40. Chapter 40

Chapter forty

Present

T he sharp clack of snooker balls colliding echoes through the dimly lit room, while the lingering scent of smoke hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of spilled beer. People sway and stagger from one corner to another, navigating the crowded space as best they can. The local pub, a constant hub of activity, is always packed with a diverse mix of patrons. However, it's the university students who seem to claim it as their own, drawn by the allure of cheap drinks and the lively, unpretentious atmosphere.

The jukebox hums in the background, offering a curated playlist that spans decades, from the nostalgic hits of the 1990s to the latest chart-toppers of 2023. It's an eclectic mix that somehow always manages to keep the energy in the room just right, never too loud, but never dull. The tunes seem to play on a loop, creating a sense of continuity, as if each night bleeds into the next, making it hard to distinguish one evening from another.

No matter where you find a seat, there's always that one spot that's annoyingly sticky, and you're compelled to flag down the nearest bartender for a quick wipe-down. Yet, despite the minor inconveniences, you can't help but feel a sense of comfort in the familiarity of it all. There's also the inevitable loudmouth at the end of the bar—a fixture as much as the worn wooden stools and the dartboard in the corner. He's been drinking for hours, his voice growing more slurred with each pint, oblivious to the passing time until, eventually, he slumps over the bar. The bartender, with a practised sigh, makes the routine call for a taxi, knowing that tomorrow will bring the same scene all over again.

Every night here feels like a repeat, a blend of the familiar sights, sounds, and characters that make this pub what it is. It's a place where time seems to stand still, where the routine is both comforting and endlessly predictable, yet somehow, that’s exactly what keeps people coming back.

Taking a seat on the worn leather stool at the far end of the bar, I settle in with a heavy sigh. Charlie, the bartender, catches my eye and makes his way over. Without a word, he places a glass in front of me, the clink of ice cubes filling the silence as he pours a generous measure of whiskey. Charlie knows me well enough by now—he knows what I like and how I like it.

I slide a tenner across the bar towards him, but he merely shakes his head and nudges it back with a slight smile. He doesn’t say anything, just gives me a knowing look before walking away, leaving me alone with my drink. I shrug off my leather jacket, draping it over the stool beside me. As I shift in my seat, the familiar creak of the old bar stool echoes softly in the otherwise lively room.

I pick up the glass, the ice's coolness contrasting with the amber liquid's warmth, and down it in one swift motion. The burn of the whiskey is comforting, a brief but welcome distraction. I place the empty glass back on the counter with a soft clink and raise my hand, signalling Charlie once more. He ambles back over, his pace unhurried, as if time doesn’t quite move the same way in here.

Charlie sees the empty glass, nods in understanding, and pours another round. This time, when I place the tenner on the bar, he takes it, returning with a few coins in change. As he wanders off to tend to the other patrons, I pull my phone from my pocket, the small screen glowing faintly in the dim light.

No new notifications. The silence from her is louder than the chatter that fills the pub. I stare at the screen for a moment longer, as if willing it to change, but it doesn’t. Laelia still hasn’t replied. I take a slow, deliberate sip from my refilled glass, letting the whiskey linger on my tongue as I unlock my phone, my eyes are immediately drawn to the last three unread messages on the screen, each one echoing my growing unease.

What time will you be home, beautiful? xx

Hey beautiful, where are you? xx

Worried I haven't heard from you since I saw you leave for work last night. Where are you, Laelia? xx

The lack of a reply gnaws at me, a sharp edge of anxiety cutting through the whiskey’s warmth. Laelia never leaves my messages hanging, especially when she’s working nights. Even on her busiest shifts, she finds a moment to acknowledge me, to send a quick "I’ll reply soon" or "I love you." But now, there's nothing—just a hollow silence where her words should be.

The urge to text her again is overwhelming, a need to bridge the widening gap between us. My fingers move almost on their own, typing out another message.

Are you running late at work, beautiful? xx

I hesitate, staring at the screen, then add another.

Sorry for all the messages. I'm just concerned about you and the baby, and not hearing from you just worries me xx

I love you xx

Both of you xx

I hit send, knowing it's futile, but hoping it’s not. Waiting for a reply feels like waiting for rain in a drought—painfully, hopelessly pointless. If she hasn’t messaged me by now, she likely won’t until she’s on her way home. Yet, that thought does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest, the dull ache of worry that refuses to fade.

I set the phone down on the bar, trying to shake off the feeling that something isn’t right, but the unease lingers, like a shadow I can’t quite outrun.

