head, breathes out sharply, and pushes a hand through his hair. Then he says unsteadily, “I think maybe it’s time for me to clear out my brother’s room. Today. This afternoon.”
I feel an almighty spike of shock but try to hide it. “Right,” I say. “Yes. I mean … yes. That’s a good … Yes.”
There’s another pause. My hands are clenched by my sides, my brain circling uncertainly. I can’t— I can’t offer— After everything he said, I can’t interfere—
Oh God, but it’s bigger than me. I can’t help myself.
“Would you—” I begin, my feet pacing awkwardly on the spot. “No. I shouldn’t even— I mean …” I clear my throat. “Would you like some— No.” I cut myself off. “Sorry.”
“Yes, please.” Seb’s voice takes me by surprise and he looks at me, his eyes so dark and vulnerable I catch my breath. “Yes. Please. I would.”
—
I never knew Seb’s brother, James. I never will know him. But as we sit in his room together, passing things backward and forward, trying to sort and organize, I feel I’m getting a sense of him. He was like Seb in some ways, but more idiosyncratic. He worked from home in graphic design and was super-talented. From the few things Seb says, I think he could get quite ratty when his work wasn’t going well, but he told the best jokes too.
Everything I touch tells me something about him. His hasty handwriting, barely legible, on Post-its to himself. His bags of jelly babies, piled up in the bottom drawer of his desk. Doodles that he drew with Sharpies on computer paper. One portrait of Seb makes me gasp, it’s so succinct and accurate.
“You should keep this,” I say. “You should frame it.” And Seb nods silently and puts it into the “precious pile.” We have a precious pile for the things he knows he’s going to keep (notes, drawings, James’s ancient teddy bear). And a rubbish pile for the things he knows he’s going to get rid of (socks, old bills, all those empty water bottles).
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