One Last Gift, page 13
“Well,” Linda said, in a bolstering tone, “have you figured it out then?”
Cassie hesitated. “I think so.” We’ll stay close this time and go up high. It had clicked in the middle of the night, though she’d then spent the rest of the time she couldn’t sleep mulling over whether she’d gotten it right—because the idea of going there and being wrong…well, she didn’t want to put herself through that. And she didn’t want to let Tom down like that, either. But she hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, and it just felt right. I talked about taking you…She took a breath. “I think…I think it’s the Shard.”
“The Shard!” Linda exclaimed. “How glamorous.”
Exactly the word Cassie had used when she’d come down to London to visit Tom. She’d met Tom at London Bridge, near where he and Sam had been living at the time. She’d been full of nervous anticipation—she and Hazel were planning on moving to London together after university, and she’d wanted to see it, get a feel for it. Tom had met her at the station—and brought along Sam, much to her dismay, given she was still hurting after the skiing incident.
They’d passed the Shard as they walked from the station, and Cassie had stopped, looked up. It seemed to encompass how London in general felt to her—big and imposing and daunting.
“I’ll take you up there one day,” Tom had said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. She’d smiled at him, just as Sam had come up along Tom’s other side.
“Sure you’d be brave enough, Cass? It’s pretty high up.”
She’d taken the classy route, sticking her chin in the air and not retorting, refusing to engage with him, even though it did look pretty high up, and she was kind of glad that Tom didn’t suggest they go up right away, because then she’d have to pretend not to be scared in front of Sam. Sam had fallen behind as she and Tom kept walking, catching up with them a few moments later. He’d shrugged when Tom had looked at him. “I was going to see if we could go up now, but you have to have a booking.”
“Another time,” Tom had said.
Since she’d moved to London, Tom had talked about going there a few times, how cool it would be to go to one of the bars, pretend they were some fancy, rich Londoners and look down on the rest of the city with a cocktail, but it was just one of those things that you talked about and never actually did.
And now, he was sending her up there, and she knew, because of what he’d written in the clue, that he knew it would be pushing her out of her comfort zone. He’d have known that she’d have to brave it, if she wanted to get the next clue. Which she did. Now that she’d opened it, now that she’d broken that first barrier, something in her had sparked. She needed to get it right, needed to find the next one. She wanted to follow the trail, find out what it led to. Even more than that—she knew that it was what Tom would have wanted. He’d gone through all this effort, had laid things out for her, and he’d have wanted her to go through with it, no matter what. So that’s what she’d do. She’d go to the Shard, height be damned, and she’d find that next clue.
The spark that had lit up last night intensified, as her mind latched on to the purpose of that. And somewhere inside her, the old echo of childish excitement that these treasure hunts used to bring on flickered.
Chapter Fourteen
Cassie took a breath as she came to a stop outside the pointed glass building. It was so big. Why had she never appreciated just how bloody huge it was before now? She felt tiny next to it, dwarfed into insignificance. The Shard stood majestic in front of her, spring sunlight glittering off its glass panes. At the bottom, the glass pyramid gave way to a smaller glass foundation, the edges of the rest of the pyramid propped up by white stone pillars, so that it gave the impression that some of the building was held up on stilts. Cassie eyed the pillars suspiciously—could they really support such a massive glass structure? One that she was about to go up, nonetheless? Her heart jumped nervously at the thought.
She bit her lip as she glanced up to the very top of it, the peak offset against a bright blue sky—a sky that promised more sunny days to come. I’ll take you up there one day. Tom’s voice echoed around her mind. It seemed he was sticking to his word, even now.
With that thought, the determination returned and she squared her shoulders as she marched inside, getting the lift up to the thirty-second floor. The hint had been obvious, once she’d figured it out—there was a restaurant, The Oblix, on the thirty-second floor, and afternoon tea was, according to Google, one of their specialities. She watched the little TV screen at the top of the huge lift count the levels as they shot up—incredibly fast, in Cassie’s opinion.
