"Jesus, Emily, I'm coming! Have some patience—" Naomi's chastising yell was interrupted by another shrill ring of the doorbell. She rolled her eyes as she rounded the corner from the den and padded down the narrow hall to the door in a well-worn Vaccines concert tee, charcoal jeans, and a pair knitted black-and-white striped socks that started as a tongue-in-cheek Christmas gift from Gina and begrudgingly became her most prized winter clothing possession. And if the howling wind gusting outside was any indication, winter was certainly upon them. The upbeat guitar chords and cymbal crashes of a song Naomi was sure her mum would recall too fondly warbled from the sleek white soundbar resting on the dresser in her bedroom, growing steadily louder then fading as she passed the doorway in a rush.
Not bothering with the mirror affixed to the hall wall above the small oval end table just inside the door, Naomi pulled the door open aggressively, intending to scold Ms. Fitch on the irritant that was superfluous doorbell-ringing. Her admonishment caught in her throat as she saw Emily standing there, picking at the twisted fringe of her scarf, bundled against the sharp winter wind blowing outside. A knit cap covered in a zig-zag pattern of robin's egg blues, whites, and browns was pulled tightly down over her ears, her hair peeking out from underneath across her brow. She looked up and smiled, placing a mittened hand on Naomi's shoulder and kissing her lightly on the cheek as she slipped past into the flat. Still at a loss, Naomi glanced up and down the hall towards the large pane windows at either end of her floor; all the other doors were closed.
Turning and locking them in, Naomi struggled to regain the annoyance she had felt moments earlier. Emily slipped her gloves off and placed them on the entrance table; her fingers deftly unclasped the buttons on her pea coat before handing it off for Naomi to hang in the hall closet. As she unwound her scarf, she finally spoke, "I thought you said it wasn't going to be miserable when I visited."
"It…it wasn't earlier." Naomi blinked, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the vision of Emily, her cheeks and the tip of her nose rosy from the cold wind, as she pulled off her cap and teased her hair down. Failing, Naomi stepped forward and cupped Emily's cheek as she kissed her, cutting off the petite woman's retort. Emily tangled a hand in her host's hair and pressed back firmly; inconsequentially, Naomi noticed how cold her skin and lips were, but the chill did nothing to dissuade her from replying with equal fervor. She stepped forward, forcing Emily backwards—and suddenly Emily let out a squeal of surprise.
Her foot caught on the bag she'd borrowed from Katie, causing her to stumble and awkwardly drag Naomi down as they fell. They caught themselves in an uncomfortable position, braced against the wall and the floor, legs caught together, and their breaths coming in short gasps. Frozen in place, they stared at each other for a moment before Emily started to giggle. The shock in her expression was replaced by a mirthful spark as she laughed harder and harder; it became infectious and soon Naomi found herself tearing up from laughter as the slowly extricated themselves and stood. Wiping her eyes, Naomi shook her head and began dragging Emily's things into the bedroom, depositing them next to the dresser.
"Have you eaten?" she called back to the hall.
"No, I'm starving," came the relieved reply as Emily followed her, dropping the bag on the floor and running a hand along the top of the dresser.
Smiling to herself, she picked up a landscape-oriented photo next to a small dish replete with bracelets and a watch. Arms around each other's shoulders, the snapshot showed the twins and Naomi—Emily in the middle, Katie to her right and Naomi to her left—standing on the floor of the House of Commons the first day of the current session amidst the celebratory chaos that accompanied the ceremonial events of opening the session. Naomi was waving with her free hand up at the media gallery, with a genuine smile directed at the photographer (Emily recalled it being Devlin Franks, there to cover the events at their request); Katie was looking off into the crowd somewhere and laughing; Emily, squeezed between them, was smiling whilst biting her lower lip and looking up at Naomi. Someone had touched up the photo post-production so that the scurrying masses of people blurred around them, leaving the three women clear and crisp in a sea of reds, yellows, and blues.
"I love that one," murmured Naomi as she stepped over and slipped an arm around Emily's waist. The detective put the frame down, eyes distant.
"I didn't know you'd had it developed. It's lovely. Oh!" Her attention was diverted by another picture behind the new one. "I forgot about this."
