was firm in my decision back then, and still am.
“No. I told you, it’s not my house anymore. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Well, there’s a spare room for you. Anytime.” I wonder if he’d be so generous if he knew part of my reason for coming back is because of a woman.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll figure something out.” I have no intention of going back on my word. As far as I'm concerned, that house is his now. I’ve made good money over the last couple of years from my photos, and it isn’t like I'm a student needing to sofa-surf, for fuck’s sake. If I want to move back permanently, I can afford my own place.
“It will be good to see you, man. It’s been too damn long. I know why you stay away, but don’t be a stranger.”
“I’ll message you when my plans are final.”
“Make sure of it.”
I hang up before the guilt gnawing in my stomach gets worse. I don’t deserve a friend like him. I keep hold of the phone in my hand, spinning it between my thumb and forefinger. There’s somebody else I should call.
If I look at it objectively, I’ve been a shit son. If I look at it through my mother’s eyes, it’s even worse. Dad died back when I’d just joined the Army, so I effectively abandoned Mum to deal with her grief alone—her words, not mine—and set off for my first tour. From then on, it’s been a rough ride for us in terms of any kind of close mother-son relationship. And for the last few years, I’ve stayed away. From everyone.
She won’t see it like that.
I let the call connect before I give it any more thought. It continues to ring. If I’d called her mobile number, I’d assume she was dodging my calls, but I’m calling the house line.
“Hello?” Her voice sounds groggy, as if I just disturbed her sleep, and I wonder if I did.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Blake.” The icy snap to my name reminds me of the damage I’ve caused over the years. “Well,” she prompts. “Are you going to say anything, or have you just phoned to annoy me?”
“No, Mum. I phoned to check in.”
“Check in?” The disbelief drips from her words. “There’s been plenty of times to check in over the years, and you’ve never taken them. What’s happened?”