She felt her nerves mount as they hit floor thirty, and slipped her leather jacket off, tucking it under her arm. Smart-casual, the dress code had said when she’d googled the restaurant. So she’d opted for a nice green top over black jeans, hoping that her black pumps would qualify as smart enough.
She smoothed down her hair, which was currently sitting just above her shoulders, as she exited the lift, the only person to do so. Then she came to a halt completely. In the lift, she’d been able to pretend to herself that it was OK, that she wasn’t that high up, that she was safe. But now there was no pretending. With glass walls all around her, the fact that she was so much higher up than anything else around her hit her with full force. And oh God, she couldn’t look. Actually wanted to squeeze her eyes shut. But refusing to look out of the windows didn’t stop her stomach from swooping, her mouth going dry. Why? Why had Tom done this to her? She wanted to turn around, get straight back into the lift, and keep her eyes closed until her feet were safely on the pavement outside—back at ground level.
But she couldn’t. She had started this now—and she’d forever regret it if she didn’t see it through. So she let out a slow, shaky breath and, keeping her eyes firmly ahead, headed for The Oblix. She stopped at the entrance to the restaurant, glancing around the interior—a classy, semicircular bar with stylish backlighting formed the centerpiece of the room, at which a few people sat on high, white-backed chairs. It was bright inside—obviously, Cassie thought scathingly to herself. One entire side of it was glass-paneled, looking out across London. She allowed her eyes a nervous flick. From here she could see the Thames, Tower Bridge bringing the two sides of London together.
It reminded her of the time Tom had tried to make her go on the London Eye. She’d met him and Amy for brunch, and he’d gotten all excited by the idea, given none of them had ever done it before—Londoners who let all the tourist attractions pass them by. She’d adamantly refused. The idea of sitting on what was effectively a giant Ferris wheel and swinging around unstably at the top of it had been too much. She’d ushered Tom and Amy over to it, had told them she had to meet a friend and that it would be a lovely romantic activity for the two of them—not that she had ever felt like a third wheel around them. She’d thought Tom had bought it at the time, but now, looking back, she was increasingly sure he’d seen right through her, as he always did.
A waitress with her hair scraped back into a harsh ponytail, eyes framed by black eyeliner, walked over to her and smiled in a way that indicated she was smiling because she was supposed to, not because she wanted to. Cassie shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I, umm, booked a table. Cassie Rivers.” She’d been too nervous to just show up, in case they didn’t have room—it was the Shard, after all. Which had turned out to be good foresight on her part—she’d only gotten a table due to a cancellation. It had felt a little like fate, like Tom had somehow, from somewhere, made it so.
The waitress showed her to her table—one right next to the glass window. Or wall? She sat, angling her little brown armchair away from the glass as subtly as she could. Why had they put her right at the edge? Didn’t they know that glass could shatter at any moment? She tried to push aside visions of falling—her palms felt clammy enough as it was.
The waitress placed a menu down on the small round wooden table, took away the second place setting in a way that made it very obvious Cassie would be eating alone. “I’ll give you a moment to decide what you’d like,” she said, sounding bored. Cassie felt self-conscious as the waitress left, unsure of what to do with herself. She should have brought a book or something—no one questioned it when you sat alone reading.
She glanced out through the glass panes. London really did look stunning from up this high, made more so by the bright blue backdrop of the day, the sunlight catching the odd glass window and winking back up at her. Stunning, yes, but was it normal that it still didn’t feel like her home, even after more than three years here? She could appreciate the beauty of it, and she loved parts of it, but sitting up here, looking down on the city…It made her realize just how exhausting it was, too. In constant movement, everything and everyone. And maybe it was just because she was exhausted right now, maybe she was just struggling with everything in Tom’s absence, but she felt the weight of it pressing down on her. The need to keep up with London, keep on the treadmill, keep fighting for more money so that she could afford to live here, working her way up the events scene.
