One Last Gift, page 20
Sam had come out, then. She’d actually forgotten that. “Come on, Cass. Tom didn’t mean it.”
“He did. He did mean it. He wants me to go away so it can be just the two of you.” And she was jealous, and that was the worst part—she didn’t want to share her brother on holiday. It was fine when they were playing at home with Hazel and Sam or whatever, but this was supposed to be her time with him.
“He wouldn’t actually want that, though.” Sam stood, shoulders hunched against the rain, and scuffed his toe on the ground. “I’m sorry for crashing your holiday.”
And then she felt guilty, because it wasn’t Sam’s fault. “I’m sorry your dad is rubbish.” Sam had said that word about his dad, so it felt right.
He laughed. “Come on. We can all sleep in the room together—sleepover style?”
She hesitated—Tom might not want that.
“Or I’ll just stay out in the rain with you, until you decide to come in.” He rubbed his shoulders dramatically. “It’s pretty cold, though. I might get ill.”
Cassie laughed, and relented, heading back to the house with him. Tom was hovering in the doorway, looking moody.
“I didn’t mean it,” he grumbled. “You don’t have to be so dramatic.”
Claire’s voice sounded out from the kitchen. “Now that Cassie’s back in, you can all watch something on the TV while I cook dinner.”
Tom looked at Cassie. “Coming?”
Cassie nodded.
“You better get changed first, though. You’re soaking.”
Cassie made a face. “Then you’ll pick something I don’t like.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “We were going to let you pick.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Even if I say Spirit?”
Tom sighed. “Even then.” And so, grinning, Cassie went in to change.
She smiled a little at the memory, though, as always with memories of Tom, her heart tugged in a way that felt painful. She couldn’t help thinking of Sam, too. Of the little boy, let down by his dad, who had come to stand with her in the rain. Mostly, she tried to dismiss childhood memories of him, figuring they didn’t negate the fact that he’d grown up to be a dick, but she couldn’t help wondering if there was still a part of that boy left inside him, somewhere. If he’d still come out into the rain to comfort her.
She went back to the letter, while Linda took a sip of sherry and murmured appreciatively.
Anyway, I just wanted you to see this place—don’t you think it’s cool? And I know you’re always saying you wouldn’t be able to set up your own thing, like you used to want to, but look, here is somewhere that’s been in business doing just that.
Tiff wasn’t making it work though, was she? But there was a voice in the back of her mind, telling her that maybe she could make it work. Which, she was sure, was exactly what Tom had wanted. And look at Linda’s place—they’d saved it, hadn’t they? Which had felt a little like fate—or even Tom—was proving a point. Proving that the impossible could happen.
And now, for the clue…
A place far away from the hustle and bustle,
The waves lap your feet with barely a rustle,
I won’t make you surf now so don’t you despair,
But go and light up a torch for the boats if you dare.
P.S. My friend’s name is Greg.
Cassie frowned as she read it again, then glanced up at Linda, who was trying to read it upside down. She handed the clue to her, and Linda read with pursed lips.
“Do you know what it means?”
Cassie made a face, shook her head. Surfing—a beach maybe? Not that that narrowed it down, considering the number of beaches in the UK. She bit her lip. “Do you know? Do you know what he’s leading me to, what’s at the other end?
Linda paused, then nodded. “Do you want me to tell you?” she asked quietly. She would. If it helped her to know, to process, then she knew Linda would. For a moment, Cassie considered it. But just for a moment. Because just as Hazel and Linda had known that she needed to figure out the clues herself, before they gave her the next one, she knew that she’d never feel right if she cheated this final time.
“No,” she said emphatically. “I think I want to let him show me instead.”
Two Months Later
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sound of Sam’s phone, which he’d taken to setting to loud after his mum had panicked when he hadn’t called her back recently, pulled him out of a deep sleep and he groaned, fumbling around for it. Sheila, from the youth center. What the hell was she doing calling him at this hour? He checked the time before he answered. Five a.m. He wasn’t supposed to be up for another hour, and even that was early.
