Mercifully, the rest of the car ride was short. By the time Preston pulled into Saltney, the rain had stopped, too. Dirty puddles pocked the road. The main street housed a church, made from the same crumbling white stone as the cliffs, a fish shop with a wooden sign hanging slanted above the door, and the pub, soft golden light gleaming from behind its rain-streaked windows.
“You can let me out here,” Effy said. “I’ll walk.”
Preston pulled over without a word. Effy tried to open the door, but the handle just flapped uselessly. She pulled it over and over again, frustration rising to a fever pitch, her face burning.
“It’s locked,” Preston said. His voice was tight.
It was a petulant sort of stubbornness that kept Effy yanking at the handle, even though the door wouldn’t budge. After several more moments, she heard Preston draw a breath, and then he reached over, fumbling for the lock.
His shoulder was pressed against her chest, their faces close enough that Effy could see the muscle feathering in his jaw. His skin was very lightly tan, and from this vantage point she noticed the faint scattering of freckles on his cheeks. She hadn’t seen them before. There were two red marks where his glasses had dug in, tiny nicks that winged the bridge of his nose.
She wondered if they hurt. She almost wanted to ask. It was a strange thought, and she wasn’t sure why it had occurred to her. Her heart was shuddering unsteadily, and she was certain Preston could feel it through the wool of her sweater and his coat.
At last the door clicked open. Preston pulled back, letting out a quiet huff. Effy only then realized that she, too, had been holding her breath.
Cold air wafted in from the open door, bringing with it the smell of the sea. She clambered out of the car as quickly as she could, her bottom lip stinging where she’d bitten it nearly to bleeding.
The train station was not far from the pub, but as soon as she started to walk, Effy’s legs began to go numb beneath her. She watched from the street as Preston climbed out of the car, the collar of his jacket pulled up around his ears.
There was a pale flush painting his cheeks, and Effy was sure she wasn’t imagining it. He gave her one stiff, tight nod and then vanished into the pub. While the door was briefly open, Effy heard the muffled music of the record player.
She turned toward the train station. There was no use waiting, she figured, if she was indeed going to leave. On the way, her left foot plunged into a puddle, soaking the hem of her pant leg. Already she missed Caer-Isel and coffee shops and Rhia. She even missed Harold and Watson.
Mostly, she missed paved streets.
There were no other cars aside from Preston’s, and the street was dreary and empty. The train station was nothing more than a small ticket booth and a stretch of silent tracks, water beading on the booth’s window and dripping off the awning.
She didn’t know when the next train was coming, and there didn’t appear to be any sort of schedule posted. Effy glanced over her shoulder, as if she might catch Preston watching her. But why would he care enough to investigate her lie?
Effy was only a few paces away from the station when she saw the telephone booth—its glass, too, misted thoroughly with condensation.
She wasn’t sure exactly what made her enter it and pick up the phone. She owed no loyalty to the stupid lie she’d told Preston. And yet she found herself dialing her mother’s number again.
A very small part of her did want to hear her mother’s voice. It was the urge that a dog had to nose the same old beehive, forgetting the fact that it had been stung before.
“Hello? Effy? Is that you?”
“Mother?” The relief she felt almost bowled her over. “I’m so sorry for not calling you back sooner.”
“Well, you should be,” her mother said. “I was frantic. I told your grandparents. Where are you?”
“I’m still in Saltney.” Effy swallowed. “But I’m going to leave now.”
There was a rustling sound; she imagined her mother shifting the receiver so it was cradled between her shoulder and her ear. “What made you finally change your mind?”
Finally was a little pinch of cruelty. It had only been one day. “I just realized you were right. I was taking on more than I could handle.”
Her mother made a low, approving sound. There were the faint noises of cars rattling down the street in the background. Effy pictured her mother standing by the open window, telephone cord wrapped around her lithe body. She imagined the armchair in the living room where she used to curl up after school and do her homework; she imagined her grandparents shuffling about in the kitchen downstairs, cooking venison and mincemeat pies. She imagined her bedroom, with the same pastel pink wallpaper she’d had since she was a child and the stuffed bear she’d been too embarrassed to bring to university but missed every night.