The waitress reappeared before Cassie had even picked up the menu. “What can I get you?” She hadn’t brought out anything to write with, apparently confident in her ability to memorize Cassie’s order.
“Umm…” Cassie picked up the menu, then put it back down again. “I’d like the afternoon tea, please.” Tom had told her what to order, after all. Though it felt ridiculous, ordering afternoon tea for one—and from the raised eyebrow look she was getting, this woman with her excessive eyeliner was definitely judging her.
“Right. There’s quite a few options, though.” She indicated the menu, and Cassie frowned down at it. There were far too many options, in her opinion, so that the choice felt constraining rather than liberating. If she ever had her own place, she’d make sure that there were good choices, but not too many. “Do you want me to come back?”
“No,” Cassie said, her voice squeaky. “No, it’s fine. I’d just like the normal afternoon tea, please, no champagne, and you know, normal tea is great and, umm, do I need to pick the sandwiches and everything?”
“Or you can have a selection?” the waitress asked in that same bored voice.
“A selection,” Cassie said firmly. “A selection is great.”
The waitress nodded, picked up the menu, and turned.
“And umm,” Cassie said quickly, before she could leave, “are you Rose?”
The woman turned and raised her eyebrows again—they were very finely plucked, Cassie noticed. “No.”
Right. Helpful. Really bloody helpful. “Do you know someone called Rose?” she asked patiently. “Who works here, I mean.”
The woman hesitated before saying, “Yes. Do you know her, then?”
“She, ah, I think she knew my brother. Tom Rivers.” Her heart contracted painfully, saying his name, like it always did. “I don’t suppose you could…ask her?”
The woman gave her a suspicious look, then shrugged. “OK.”
The waitress left, leaving Cassie alone once more. She glanced around the room—they’d clearly been going for a contemporary, New York vibe, with the trendy armchairs, dark floor, and low ceilings, and lots of yellow lights and golden details around the room. The buzz of other people’s conversations washed over Cassie. In front of her were two women, heads bent toward one another as they talked. The one facing Cassie glanced up, saw Cassie watching. Cassie immediately got out her phone, tried to look busy.
As had become an hourly obsession over the last few days, Cassie checked the progress of her GoFundMe. Eventually, after much wheedling, she’d convinced Linda to go for it—with the compromise that anyone who donated would have a special loyalty card that entitled them to certain perks. Josh and Hazel had been the first to donate. She’d gotten Hazel to tell her mum to spread the word around the village, knowing full well that Linda wouldn’t do it herself, and had put it on Facebook. They’d had a few donations already, and Cassie was trying to stay positive, but the odd twenty pounds here and there was not going to cut it, she knew, and the scale of it, combined with the time pressure Linda was facing, was starting to feel overwhelming.
The same waitress with the eyebrows and the eyeliner brought over a pot of tea and a china cup for her, setting both on the table. Cassie bit her lip. Did this mean that Rose wasn’t around? Or that she’d refused to come and talk to Cassie?
“She’s busy,” the waitress said, as if reading Cassie’s mind—or her expression. “But she said she’ll come over.” Cassie felt a wave of relief and nodded in thanks before pouring herself some tea. This was OK, this was good. She was here, and Rose was here—she had to have the next clue, surely.
She lifted her cup of tea, saluting the air. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” she said quietly, “but I’m here, like you wanted. I wish you were here to see it.” She took a sip, used the liquid to swallow away the lump in her throat. She couldn’t cry, not in public.
She put the cup down. The china was oddly similar to the china Linda had in her pub to serve coffee after meals—white, with a rim of decorative blue and purple flowers. It made her think of a time when she and Tom were little—she must have been around eight or something. She’d been invited to a friend’s birthday party at school—Simone Simmons, who had invited everyone in their class to a birthday tea party. It had sounded so cool and grown up, and Cassie had been so excited, but then she hadn’t been able to go, because she’d been ill. Hazel had raved about it at school the Monday after—about how posh it had been, and how there were people actually serving them, and there had been so many cakes and sandwiches, and they’d gotten to drink adult tea, and there had been a magician there. Cassie had tried really hard not to cry or be jealous in front of Hazel, but when she got home, she’d locked herself in her room and sobbed into her pillow. It was the type of thing that was ultimately insignificant, but it had felt so important at the time.
