I Owe You One(76)

Then I pick up the coffee sleeve. I run my eyes down the entries. His writing … mine … his … For a moment I hesitate. Then, almost defiantly, I pop it into my bag and head out.

Seb is awake as I arrive and greets me with a smile. He already looks a million times better than yesterday, with more color in his cheeks—although some of his bruises are turning lurid. He sees me eyeing them and laughs.

“Don’t worry. They’ll go.”

“How are you feeling?” I say as I sit down.

“Great!” he says. “I’m out of here tomorrow. And I get free crutches, so it’s not all bad. Did you bring the coffee sleeve?” he adds. “Tell me you did.”

“I did.” I can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm and produce it from my handbag. Seb takes a pen from the nightstand and writes carefully on the coffee sleeve, then hands it to me with a grin.

“Read it when you get home.”

I’m dying to read it now, but obediently I put the coffee sleeve away in my handbag. Then I reach into my canvas tote, produce a flat box, and hand it to him, feeling a little nervous.

“I brought you something, in case you get bored. It’s a chess set,” I add idiotically, as though he can’t read Chess Set. “I mean, it’s nothing special, it’s only cheap.…”

“This is great.” Seb’s face glows. “Thank you! Can you play?”

“No,” I admit. “No idea.”

“OK, I’ll teach you. We’d better clear these away,” he adds, gesturing at the newspapers littering his bed. “A nurse kindly procured them for me, but there’s only so many articles you can read about aliens.”

“Isn’t it extraordinary?” I agree, with a laugh, as I start folding the newspapers up. The whole media has exploded over some guy who “saw a UFO” in his garden last night and videoed it.

“D’you think when presidents get elected, one of the first things they do is write their speech for when aliens land?” muses Seb as he unpacks the chessboard.

“Yes!” I say, delighted by this idea. “Of course they do. And they practice it in the mirror. ‘My fellow humans, on this epic day, as I stand here, humble yet brave … ’ ”

“I bet Obama had a great one prepared,” says Seb. “I almost wish we’d been invaded by Martians, just so I could have heard it.” He looks at the piece in his hand. “OK. So, introduction to chess.”

Seb lays out all the chess pieces and starts explaining how one type goes forward and another goes diagonally and another hops around. And I do try to concentrate, but I’m fairly distracted by … well, by him. By his focused expression. His strong hands moving the pieces around. The passion he clearly feels for the game. “This is an interesting maneuver,” he keeps telling me, and I can’t admit that I’ve lost all track of everything he’s told me.

“So,” he says at last. “Shall we play?”

“Yes!” I say, because what’s the worst that can happen, I lose? “You go first.”

Seb puts the pieces in order again and moves a pawn. Promptly I copy what he did with one of mine. Then he moves a something-else, and I make a mirror-image move.

“So basically I can keep copying you,” I say.

“No, no!” Seb shakes his head. “You should experiment! Like, that knight?” He points to the horse. “That could go to all sorts of places.” I pick up the knight and he puts his hand over mine. “So it could go there … or there …”

I’m feeling a bit breathless as he moves my hand around the board, and I’m about to ask him, “What about the queen?” when there’s a jangle of curtain rings and a resounding, confident voice exclaims, “Seb!” and my heart stops.

It’s her. Briony.

I yank my hand out of Seb’s so quickly I send half the chess pieces flying, and Seb looks a little flustered and says, “Briony! I thought you weren’t back till— Hi!”

Briony takes a couple of steps toward the bed and I can see her eyes moving over us rapidly, zooming in on every detail.

“I was just—” I begin, as Seb says, “This is Fixie. The one who made the 999 call. Saved my bacon.”

“Oh, you’re that girl,” says Briony, and her demeanor instantly changes. “Thank you so much. We’re so grateful. God, Seb, your face,” she adds, with a moue of distaste. “Will it scar?”

“No,” says Seb easily, “shouldn’t do,” and I see something instantly relax in Briony’s expression.

Is that what she was worried about? Whether his face would scar?

“We need to get this better, though,” she says, patting his ankle. “What about Klosters?”

“I know!” Seb shakes his head ruefully. “The one year we’re organized and book ahead— Skiing,” he adds to me.

“Of course!” I nod heartily.

“Got you a card,” Briony says, handing him a postcard—and as he reads it he bursts into laughter. I can’t see what it says. Maybe it’s some private joke or whatever.

I’m feeling waves of disappointment and I’m hating myself for it. I mean, what was I hoping? That they wouldn’t get on? Of course they get on. Maybe they have the odd row, but they’re both tall and sporty and joke around and make one of those great couples you see in the street and say, “What a great couple.”