beyond.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say at once. “I wanted to. As a …” I hesitate. “As a friend.”
“As a friend,” Seb echoes after a beat. “Right.”
We walk on a while longer, until we’re in a little arcade of shops, all decorated with lights and tinsel. A group of children is singing carols and we stop to listen for a bit. Then, against the background of tra-la-las, Seb says, his eyes firmly fixed forward, “So, how’s the unconditional love going?”
At once my stomach flips over. My mind swoops back to his office, to that horrible row we had about Jake. Is that his issue? That I won’t give up on my brother? That I ignored his advice and stuck by my family?
“Fine,” I say.
“Good,” he says, but his voice is tight and when I glance at him, his face is studiously blank.
I can feel the tension between us rising again, and I need to burst it, because what’s happened with Jake and me and the whole family is good. It’s good.
“People can change, you know,” I say, slightly more passionately than I intended, and I see Seb’s jawline twitch, as though this isn’t something he wants to hear. But at last he turns his head to look at me, his face pink and blue from the glow of the nearby Christmas lights.
“I’m sure. And I’m glad for you.” His face creases with some emotion I can’t read, and for an instant his eyes seem to shimmer again. “You’re … you’re quite a woman.” He takes hold of my hands and squeezes them, and I stare back breathlessly, my eyes hot again too. I can’t help it—I’m lost in his gaze.
Then the carol-singing stops and ragged applause breaks out and we both seem to snap back into reality.
“So.” Seb gives me a wry smile and releases my hands, and suddenly I can’t bear being near him anymore. I can’t bear seeing his generous, brave face, his woodland eyes, his everything … and knowing that they can’t be mine.
“So,” I say, my voice a bit gruff. “Actually, I do have some things to get done. I ought to—”
“Of course,” says Seb at once, his tone more formal, and he actually takes a step back, as though wanting to put space between us. “Of course. You’ve done far too much. Thank you a thousand times.”
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.” He shakes his head. “You’ve … I don’t think I’d realized …” He meets my eyes frankly. “I can go forward now.”
“Well, good. That’s all I wanted.” I smile brightly, trying to mask the pain which I can feel coming for me like a tsunami. “Good luck with everything. With Briony, and life, and … everything.”
There’s only so long you can smile brightly at the man who has your heart but loves someone else. Already my mouth is starting to tremble.
“So … goodbye,” I say, and I’m making to leave when Seb calls out, “Wait!”
I look back and he’s reaching into his pocket and somehow I’m not surprised when he produces the coffee sleeve.
I take a step back toward him and we stand there in the street, the two of us gazing at it. The original IOU. It’s crumpled and creased now, the writing indistinct and blurred in places where we spilled wine on it in bed, and I have a sudden memory of him giving it to me in the first place.
“Stupid thing.” I try to laugh.
“Yes.” Seb nods, suddenly grave. “It is. Because if I really wrote down all the reasons I owe you, it would fill a book.”
His words take me by surprise, and for a moment I can’t answer.
“No, it wouldn’t.” I say at last, trying to be flippant but not really succeeding.
“It would. You know it would.”
“Well … me too.” My throat is tight. “I owe you too.”
“But we’re not keeping score anymore.”
“No, we’re not.”
I take the coffee sleeve from him and look at our melded scrawled writings, feeling such pangs of loss I can’t bear it. Then, on impulse, I start to rip. Once through. Twice through. I need quite a lot of force to tear the cardboard—it’s stronger than it looks—but at last it’s in pieces and I look up.
“We’re done,” I say, and Seb nods, with such a wry, sad expression I want to cry again, but I mustn’t.
“Done,” he echoes.
I run my gaze over his face one last time. Then I take a deep breath as though plunging underwater, turn, and walk swiftly away, dumping the