SomeWhere On... (BXB)

...Windermere Crescent

I don't miss traveling with him. At all. It's like traveling with a well-organized toddler. Who, somehow, forgets everything at the same time. Like, he misplaced the tickets. We got new ones from the ticket counter. And when he began panicking about where the printout of the hotel reservation was, he went on a mad search through his backpack for it.

I found it. It was in my suitcase.

How, you may ask? I don't know. It's anyone's guess.

He picked the worst time to travel, too. It's just after 7AM and I'm ready to go back to bed. But I'm too tired to care.

I'm surprised they let me back on the Pendolino at all.

It has been almost ten years, though.

"Tommy." Murph's shaking me awake. I didn't even realise I've fallen asleep. Or that we got off the train. We're in a taxi.

"How the fuck did I get here?" I ask, stretching out in the back seat.

"We're here."

I sit up and look out through the windshield. There's this big, like, Downton Abbey-style house and I'm fucking stunned. "We're goin' there?"

"Mhm," he nods.

"T-there?" I ask, pointing to the fucking manor house.

"Are you okay?" Murph asks.

"How can you afford this?"

He inhales and smiles. "I've been saving up for a while. Separate from my 'moving out' funds. For a vacation." I'm about to object, but then he says, "We've been working hard. Why shouldn't we, just, enjoy having down time together?"

It makes sense. Kinda. But I'm still confused. "We couldn't 'f found a hotel in Brighton. Or Blackpool or something?" Y'know, something cheaper?

Murph shakes his head as the taxi stops. "I wanted to go somewhere with you we haven't gone before." He shakes his head. "And it's the off-season."

It's not the off-season, Pup.

Also jokes on him. I've spent a handful of summer holidays in the Lake District, but I'm not gonna tell him that and ruin this for him. Like, he's energetically watching everything pass by. By the time we get to the front door, Murph's glowing. Spinning. Literally spinning. At one point, he nearly trips. His glasses go flying off and land on the gravel by the front door.

"Luv, stop. Don't break your neck yet."

"Fine. Fine." So he skips off into the hotel. Probably to check us in.

I watch the taxi drive away. The place is kinda nice. Like it's got that Victorian fanciness to it. And it's not super big, either. Two floors and an attic space.

"Tommy." Murph's waving his hands aggressively. "Come on."

The doors tell me it's the "Selfford Fells Abbey Hotel & Spa". Inside feels like a country house rather than a hotel. Which is nice.

Murph's not leading me anywhere. "What?"

"Look." He points to the far end of the lobby.

A stained glass window towers over the room, except it's tucked into this nook thing. Chairs face away from it, grouped in pairs with a table. Probably for afternoon tea. But through some of the clear panes of glass that make it up, you can see a lake stretching out beyond a green lawn. Trees line the edge of the water.

Murph looks at me. "You okay?"

"You picked a...a very 'you' place, Pup," I snicker. He makes an indignant sound, cheeks turning red. "It's nice." My hand snakes into his. "Now I'm tired. Where's our room?"