Tom knocked on her door. “Cassie, come on, please come out.”
“No. Go away.”
“Come on.”
“No,” she said on another sob.
“Please.” He used his wheedling voice, then added, “I have something to show you, something that might cheer you up.”
The mystery had gotten the better of her then, and she’d opened her door, red-eyed, and followed Tom, past the kitchen, where Claire was cooking. “Don’t be too late,” she warned Tom. “School tomorrow.” Tom nodded somberly, flashing a grin at Cassie, who didn’t understand—be too late where?
Sam’s mum was waiting outside, her blue eyes crinkling when she saw Cassie and Tom. “There you are, my loves. All set?” Tom dragged Cassie to the car that always smelled and sounded a little funny, and bundled her into the backseat ahead of him. Sam was already there, grinning, bouncing in boyish excitement.
“Have you told her then?” Sam asked over Cassie’s head, Cassie sandwiched between him and Tom.
“No, it’s a secret.”
“What is a secret?” Cassie asked, and folded her arms when neither of them would tell her, just grinned in that stupid solidarity over her head. But she was intrigued, and she didn’t feel sad anymore.
Sam’s mum had dropped them off at Linda’s pub, and Tom had grabbed her hand, dragged her inside. No one else was there—it was only 4 p.m. and the pub wasn’t open yet. But there was a table set for three, right by the window. A table with a tray of sandwiches and cake, set with white china.
“See?” Tom said excitedly. “We’ve brought the afternoon tea to you.”
Sam took her hand this time, pulling her to the table, and the three of them sat down.
Linda came out from behind the bar, holding a pot of tea and wearing a silly white apron with red dots that Cassie had never seen her in before. She walked over to the table, and Cassie caught a whiff of that coffee scent that Linda always seemed to smell of.
“Tea, madam?” Linda said in a posh voice. She winked at Cassie, and Cassie giggled.
“Cassie Rivers?” Cassie was jolted out of the memory by a slightly Essex-sounding voice, nearly spilling her tea all down herself. She looked up to see a teenage girl putting a three-tiered stand, filled with sandwiches, cakes, and scones, down on the table.
“Sorry, I…Yes.” The girl’s dark hair was plaited down her back, nearly reaching her waist, and her skin was pale, so pale that Cassie wondered if she ever spent any time outside. It made her dark eyes more pronounced, Cassie thought, and she was looking at Cassie a little suspiciously. She wasn’t wearing the same uniform as the rest of the waitresses and Cassie, having worked in hospitality, connected the dots—this girl worked behind the scenes in the kitchen.
Cassie frowned. “Are you Rose?”
The girl nodded, then held out a hand, thrust something toward Cassie. An envelope, with a number two in the corner. Cassie’s heart jumped as she took it. She’d been right. The next clue was here.
“He said to give this to you. Made me memorize your name and everything.”
Cassie looked up at the girl. “You knew him?”
“Nah. He paid me to do it. Twenty quid.” Rose shifted from foot to foot, awkwardness radiating from her body. “He said you’d be here sooner, though. Around Christmas, he said.”
Cassie traced the edges of the envelope with her thumb. “Right. I got delayed.” She didn’t want to say it out loud. Each time she had to say the words—He died—it was like she was reasserting the fact of his absence.
“Well, umm, bye, then.”
Rose turned to leave, but Cassie reached out, grabbed her hand. “Thank you,” she breathed, feeling tears prick her eyes. She wondered whether to say something more, but she couldn’t think of what else that would be. Rose nodded, looking ever so slightly alarmed, and maneuvered out of Cassie’s grip, heading back to the kitchen.
