Chapter 5

Both Raymond and Isobel were affected by their respective church experiences, though neither could fully explain how and were still struggling to process what it meant. There was a lingering sense of lightness in their spirits, however, as though something unseen had subtly shifted. When Isobel arrived at Raymond’s house on Monday morning to hand over Bunny, their usual guardedness was absent. Their “good morning” was unforced, absent of any hidden tension or challenge. And, as expected, Susie greeted Isobel with a bright smile and an eager hug.

Isobel was just about to leave when Raymond hesitated, then called out her name—her first name. It caught her off guard; not unpleasantly, just unexpectedly. She raised an eyebrow in mild surprise but remained silent, waiting. He cleared his throat, uncharacteristically uncertain, and explained that Susie’s school was putting on a small concert later that afternoon, at five o’clock, for parents and friends. Then, more hesitantly, he asked if she would like to come with them—and maybe join them for a meal at a café afterward.

Before Isobel could respond, Susie clasped her hands together in open delight. “Oh, please, Miss Scowan! Will you come? Please!”

It was an invitation Isobel might have instinctively declined in the past, but something in her hesitated—something new, something softer. She glanced at Raymond, noting his carefully neutral expression. If this was awkward for him, he was pushing past it. Perhaps she could do the same.

She gave a small nod. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Susie let out an excited squeal and bounced on her toes. Raymond, on the other hand, looked relieved. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Good. We’ll pick you up around four-thirty?”

“Sounds fine,” she said, and then, before she could second-guess herself, she turned and left.

Back inside, Susie was practically glowing. “Daddy, I really like Miss Scowan. She’s nice.”

Raymond smiled, shaking his head at his daughter’s unfiltered enthusiasm. “She’s ... different from what I expected.”

“You mean she’s different from what you thought she was?” Susie corrected, with the blunt wisdom of a child. Raymond chuckled softly. “Maybe so.”

Despite himself, he found that the idea of spending the evening with Isobel didn’t seem as daunting as it once might have. He wasn’t sure if they could ever truly be friends, but at the very least, it seemed possible to exist in each other’s space without friction. For now, that was enough.

Meanwhile, Isobel found herself surprised by how little resistance she felt at the idea of spending time with Raymond and Susie outside their usual work-place interactions. Not long ago, she would have dismissed the notion outright. But something about the warmth she felt from Susie—and even, in small ways, from Raymond—was starting to dissolve barriers she had long held in place.

She refused to let herself wonder too much about what it might mean. For now, she would simply let the evening unfold. And, surprisingly, she found herself looking forward to it.

... .

The concert was a great success. How could it not be, with a roomful of enthusiastic, lively kids being adored by their parents and other relatives? There was, of course, the inevitable boy who wasn’t quite sure where he was supposed to be at any given moment, but somehow turned that into an impromptu comedy act that brought the house down. His big grin at the curtain call showed how much he revelled in being appreciated simply for who he was.

Susie wasn’t the star of the show—none of them were, or perhaps all of them were. They simply sang, played instruments, and danced with such infectious joy that the audience couldn’t help but be caught up in it. Isobel laughed and applauded as much as anyone, though Raymond noticed that her eyes were constantly drawn to Susie, as were his own. Once, when he glanced at her, she happened to meet his gaze, and for a moment, there was an unspoken connection—a quiet companionship neither had expected.

After the concert, they went to a small restaurant and were fortunate to find a table off to one side, where it was a little quieter. As they settled in, congratulations and happy chatter filled the space between them. Then came the inevitable lull, as the adults searched for something neutral to talk about.

Raymond broke the pause by asking, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you come into law? And where did you grow up?”

Isobel hesitated, not so much because she was unwilling, but because it had been a long time since anyone had asked her such questions in a setting that felt ... personal. She gave a brief, unemotional account—she had grown up in a small town, not too far from the city but far enough that it sometimes felt isolated. Her parents had been decent, responsible people, but not particularly warm. Expectations were clear: work hard, don’t make a fuss, achieve something worthwhile. She was not an only child, she had an elder brother but he had left home when Isobel was still in second school. Because of the age gap, they had never been close, which meant there was no-one to share the weight of those expectations.

Law had been, in many ways, an obvious choice. She was intelligent, focused, and determined. It had given her a sense of control, a clear set of rules by which the world operated. And yet, even as she spoke, she knew she was skimming the surface. She did not mention the loneliness that had settled in so early it felt like part of her. She did not speak of the way she had learned to guard herself, to build a fortress of professionalism that few could penetrate.

Raymond listened attentively. Even with the restrained way she spoke, he sensed the unspoken layers beneath her words. It was so different from his own upbringing—he had been surrounded by warmth, encouragement, and an easy, unshaken sense of belonging. Isobel’s past, by contrast, sounded measured, structured, but ... distant.