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A three-door blue Ford Focus pulls onto the drive, a modern two-floor semi-detached Tudor-style home with a garage. As soon as the engine cuts off, a blonde woman in her late 20s steps out of the vehicle, closing the car door behind her and peering up at the house before opening the boot, pulling out her suitcase, and shutting it closed when suddenly the front door opens.

"Isabelle! My darling girl!" an older woman named Joyce Barnaby comes dashing towards her youngest daughter, embracing her in a loving embrace and pecking her on the cheek, "It's so wonderful to see you!"

"Hello, mum," Isabelle said, returning her mother's embrace and kissing her cheek.

They are both now separate, as the eldest enquired, taking hold of her daughter's suitcase. "How was the journey up from London?"

"I did it in two hours, so it was a pretty good time, actually," the younger complied with a shrug as they entered the house. She closed the front door behind them, leaving Isabelle's suitcase beside it as they wandered into the kitchen.

"That's good then," Joyce went to grab the kettle and filled it with fresh water, "Fancy a tea or coffee, dear?"

"A tea would be lovely, mum, thanks," the young blonde leaned against the kitchen counter as her mother now grabbed some mugs from a white kitchen cupboard as the kettle boiled, "I haven't heard from Cully in a while. So, how's she been?"

"Oh, you know your sister. She's always here, there, and everywhere, going from one extreme to the next," Joyce plonks a teabag in each cup. " She never likes to sit still for a moment, that girl."

"I know, but it's just something Cully and I have in common as sisters," Isabelle smiled fondly. Our sense of discovery and adventure."

"You both get that from your father," Joyce implied, glancing over her shoulder before pouring boiling water into each mug.

"Get what from me?" the voice of one Thomas Barnaby, or Tom as he liked to go by, questioned from behind both women in the kitchen doorway.

"Nothing, dear. We were talking about Cully," Joyce responded simply with a shrug. " I didn't hear you come in. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I have my ways, and tea would be lovely. Thank you, dear," Tom complied before turning to his youngest daughter and happily beaming, "Is that my Isabelle?"

"Alright, Dad," he hugged her tightly and pulled back slightly to look down at her with pride.

"Or should I now say, PC Barnaby?"

"Dad," the younger woman groaned, starting to get embarrassed.

"What? I'm just excited for my daughter to join my constabulary, that's all."

-*-

After catching up with her parents, Isabelle had decided to catch up with a few old school friends in Causton town centre for some drinks and let her hair down before starting her first shift at the station in a few days.

"Izzy!" A redhead named Kelly screamed excitedly, running towards her and tightly hugging her, "Look, Sammy, it's Izzy!"

"Yes, I can see that, Kels," Sam responded with obvious sarcasm and rolled her eyes before looking at Isabelle, "What are you drinking, Izzy?"

"A glass of red would be lovely, Sam," the young woman answered as she sat down at the table with Kelly.

"Okay, one red coming up," the brunette looked to her other friend, "Kels?"

"I'll have red to Sam," Kelly replied with a smile.

"How about I just get a bottle of red instead?" Samantha proposed, "I quite fancy one now myself."

"Alright, just one bottle," Isabelle insisted sternly, gesturing at her friend.

"Alright, girls, one bottle of vino is coming up."

It was a while later, and let's say Isabelle had been drinking more than one bottle of wine, too many, which she'll regret tomorrow morning.

"Okay, girls," Isabelle says, getting to her feet and wobbling slightly. The next bottle is on me!" she swerves as she approaches the bar. "A bottle of red wine, please."

"Think you and your friends have had enough, don't you?" a man with a subtle Welsh twang implied. Not far from her, he sat on a bar stool, a beer in hand. He looked in his mid-thirties, with light brown hair and warm grey eyes, and he had to say he was rather attractive if she said so herself.

"No," the young blonde nodded, "Besides, we're celebrating my first night back in Causton, and I'm starting my new job in a few days."

"What job is that then?" the man asked, somewhat interested.

"A PC at Causton Police Station. My dad is a DCI there," Isabelle replied with a shrug, the wine bottle and glasses on the bar before her.

"Well, congratulations," the man said, raising his pint glass in a toast to her before taking a sip. I bet your dad is very proud of you for following in his footsteps."

"Thanks," she nodded and smiled with a slight red tinge on her cheeks, "Oh, he's over the moon."

"Izzy," Sam's hand came and rested upon the girl's shoulder, "Let's leave that last bottle. Yeah, I've already called a taxi for Kelly and me," she now frowned, "How are you getting home? You drove here, didn't you?"

"I'll drop her home," the man offered from beside Isabelle.

"Ooh, got yourself an admirer, Izzy?" Kelly comes up swaying and slurring, an arm wrapping around her shoulder.

"Taxi for Sam?" called a man entering the pub, probably leaving the metre on and the engine running outside.

"Alright, that's us," Sam pulled the blonde into a brief hug and kissed her cheek, "See you soon, Izzy."

"See ya, Iz," Kelly gives her another hug and a drunken kiss on the cheek.

With that, Isabelle's friends stumbled out of the pub before she glanced at the man beside her, starting to feel a little nauseous, "Still up for taking me home?" that's when she registered that she still hadn't asked his name, "Sorry, how rude of me, I didn't ask what your name was?"

"Ben," he answered before turning to repeat the young blonde's question, "What's yours?"

"Nice to meet you, Ben," she held her hand, firmly shaking, "I'm Isabelle, but most call me Izzy."

"Now, Izzy," he says from his bar stall, "Shall I take you home?"

"Yes, please," Isabella hiccuped slightly, feeling some burning liquid in her throat. It wasn't good in her books that she would throw up at some point.

After letting Isabelle gather her belongings from the pub, Ben drove the young blonde woman to the address she gave him, but halfway through the journey, she began to feel a little more queasy than before.

"You alright there?" Ben glanced at the young woman in concern, who was starting to look quite peaky.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Isabella said, leaning back against the passenger seat's backrest, eyes closed, and taking deep breaths. But I don't want to do that until I get home."

"If you want me to pull over, just tell me," Ben said, suggesting he would stop if necessary.

She heaved slightly without warning, the burning rising in her throat, "Pull over! Pullover!"

With a screech of his car tyres pulling to the side, Isabelle quickly yanked the passenger door open, dashed out, bent over, and threw up onto the side of the road. A hand back her hair away from her face as she continued to be sick

Once she had finished, she spat onto the dirty ground, staying down for a few more seconds before standing upright and wobbling as Ben let go of her hair.

"Here," he held out a tissue to her, taking it with a drunken grateful smile.

After that, Isabelle doesn't remember much after dozing off in Ben's car, helping her to the front door of her home, and her head hitting the coolness of a pillow against her warm skin. With that, she was out like a light, thinking nothing about how handsome that Ben fellow was.

Graphic by belovass