was two years ago and I still bear the grudge.”
“Tell me,” says Seb, his eyes lighting up with interest.
“It’s a stupid story,” I say, feeling embarrassed.
“I love stupid stories,” says Seb firmly. “And I’m an invalid and I need entertaining. Tell.”
“Well … OK. Two years ago I set up this catering firm, and I had a girl who did the admin. Sarah Bates-Wilson.”
“She sounds like a villainess,” says Seb obligingly.
“Good. Because she is. She was always helping herself to stuff on my desk. Like, pens or whatever. And one day she borrowed my hairbrush.”
“Heinous!” says Seb.
“Stop it!” I say, laughing. “I haven’t finished yet. It was this really nice tortoiseshell brush from a set that my mum and dad gave me. You know. Brush, comb, mirror. It went together.”
“And she never gave you the brush back,” suggests Seb.
“Exactly. First she said she hadn’t taken it, then she said she’d given it back.… Anyway, one day I went round to her house.”
“For a hairbrush?”
“I really wanted it!” I say defensively. “It was a matching set! She lived in a ground-floor flat, so first of all I crept round the back and I looked in her bedroom window and I could see it. I could actually see it on her chest of drawers!” My voice rises with indignation.
“So what happened?” demands Seb.
“I rang the bell and she answered in her PJs and said she hadn’t got it and told me to leave. So I had to go.”
“No!” exclaims Seb, sounding genuinely outraged.
“Exactly! So then I thought, I’ll take a picture of it through the window and prove it’s there. But by the time I got back, it had gone. She must have hidden it.”
“OK, that’s creepy,” says Seb firmly. “Really creepy. Was she still working for you?”
“No, not by then.”
“Thank God. She sounds like a sociopath.”
“I wouldn’t have minded, except it was a present from Mum and Dad, and since Dad was gone …” I trail away. “You don’t want to lose stuff like that.”
“Of course.” Seb’s eyes soften. “I’m only teasing. I’d have been livid. And you don’t need to explain about the matching set either. We always had this wonderful family story that my great-great-grandfather had an antique chess set. One Christmas Eve, a queen was stolen and a ransom note was left in its place.”
“A ransom note?” I can’t help a giggle.
“It demanded two pounds, to be left inside the grandfather clock. I guess that was a pretty big sum back then. The only people in the house were my great-great-grandfather, his wife, and their four sons, aged between twelve and twenty-three. It could have been any of them.”
“So what happened?” I ask, agog.
“Apparently my great-great-grandfather paid the ransom, the piece reappeared, and no one ever said anything about it.”
“What?” I stare at him. “OK, that is so not what would have happened in our family. Didn’t your great-great-granddad want to know who it was? Didn’t he want to catch them? Didn’t he want to find out why they were kidnapping chess pieces?”
Seb thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “I think he just really wanted his chess piece back.”
“Wow,” I say incredulously. “Families are the weirdest—” I stop as I suddenly remember. “Sorry.” I bite my lip. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“I know about—” I swallow, searching for words. “Your family. What happened.”
I have no idea how to put it and I know I’m messing up, but Seb lets me off the hook.
“I’ve been unlucky,” he says, in his straightforward, honest way. “Unlucky. At least, when it comes to my family.” He breathes out and I catch a fleeting pain in his eyes. “But please don’t apologize.”
“Hey, Seb! Man! What did they do to you?”
The curtain swishes back and the face of a guy in his twenties peers in.
“Andy!” exclaims Seb, his face lighting up.
“Oh,” says Andy, looking at me. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m here with the guys,” he adds to Seb. “You like all varieties of Krispy Kreme, right? Because we had a row in the shop.”
“I should be going,” I say hurriedly.
“Don’t on our account,” says Andy with a friendly smile. “Have a Krispy Kreme.”
“No, I need to go. Thanks, though.”
“We’ll let you say goodbye, then,” says Andy, withdrawing from the cubicle, and I get to my feet.
“So … get well,” I say to Seb, feeling suddenly awkward.
“Thanks for coming.” His eyes crinkle at me in a smile. “Thanks for everything.” Then a thought seems to strike him. “Hey. Have you still got the coffee sleeve? Because I