After a few more drinks and a futile attempt to calm my nerves, I finally decide to call it a night. An hour and a half have passed, and still, no messages from Laelia. With a heavy sigh, I slip my jacket back on, leave some cash on the bar, and step out into the cool embrace of the night.

The cold breeze bites at my skin as I make my way home, the quiet of the night wrapping around me like a shroud. The streetlights above flicker sporadically, casting long, wavering shadows on the pavement. The moon, hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, offers no light, leaving the world around me shrouded in darkness. I glance up at the sky, hoping for a glimpse of the stars, something to break the monotony of the blackened heavens. But there’s nothing—just an endless expanse of gloom, the stars obscured by the same clouds that seem to mirror the unease in my chest.

As I walk, I pass the occasional stranger, their faces barely visible in the dim light. I quicken my pace, eager to get home, to see if Laelia has returned or if she’s simply fallen asleep without checking her phone. The worry gnaws at me, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Finally, I turn onto our street, the familiar row of houses lined up like silent sentinels in the night. Our house comes into view, its windows dark, no sign of life within. My heart sinks a little further. If the lights are off, there are only two possibilities: she’s either not home yet, or she’s asleep, unaware of the messages that have piled up on her phone.

With a quick turn of the key, I step into the house, the familiar creak of the front door echoing in the silent hallway. I lock the door behind me, my movements hurried, as if speed might somehow change the outcome. The house feels eerily quiet, the kind of silence that amplifies every creak of the floorboards as I rush up the stairs, my heart pounding louder with each step.

Reaching the bedroom, I push the door open, and the dim light from the street outside spills through the open curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The bed, usually a comforting sight, now looks cold and empty, the sheets undisturbed. My chest tightens as I take in the scene. Where is she?

I pull my phone from my pocket, my thumb hovering over the call button as I weigh my options. Maybe she’s just stuck at work, caught up in something that’s kept her longer than expected. But then, why wouldn’t she text? She always lets me know if she’s running late, especially now, with the baby on the way.

The unease in my gut twists tighter, a deep, unsettling feeling that something isn’t right. Ignoring the rational voice in my head telling me to wait, I follow my instincts and press the call button, bringing the phone to my ear.

"We're sorry, but the number you have called has been disconnected."

The automated voice, cold and indifferent, echoes in my ear as I pull the phone away, staring at the screen in disbelief. I try again, and again, each time met with the same chilling message. My breath catches in my throat, a tightness spreading across my chest as my heart races, pounding in my ears like a relentless drumbeat.

“What the fuck’s happening?” I mutter to myself, my voice shaky with rising panic. This has never happened before—her number has never been disconnected, not even for a moment. The uncertainty gnaws at me, the sense that something is terribly wrong sinking in deeper with each failed call.

Desperation begins to claw at the edges of my mind. I know it’s too soon to declare her missing, that the police would likely brush me off with a cold reminder about the twenty-four-hour rule. But I can’t just sit here and do nothing. My mind races through the possibilities, trying to find a reason, an explanation that makes sense.

I decide to call my mum, even when I'm angry at her and confused as to why she's keeping secrets. Maybe, just maybe, Laelia got in touch with her, or maybe she knows something I don’t. The phone rings, each tone stretching longer than the last, but there’s no answer. Frustration bubbles up inside me, mixing with the fear that’s quickly turning into full-blown panic.

When your parent doesn’t pick up, it feels like the world’s about to end, but if you miss their call, you’re in deep trouble. Now, though, with every unanswered ring, I feel my blood boiling, the pain in my chest growing sharper.

I’m about to call Ethan, thinking maybe he’s heard from her or might have some idea of what to do, but before I can press the button, my phone lights up with an incoming call. My mum’s name flashes across the screen, and I feel a momentary wave of relief wash over me, quickly replaced by the fear of what she might say.

With a trembling hand, I swipe to answer, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello?” My voice is tight, barely holding back the panic that’s threatening to spill over.

"Hi sweetie, you okay?" my mum’s voice comes through, soft but tinged with concern.

"Have you heard anything from Laelia?" I ask, cutting straight to the point, hoping she’ll have some reassuring news.

She sighs, a heavy sound that makes my heart sink. "Killian, sweetie," she starts, her voice trembling slightly.

My chest tightens even more. "What's wrong, Mum?" I ask, anxiety creeping in at the sound of her voice breaking.

"The accident," she begins, her voice thick with emotion, and I swear I hear the threat of tears.

My stomach drops. "What accident?" I ask, panic rising.

