I Owe You One(73)

There’s another reason for my relief, I realize: He’s asleep. I don’t have to talk to him. Because suddenly I feel incredibly nervous and I’m not sure what I would say. Maybe my best plan is: Leave the orchid and card—then back out of his life altogether. Yes.

Trying to be absolutely soundless, I tiptoe around his bed to his nightstand. I prop the card against the wall—then as it slips, I grab at it, bumping against his water jug, which tilts. In silent dismay, I grab for the jug to right it, then realize I’ve knocked his plastic glass, shit …

Desperately I grab for the glass, then realize I’m dropping my orchid and grasp for that too, at which point the glass falls on the floor with a loud clatter, and Seb opens his eyes.

Shit.

He stares at me for about twenty seconds as though he can’t compute anything, and I stare back, agonized, wondering where to start.

“Your name is Sebastian,” I say at last, in slow, careful tones.

“I know that!” he says. His eyes travel down the hospital bed, taking in his injured ankle, and I see the click of remembrance in his face. “Right,” he says. “Right. Yes.” He’s silent for a moment, then his eyes meet mine again. “Was it you? Who called 999?”

“Yes,” I admit. “It was me. I know you didn’t want me to, but … well, I told you, I can’t help fixing things!” I give a high, fake laugh, trying to mask my awkwardness. “Usually turns out badly, but …”

“It didn’t turn out badly,” he says slowly. “It would have turned out badly, if …” He halts again, and his woodland eyes turn dark as though with thoughts he’s not going to share.

“Well. I did.” I give another awkward laugh.

“Yes.” His eyes fix on me again, then his face jerks. “I’m so sorry!” he says. “Where are my manners? Sit down, please.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little shyly, and sit on the plastic visitor’s chair. “Oh. This is for you.”

I proffer the orchid, which I’ve been holding all this while. But as he takes it, I realize in horror that my hand has been wrapped tightly around the remaining delicate petals, and they’ve all come off in my hand.

I’ve basically given him a bare twig in a pot.

“Wow,” says Seb, surveying the twig confusedly. “That’s … lovely.”

And now he’s being nice about it. I can’t bear it.

“It’s supposed to have these on it,” I say quickly, opening my hand to show him the crumpled white petals. “It was an orchid, but it had a few accidents. This is what it looked like …”

I try to demonstrate where the petals should go, but I keep dropping them, and at last I look up to see Seb clamping his lips together as though he’s trying not to laugh.

“No, it’s great,” he says hurriedly as he catches my eye. “It was great. I can see that.”

“Maybe they’ll grow back,” I say in lame hope.

“Yes, definitely. I’ll keep watering it.” He pats it, his eyes distant for a moment, then adds matter-of-factly, “You saved my life.”

I stare at him, jolted. I mean, yes, I called 999. But saved his life?

“I’m sure I didn’t,” I say.

“You saved my life,” he repeats. “And I want to thank you.”

“I didn’t save your life!” I say, totally embarrassed. “Honestly! All I did was … You know. I made one call. I thought you should have medical attention. That’s all. It was nothing. If I hadn’t called, someone else would have— Can I pour you a glass of water?”

“What they said to me,” Seb continues, ignoring my attempt to deflect him, “was that if you hadn’t called, no one might have noticed me in that alley. Apparently I was covered in a mound of litter, behind a bin. I might not have regained consciousness. It was one of the coldest nights of the year. Hypothermia. Kills people every winter.” He meets my gaze again, his eyes unreadable. “So. Life. Saved. And again: Thank you.”

“Well.” I feel a tingle rise up my cheeks. “I just … Anyone would have … What happened, though?” I can’t help asking. “You were fine. You were talking. And then you were out cold.”

“The guys who’d had a go at me came back,” says Seb, his face twisting up as though with a memory he doesn’t want to have. “Or maybe it was a different lot. As they say, didn’t see them coming. Knocked me out.”

I don’t know how to reply. I survey Seb’s injuries anew and feel tears of anger coming to my eyes. Seb is a good guy. He should not be hurt by anyone.

“Anyway, I owe you one,” Seb adds with a wry smile.

“You really don’t.” I smile back, relieved that he’s not looking quite so grave anymore.

“I really do,” he contradicts me. “Although how I ever pay that one back, God only knows.”

“Buy me a drink.” I shrug. “I’m a cheap date.” As soon as I say the words I realize with horror how they might sound. “I mean … Not …” I flounder hopelessly. “Not date. I meant …”

“I know what you meant,” says Seb, looking amused.

“How’s Briony?” I add quickly, to send the message: I know you have a girlfriend. “I expect she’s on her way. I’ll leave as soon as … She must have been shocked.”