I Owe You One(121)

“Nicole, you go,” I command, but Nicole looks affronted.

“I can’t go!” she says. “I’m talking to Drew in a moment. It’s all been arranged. God, Fixie, you could go yourself, you know. It’s only ten minutes’ walk.”

“I thought you were supposed to have changed.” I glare at her. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Have a coffee!” calls Nicole mollifyingly. “There’s no rush!”

As I head out, my bag swinging on my shoulder, I feel indignant with both my siblings. Why should I have to go? It’s so typical.

But as I walk along, my anger abates, and I start feeling glad of the fresh air, grateful for the time out. It’s been a pretty intense couple of days, and I woke this morning with my heart hammering. I’m not nervous about Mum returning, exactly, but …

Well. Maybe I am nervous. I so don’t want her to be disappointed in us.

I round the corner and head toward Café Allegro and my heart starts beating hard again—but not because of Mum. I’ve been in here for coffee a few times since Seb and I broke up, and it’s always been difficult. Now I’m getting impatient with myself. Am I going to feel like this every time I go to Café Allegro? Am I going to replay every instant of our meeting? The laptop … the ceiling crashing down … the coffee sleeve …

It’s ridiculous, I tell myself firmly as I push open the door. I’m here for coffee beans. I’m not even going to think about him. A few people are sitting around with coffees, but there’s no queue and I walk straight up to the counter. I order the beans and order myself a takeaway cappuccino, then turn to go.

And everything seems to go wobbly.

Am I …

Is this real?

He’s sitting by the window in the same seat. He’s working on his laptop. And there’s a spare seat opposite. As though he can feel my gaze on him, Seb looks up briefly, and I see everything in his eyes that I want to see.

I don’t know what magic has brought him here. My brain can’t function well enough; I can’t make sense of it. But he’s here. And his eyes are telling me that they love me.

Hardly able to breathe, I make my way over to the table and sit down. Seb doesn’t look up from his laptop but keeps typing, and I look out of the window as though I don’t know him.

You can’t go back in time and do life a different way.

Well, maybe you can.

Seb’s phone buzzes with a call and I watch, prickling like a cat, as he answers it. I feel so taut, so wound up, I could scream. I have to get this right. We have to get this right.

“Oh, hi, Fred. Yes, it’s me.” Seb listens for a bit to the voice at the other end, then gets to his feet.

“Excuse me,” he says politely to me in a stranger’s voice. “I’m just stepping out to take a phone call. Could you watch my laptop?”

“Sure,” I manage, my voice hardly working. I watch him threading his way between the tables, already back on the phone, saying, “Thanks, mate. Yup.”

He stands outside, exactly as he did before, and I take a sip of cappuccino, but I can’t taste it. All my senses are on high alert. Now is the cue for the ceiling to collapse, but the ceiling’s been mended; I saw the workmen doing it last month. It’s different, all different.

And now Seb’s coming back into the shop, and I’m not clutching his laptop while water drips from me; it’s there, safe on the table. But he still stops before he reaches the table and meets my eyes as though something seismic has happened.

Or maybe is happening.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Sebastian.”

“I’m Fixie,” I say.

“Thanks for looking after my laptop.”

And this is where he should add, “I owe you one,” and we should start down the inexorable path toward shouting and tears and splitting up—but this time the words don’t come. All that comes is his warm gaze. Loving and kind of questioning.

“Anytime,” I say, and he nods, and I can sense us both breathing out.

We did it. We did it differently.

“Can I buy you a coffee?” he says, still in über-polite tones. “Or a cup of tea? A juice?”

“Actually, I must be going,” I say, remembering my script. “I have a family party I need to get back for.” Seb’s face falls and I see doubt creep in, and just for a moment I let him suffer … before I add with a tentative smile, “Would you like to come?”

—

Mum looks amazing. I mean, amazing. She’s not only tanned and fit-looking, with a new red sweater and dangling pearl earrings, she has a new spring in her step. She’s energetic. As we greet her taxi, she cries out in delight and hugs us all, over and over, and then we bundle her luggage into the house while she tells us about Christmas in Spain and how Aunty Karen was planning to serve lobster.

“I was all set to do it,” she says. “I really was. But then, do you know what it was? It was watching White Christmas one evening. Oh, it got to me! My eyes filled with tears and I looked at your Aunty Karen and she said, ‘You’re going home, aren’t you?’ And I said, ‘Oh, Karen.’ And I booked the flight the next day. I couldn’t have Christmas away from home, just couldn’t do it. I had to be here with you all—Jake, Nicole, and Fixie, and Leila, of course, and—” Her eyes fall confusedly on Seb, as though for the first time. Well, in fact, exactly for the first time, I realize.