Emily picked up the second picture, running her thumb along the black frame. The scene was one she still could picture vividly a decade later and flashing back, she could recall Karen giggling and stumbling around, holding the digital camera up with a joint clamped between her fingers. They were arrayed around the sofa in the McLair's shed, during the impromptu birthday party that capped their final days before heading off on trips, gap years, uni, and ultimately, real life; a freeze-frame of a fantastical two years that almost seemed part whimsy, part devastating tragedy. On one arm of the sofa was JJ, perched precariously with his feet dangling off, a look of surprise dueling humor on his features, and an arm rested on the back cushions above where Effy half-lay, slumped at an angle, her head resting on Katie's shoulder, a content but restrained smile the only hint something might be amiss at all. Katie, absurdly overdressed for such a small gathering, had a bottle of cheap vodka dangling loosely in her hands where they were rested atop her crossed legs; she was trying not to smile after angrily insisting on taking the photo and receiving very little cooperation, but Cook had cracked a joke at Karen's inability to stabilize herself long enough to take the shot and Katie relented in her anger oh-so-briefly. She was a small spot of calm in a tempest of alcohol- and weed-fueled debauchery. Cook, for his part, was standing behind the sofa, engaging JJ in a headlock and trying to pull him back off the sofa. On the floor, Pandora and Thomas were sitting, shoulders touching comfortably, and feet resting flat on the floor so their knees were pulled up towards their chests; their hands were clasped together on the floor between them. And on the right side of the photo, squeezed next to each other on one cushion of the couch as far from Effy as they could be, were Naomi and Emily, the latter's legs draped over the former's lap and their foreheads pressed to one another as if the rest of the shed had withdrawn into a fog and disappeared leaving the two of them in the small corner of the sofa as the only people in the universe.
"Yeah, I found it when I was packing things from our flat in Bristol. It was all dusty, but I thought it fit here." Naomi laughed lightly, clearly joining Emily in her own reminiscences. "Of course, Franks sent me this one as a congrats and I haven't taken the time to rearrange."
They fell silent, staring at the photo. A minute later, perfectly ruining the peaceful mood, was Emily's rumbling stomach. She apologized profusely as Naomi withdrew her arm and, once again crying from laughing so hard, left the bedroom to head further into the flat and make her fiancée something to eat.
An hour later they were curled up on the large sectional in the living room, the wind whistling past the large window to their right, London's skyline twinkling like so many orange stars in the distance. Lit candles sat on the coffee table and island in the kitchen and the lights were dimmed. Naomi's hand lazily twirled Emily's hair, as she held a glass of wine in the other. Both of Emily's hands were wrapped protectively around her own glass as she snuggled into Naomi's side, a thick blanket covering the two of them.
"Do you think I should have stayed?" asked Emily quietly, staring down into her glass.
Naomi frowned and looked down at a mess of auburn hair. "Well, she can take care of herself, can't she? She hasn't started drinking again like she did before?"
"No, nothing like that. I just…" Emily's voice trailed off. "I just wish there was some way I could help her come to terms with it all. I had you, Naoms, and when I'm not there…I'm all she has."
"She has friends in Bristol, Emily. Your sister's never been one I'd consider to be anti-social." Naomi took a sip of wine as Emily twisted and looked up at her.
"I don't mean like that. Katie could charm Scrooge if she was up to it, but that doesn't mean the people she hangs out with know her very well. I'm her sister."
"And you feel responsible for her. I get it. But she really doesn't have anyone? When was the last time she talked to Effy?"
"You're having a laugh?" Emily sat up in disbelief, shrugging off the blanket. "When was the last time anyone talked to her? Besides, we put her brother in jail. Jail, Naomi. I don't think she'd be in the comforting mood, and I would never count her as a sympathetic sort."
"Sorry, didn't mean to upset you. Christ." Naomi reached out a hand and pulled Emily back towards her. Emily resisted for a moment, then relented with an apologetic smile, taking up her spot curled on the sofa in Naomi's side. Naomi sighed and shrugged. "Anyway, she surprised me once or twice."
"I just don't get it. It's been months, and this place had nothing to do with SSI. Maybe if I had taken the day off, gone with her. Maybe…"
"Maybe you can second-guess yourself all night long, but that's not going to change anything now. You can't interview for her; this isn't college and her career isn't a bullshit course. She's welcome to stay on my staff."
"I know that, but Katie's proud. She hates taking things on charity, Naoms, and that's how she views working for you." Emily lifted her wine glass to her lips. "She's got another interview later this week with another company."
"Well, maybe that one will go better." Naomi frowned. "What about Cook?"
"What about him?"
"Has she talked to him about any of this?"
Emily snorted. "As if. They refuse to mention anything related to what happened. It's, it's like they've reverted to college: everything he says she takes as either a come-on or something eye-rolling, and he's unapologetic and miffed she's upset about anything."
"That does make some sense," mused Naomi. "Neither one of them wants to admit things've changed so they're reaching for what's familiar in their past. What?"
Emily had turned and was gaping at Naomi. "When did you become a psychologist?"
"I'm not…" Naomi's attempt at justification was halted by Emily stealing a kiss. As the smaller woman pulled away with a smile, Naomi shook her head. "Look, I'm just saying maybe they need to sit down and talk. You know, clear the air a little."
"Maybe," replied Emily, the doubt evident in her voice. She frowned. "I had lunch with Jenna today, too, as if Katie's episode wasn't enough drama."
