I Owe You One (Page 44)

“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 need to make a new entry.”

“You don’t.” I shake my head, laughing.

“I do! I want to record my debt of gratitude. Have you still got it?”

“I think so,” I say, wrinkling my brow as though I’m not sure. “I think it’s somewhere around. I could come and see you again tomorrow, maybe?” I add casually. “Bring it in?”

“I’d like that.” He nods. “In fact, I’d love that. If you’re not too busy.”

“Of course not.” I pick up my bag. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“With the coffee sleeve,” he insists.

“OK.” I nod, rolling my eyes with a smile. “If I can find it.”

Of course I can find it. It’s on my dressing table, right where I can look at it every day.

The three guys waiting patiently outside the cubicle smile at me politely, clearly wondering who I am. I recognize one of them from Seb’s office and fervently hope he doesn’t recognize me.

I walk away through the ward, listening to their voices as they greet Seb:

“Oh my God.”

“Man! They really got to you.”

“Yeah, but you should see how they look. Right, Seb?”

They sound so easy and affectionate, I can’t help smiling inwardly. And as I’m traveling back down in the lift, I remember all the stories I read online about Seb building up his company, cooking pasta for his staff, creating the amazing atmosphere that he’s got. He needed to make a family, I realize. And that’s what his company is, his family.

—

The next day I wake at 5:00 A.M. again. I really need to break this habit. My eyes instantly swivel to the coffee sleeve, propped up on my dressing table, and I feel a little flutter inside. The kind of light, excited flutter I haven’t felt since …

Oh God. Since Ryan, now I come to think of it. I feel about sixteen years old. This is kind of mortifying.

As I’m showering, I give myself a stern talking-to. This guy is taken. He’s simply being friendly in a platonic way. There’s absolutely no hint that … I mean, if there is any hint, it’s me reading too much into things … And anyway, he’s taken. He’s taken.

I step out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and look at my reflection, trying to find some inner resolve. What I should do now is quietly bow out. I should phone up the ward with a friendly excuse, wishing him well and saying goodbye. Certainly not prolonging this back-and-forth IOU game we seem to be in. It’s inappropriate. It’s gone on for long enough. What I need to do is nix it. Throw the coffee sleeve away. Get on with my life. That’s what I should do.

And as I look into my own alert, exhilarated eyes, I know that’s pretty much exactly what I’m not going to do.

After breakfast I get ready with care, putting on a dress I got in a cheap and cheerful Acton boutique the other day. It’s navy with a print of dachshunds all over it, and it makes me smile. I was going to keep it for parties, but suddenly that seems boring. Why not wear it now? Today? I do my makeup, text Greg to make sure he’s on the case, and pick up my bag to go.

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.