questions … but somehow I force myself to focus. I can’t keep tormenting myself. He’s with Briony. It’s over. It’s done. You can’t go back in time and do life a different way.
And, anyway, I’m not here because of us. I’m here because of him.
“Hi, Seb,” I say, and my voice trembles, but I carry on resolutely. “There’s something … Could we talk?”
Of course,” says Seb, after a pause. “Come on in.”
He ushers me in and I sit down and for a beat there’s silence.
“Are you … How are you?” says Seb, and I can see by the way he’s sitting bolt upright, his hands making a tense pyramid on his desk, that he’s thrown off-balance.
“Fine, thanks. You?”
“Yes, I’m good.”
“Good.”
The air seems thin between us. Our words are thin. I don’t know how to proceed, how to bring up the subject. But I need to—it’s in me like a ticking time bomb—so in the end I just blurt out:
“James.”
“What?” Seb jolts as though I’ve scalded him.
“You … you never told me about James.”
I’m thinking that maybe Seb can tell me about his brother and we can move on to the subject that way—but it doesn’t work. Seb’s body language immediately crackles with tension.
“Told you about him? Why should I tell you about him?”
“No!” I backtrack. “No reason. I just meant …” I rub my nose, trying to find a different tack. “You always say that you’ve moved on and you’ve dealt with his death and you’re at peace.”
“Yes,” says Seb, his voice dangerously even. “I have. And I am. Your point is?”
“You say that clearing out his room isn’t a big deal. You say you ‘just haven’t got round to it.’ But I wondered …” I swallow several times. “I just wondered … if maybe it was quite a big deal. After all. And if you’d like some help. That’s all. That’s what I— That’s it.”
I break off into a terrible silence. Seb looks as though some sort of volcano is building inside, and I stare at him, in agonized, half-terrified dread.
“You just can’t leave things alone, can you?” he finally erupts in fury. “You have to ‘fix’ them. Jeez, I can see how you got your name now. No, I don’t need any help, thank you. I know you were always itching to get your mitts on that room, but it’s fine; it doesn’t need your interference or anybody’s. I will clear it out in my own time, in my own way. Now please get the hell out of here.”
He’s shaking with anger, and his voice is thundering around the office, and he’s such an intimidating sight, I automatically scrabble to my feet, my legs almost buckling underneath me. But he has to know. He has to.
“She’s going to clear the room,” I say desperately. “Whiny. She’s making it into a home gym. She’s booked the removers. They’re coming at ten A.M. tomorrow, and she says she’s going to chuck the lot.”
If Seb looked like a bubbling volcano a moment ago, he’s suddenly a pit. He’s empty. Hollow.
“No,” he says, as though he can’t compute what I’m saying.
“Yes. She told me.”
“She … wouldn’t …” But his voice is uncertain. As his eyes meet mine, his antagonism has gone; I can see panic growing in them. Childlike panic. And I can feel tears rising again, because doesn’t she realize?
“I know you’re with Briony,” I say hastily, my voice thick and jerky, my eyes fixed on the carpet. “I know you’re a happy couple. I’m not trying to come between you; I’m really not. And you’re right: I shouldn’t interfere. I try to fix everything and it’s my stupid flaw and I’m really sorry. I just couldn’t bear for you to come home and—” I swallow hard, unable to say it. “I just thought you should know.”
I finally dare to raise my head and Seb is staring out of the window, his jaw tight, his gaze transfixed.
“Yes,” he says tonelessly, and I don’t know what he means, but I don’t dare ask. He wraps his arms around his body as if trying to soothe himself, and I’m longing so hard to go over there, to soothe him myself …
But I have to stop thinking like that. He’s with someone. Briony’s the girlfriend. I’m the blip.
I stand motionless, my legs feeling a little firmer, watching him, hardly daring to breathe, trying to guess what’s going on in his head. I’m in no hurry. Time feels like it’s suspended.