"Really!" Naomi grinned smugly and reached out to hold Emily's hand as she sat back on the sofa. "And how was your lovely, most generous wedding planner?"
"A bitch, as per. She wants us to have four—four—dinner options at the reception. And we haven't even settled on the guest list yet! I know you want to make this an event, but I'm not opening a restaurant, for Christ's sake."
"You know what babes, you're absolutely right." She patted Emily's hand.
"Emily frowned, immediately skeptical, condescension hanging between them. "But what?"
"But maybe that's the answer to both problems. Just have Katie open a restaurant. She cooks a decent meal and would certainly be able to entertain as manager when interacting with customers, and you can always," Naomi tried not to grin too much as she finished with, "whine and dine them."
Emily rolled her eyes. "You're being entirely unhelpful as always."
"Because I could give two fucks what we serve at the reception. We won't get much of a chance to eat anyways. As for the guest list, I'm not anticipating any extended family being there, since I don't have any, but there are colleagues I'll have to invite in the name of proper etiquette."
"You mean politicians you owe favors."
Naomi couldn't hold back any part of her amusement as she tipped her wine glass in salute to herself, "I am the Darling of London, after all."
"Oh, fuck's sake not you too."
Naomi laughed. "Whether we want it or not, Ems, we're in the limelight right now. You can offer however many options at the reception as you like so long as you keep the caterer your mom wants and you smile and shake hands with all the unbearably snobby people that'll show up and leave just as quickly as they can."
"That's it? I get to pick the food I don't get to eat in exchange for being miserable my entire wedding night?"
Naomi reached out and place her hand just above Emily's knee. Her blue eyes narrowed, a playful amusement consumed by a wine-aided smoldering desire. "I'm sure I can sweeten the deal somehow."
Emily swallowed, her breath hitching. Her tongue flicked out across her lips as Naomi leaned in—on the kitchen counter, Naomi's phone began to ring shrilly. Desperately, Emily closed the distance and kissed her fiancée. Naomi pulled back and started to stand, much to Emily's chagrin.
"Wait, don't answer it." She grabbed Naomi's hand as the brunette stepped away from the warmth of the sofa.
"It's my work mobile. Erik knows not to call if it isn't important." Emily twisted and watched her pick up the smart phone from the counter, thumb flicking across the screen to open the call. "Yes, Erik? I'm a bit busy at the moment."
"Not busy enough to ignore this. Are you watching the news?"
"No," frowned Naomi as she pantomimed for Emily to flick on the telly. "What's wrong?"
"You'll see in a moment."
Naomi walked back into the living room, staring as Emily switched over to the twenty-four hour news channel. A breaking news banner streaked across the bottom of the screen, which displayed a packed news conference, reading 'CAMPBELL'S BRISTOL COVER-UP?' Standing without a podium, microphones thrust towards him, stood two men; Naomi's grip on her mobile tightened as she focused on the one answering the majority of the questions. Clean shaven with a crisp, conservative haircut and wearing a well-worn suit, his barely suppressed pain and anger were clearly written on his sharp features. Naomi didn't need the caption below his face to recall his name.
Matthew Moore was in the middle of answering a question. "…it really is appalling when you consider it all together. Her girlfriend immediately racing to join the only police force that could reopen the case and pursue the justice she deserves; the closure my family craves. And now we find out that they were friends with the perpetrators of the most vicious terrorist attack of the past decade—one of whom is still at-large, James Cook. An isolated incident of misguided youthful loyalty is forgivable, perhaps, but not this…this is a pattern of disregard for the very laws Minister Campbell herself has pursued and that Ms. Fitch has sworn to enforce."
"Are you watching?" interrupted Erik, startling Naomi.
"Uh, yeah. I gotta go, Erik." She hung up without waiting for a response and wandered past the sofa, ignoring Emily as another reporter asked a question about the duration of his sister's relationship with Minister Campbell.
Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the frigid air outside running up arms and along the back of her neck, Emily sat transfixed by both Moore and the man just behind his left shoulder at the center of the press conference. He was frowning, eyes darting back and forth as if assessing for threats in the group of reporters. Moore began to answer yet another blurted question when he pushed forward and wrapped an arm around Moore's shoulders, turning him away and gruffly telling the crowd the Q&A session was over. He was only a fraction more civil than he had been earlier that evening when Emily accidentally bumped into him at Bristol Temple Meads. What the hell is he doing with Matthew Moore?
Emily looked over at Naomi, who was staring out the window, her shoulders shaking with barely contained anger, the reporter blithely carrying on with her voice-over report in the background as cameras flashed and Moore and his colleague disappeared into a waiting car. With forced sarcasm, Emily asked, "What were you saying about clearing the air a bit?"