I Owe You One(116)

And then there’s the stuff he stares at and can’t decide. I can see it in his face—just the thought of having to decide is overwhelming. So we’re going to put that in storage bags and he can have a look in three months and see what he thinks.

That’s what Mum did. Every few months after Dad died, she processed another batch of stuff. And each time she cried a little but felt a little stronger. There wasn’t any point in her rushing it. And there’s no point in Seb rushing it.

The rest of the world has receded. Everything has shrunk to this room, with its dust motes dancing in the air and smell of the past. We both have bloodshot eyes. Each of us occasionally reaches for a tissue. Seb was first to break down, when he found a photo of him and James that he’d never seen before. He gave one almighty heartrending sob and then furiously apologized, then sobbed again. Whereupon tears rose to my eyes too and I furiously apologized. And he apologized for upsetting me. Until at last I put a hand on his arm and said, “Shall we just not apologize?”

And so we didn’t anymore.

Now I sit back on my heels and take a massive breath, sweeping my hands through my hair.

“I think we’ve done most of it. At least, you know, we’ve sorted it. Except the magazines …”

“Right.” Seb’s face twists a little. “Those. Recycling, I guess.”

“Or you could sell them? Like … an archive?”

I don’t ask if he’s going to cancel the subscriptions. I’m fairly sure I know the answer.

“We need some storage bags, or whatever,” I add, looking at the piles of stuff.

“There’s a shop round the corner.” Seb nods. “It sells those tartan ones.”

“You should have come to Farrs,” I say automatically. “We have lovely storage bags in amazing prints—” I break off, with an abashed smile. “Sorry. Can’t stop selling.”

Seb returns my smile. Then his brow suddenly crumples. “Fixie,” he says, as though only just realizing the situation. “You’ve done enough. You must surely need to go. It’s a busy time for you.”

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get the bags. Then I’ll go.”

As we step out of the building, the cold air feels refreshing, and we fall easily into step, side by side.

“Well … thank you,” says Seb, after we’ve walked for a couple of minutes. “Thank you so much. What you did today is above and beyond.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say at once. “I wanted to. As a …” I hesitate. “As a friend.”

“As a friend,” Seb echoes after a beat. “Right.”

We walk on a while longer, until we’re in a little arcade of shops, all decorated with lights and tinsel. A group of children is singing carols and we stop to listen for a bit. Then, against the background of tra-la-las, Seb says, his eyes firmly fixed forward, “So, how’s the unconditional love going?”

At once my stomach flips over. My mind swoops back to his office, to that horrible row we had about Jake. Is that his issue? That I won’t give up on my brother? That I ignored his advice and stuck by my family?

“Fine,” I say.

“Good,” he says, but his voice is tight and when I glance at him, his face is studiously blank.

I can feel the tension between us rising again, and I need to burst it, because what’s happened with Jake and me and the whole family is good. It’s good.

“People can change, you know,” I say, slightly more passionately than I intended, and I see Seb’s jawline twitch, as though this isn’t something he wants to hear. But at last he turns his head to look at me, his face pink and blue from the glow of the nearby Christmas lights.

“I’m sure. And I’m glad for you.” His face creases with some emotion I can’t read, and for an instant his eyes seem to shimmer again. “You’re … you’re quite a woman.” He takes hold of my hands and squeezes them, and I stare back breathlessly, my eyes hot again too. I can’t help it—I’m lost in his gaze.

Then the carol-singing stops and ragged applause breaks out and we both seem to snap back into reality.

“So.” Seb gives me a wry smile and releases my hands, and suddenly I can’t bear being near him anymore. I can’t bear seeing his generous, brave face, his woodland eyes, his everything … and knowing that they can’t be mine.

“So,” I say, my voice a bit gruff. “Actually, I do have some things to get done. I ought to—”

“Of course,” says Seb at once, his tone more formal, and he actually takes a step back, as though wanting to put space between us. “Of course. You’ve done far too much. Thank you a thousand times.”

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” He shakes his head. “You’ve … I don’t think I’d realized …” He meets my eyes frankly. “I can go forward now.”

“Well, good. That’s all I wanted.” I smile brightly, trying to mask the pain which I can feel coming for me like a tsunami. “Good luck with everything. With Briony, and life, and … everything.”

There’s only so long you can smile brightly at the man who has your heart but loves someone else. Already my mouth is starting to tremble.