Page 144 of The Sound Between Us

Eventually, Jamie gets up and walks to the bar. He pours tequila into two mismatched tumblers and doesn’t ask if I want one. He knows I do.

He hands it over, and we sit in silence, staring out at the lights crawling across the valley below.

Jamie raises his glass. “Glastonbury.”

I clink mine against his. “Glastonbury.”

And for once, we don’t say anything clever. There’s nothing left to say.

We don’t talk much after that. Me and Jamie. Just drink tequila and lie on opposite sides of his stupid oversized sofa in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

By the time I leave, the sun’s already climbing over the canyon ridge. My flight’s in four hours. I don’t even go home; I just have Lee swing by, grab my bag, and drive me to LAX. My head pounds with every bump in the road.

The flight is long. I don’t eat. Don’t sleep. Just cycle through the same playlist on repeat, but the songs don’t sound right anymore.

By the time I land at Heathrow, everything feels different. The air tastes of rain and exhaust.

It’s past ten when we pull into the suburbs. Red brick terraces, garden hedges trimmed neat, those old-fashioned yellow sodium lamps casting everything in sepia.

The car rolls to a stop. I sit there for a moment, watching the condensation form on the inside of the window.

I step out. The cold hits immediately—damp and clinging. Not like LA’s dry chill. This cold gets into your bones.

I sling my leather overnight bag over my shoulder. It’s the only thing I brought.

The walk up the driveway is slower than it should be. The roses in the front garden are still perfect. Mum’s handiwork.

I stop in front of the door. Same brass knocker. Same chipped paint on the post-box.

I knock twice, then wait.

I can hear movement inside—shuffling, the low murmur of the telly. The rattle of a chain, then the locks turning, one by one.

The door swings open.

She looks smaller than I remember. Grey at the roots, slippers on her feet, face lined and unimpressed.

“Alright, Mam?” My voice cracks a little, but I keep it steady. “Can I come in?”

She stares at me for half a beat. Then steps aside.

“Put the kettle on. You look like shit.”

I walk through the door.

And just like that, I’m home.