"Laelia, she—"

Before she can finish, I hear the front door creak open. Lowering the phone from my ear, I hurry down the stairs, and there she is—Laelia, standing in the hallway, drenched from head to toe. I hadn't even noticed it was raining. Relief floods through me, washing away the fear that had been building up.

I quickly bring the phone back to my ear. "It's fine, Mum. I'm just over-stressing. I love you," I say, eager to end the call and focus on the fact that Laelia is standing right in front of me.

"Killian," she says urgently, "we need to talk."

"Everything's fine, mum and don't worry, we'll talk soon. I just need time. I love you," I say quickly, and hang up before she can say anything more.

I hurry down the last few steps, urgency in every stride, and sweep Laelia into my arms, not bothered by the fact that she's drenched. The moment I hold her close, her warmth and softness against me, the tight knot in my chest begins to unravel. Her presence alone melts away the tension and chaos, replacing it with a profound sense of relief and connection.

Her arms wrap around me with the same intensity, and for the first time in hours, I feel a profound sense of release, as if I can finally exhale. I pull back just enough to look at her, my fingers tenderly brushing the wet strands of hair from her face. I need to see her clearly, to anchor myself in her presence and let her calm wash over me.

"Where have you been, beautiful?" I ask softly, relief mingling with the remnants of my earlier fear.

"Sorry, I ended up working late," she replies, her voice calm and steady.

"I’ve texted you multiple times and tried calling, but it said your number was disconnected," I say, the confusion still lingering in the back of my mind.

She lets out a light laugh. "The kids kept me busy all day, and then they decided to have a water fight. My phone got soaked and broke during the chaos," she explains quickly.

"But why would it say the number was disconnected?" I ask, still puzzled.

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't know. I'll call the phone company in the morning and see what's going on," she says, her tone dismissive.

The way she answers my questions so quickly and without hesitation eases my worry. The phone issue is strange, but her calmness reassures me. I let out a sigh of relief and give her a weak smile. "As long as you're okay, that’s all I care about. I was worried something had happened to you," I say, my voice softening as I add, "Both of you."

I rest my hand gently on her small bump, feeling a wave of warmth and love wash over me. My smile grows as I look down, unable to contain the excitement of becoming a dad. Not only am I engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world, but she's also giving me the greatest gift of all—a child that’s part of both of us.

She smiles back at me, her eyes soft. "It's just your imagination talking."

She’s probably right. I have a tendency to over-worry, letting my imagination run wild with worst-case scenarios when, in reality, everything is perfectly fine. My mind might have been playing tricks on me tonight, but now that she’s here, safe and sound, that’s all that matters.

In the end, all the fear, the doubt, and the worry fade away, leaving just the comfort of knowing she’s home, right where she belongs.

"Hey," she says, her voice gentle and filled with affection, "how about we take a walk tomorrow? I think it would be wonderful to breathe in some fresh air and spend a little time together, just the two of us. What do you think?"

Her eyes meet mine with a tender gaze, and I can see the warmth in her smile. The thought of us strolling hand in hand, away from the everyday noise, feels like an intimate escape, a moment just for us to cherish and enjoy.

I look up at her, a smile spreading across my face. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. A walk together would be a perfect way to unwind and enjoy some quiet time."

She nods, her eyes softening with relief and affection. "Yes, I think it’s just what we need. We’ve been so busy lately, and it would be lovely to get outside and stretch our legs. Plus, walking always seems to clear the mind and soothe the soul."

I gently squeeze her hand, feeling a surge of warmth. "I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll be nice to escape the daily hustle and spend some time just enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes, the simplest moments are the most precious."

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. "And it’ll be such a refreshing change from being inside all the time. I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to slow down and savour a peaceful walk together. We can take it slow, maybe bring a thermos of coffee or tea, and just relish the tranquillity."

I pull her a little closer, my heart swelling with love. "That sounds perfect. I love the idea of us finding a new favourite spot together, somewhere we can create special memories. It’s moments like these that make everything feel so right."

She leans in, resting her head against my shoulder, her voice a soft whisper. "I can’t wait to share this time with you. It’s such a beautiful way to reconnect and remind ourselves of how much we cherish each other. Just being together, enjoying the simple pleasure of a walk, will be such a gift."

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close and feeling incredibly grateful. "I’m so glad we have this to look forward to. It’s these quiet, loving moments that truly matter, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything."

We linger in this embrace, savouring the warmth of our connection. The thought of tomorrow’s walk becomes a sweet promise, a gentle reminder of the love and joy we find in each other’s presence.