“Hello?” His voice was still husky from sleep, and the sound of the AC whirring away—a necessity during a New York summer, he now knew—almost drowned it out.
“Sorry for calling so early,” Sheila said. She had her brisk “work voice” on, one that she reserved for journalists, parents, or possible investors, he’d learned, in the two months he’d been working for her. “But I got some bad news last night. Some of our funding’s being pulled.”
Sam flipped his bedside light on—some fancy designer one. He’d been staying at Toby’s apartment in Brooklyn since April, though he was insisting, much to Toby’s chagrin, that he at least pay rent. “That’s…That’s not good.” It was too early to come up with anything more articulate. “I’m so sorry, Sheila.” He wasn’t sure why she’d decided to wake him to tell him this, rather than filling him in later, but he genuinely meant it.
“Yes, well, the thing is…” She blew out a breath. “The thing is, Sam, it means I can’t afford to pay you anymore.”
“Oh.” So, she was firing him over the phone? Despite the fact he’d not been there long, despite the fact he’d always known it could never last because of the visa situation, he couldn’t help but be a little hurt by that.
“I don’t want to let you go. Truly. But—”
“It’s OK. I get it. Do you still want me to come along today?”
There was a pause that went on too long. “Well, that was why I was calling…”
He didn’t need her to spell it out. “You can’t cancel the trip!” he exclaimed. “The kids have been looking forward to it for ages.” And he’d spent ages setting it up, not that that was the point. More of the kids had gotten into bouldering since he’d been there, and so he’d asked if he could organize a climbing trip to the Gunks—the Shawangunk Mountains just outside New York. He’d heard the kids talking about it for weeks now.
“I just don’t know how we can afford it,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I really wish—”
“You don’t have to pay me,” Sam said quickly.
“That’s not—”
“And you can use what you haven’t paid me from May to put toward it.”
Another long pause. “Are you sure, honey?”
Sam smiled as he settled down against his pillows. The “honey” was a sure sign he’d gotten through to her. “Definitely.”
“Well, all right then.” That was the good thing about Sheila—she never said no to charity. He supposed she’d have to be like that, given her job. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.”
* * *
—
“That’s right, Liam,” Sam said calmly, watching his skinny frame as he rappelled down the cliff. “You’re almost back now.” Sam saw Liam glance behind him, checking how close the ground was, saw his legs tremble, just a bit. Despite the bravado that Liam liked to put on, the refusal to ask for help or advice, Sam knew the kid was nervous, running on adrenaline from having completed his first proper outside climb. He coached him all the way to the bottom, knowing that sometimes people were tempted to come down too fast when nice and slow was better and safer. The other seven kids they’d brought were behind him, watching.
Liam’s grin when he hit the ground was priceless, and Sam felt his own grin match it. Liam looked up the sheer rock drop he’d just gotten up and down, hard gray stone towering up, with green leafy trees hanging over it. Even though it was a beginner climb, it was still a beauty. Liam turned to Sam, unclipping his rope as Sam had taught him and slipping off his helmet, revealing hair slick with sweat. No wonder—the heat was immense, and Sam was sweating even just belaying. Sam held his hand up for a high five and Liam didn’t even roll his eyes as he returned it.
“Good job, mate.” Liam laughed as he rejoined the group, everyone getting to their feet to head back to the parking area for lunch.
Sheila handed out packed lunches when they got back to the minibus and they spread out on some picnic benches, glugging water gratefully. The kids headed off in the other direction from where he and Sheila were making camp, and Sam heard Sheila tell them all, “Thirty minutes, you hear me?”
Even here, in the parking lot picnic area, it was beautiful: tall, leafy trees that provided much-needed shade from the beating summer sun merging into a forest that looked like something out of a movie set. And even though he couldn’t see the mountains, it was like he could sense them, their presence too big to ignore. Three hours outside New York, and it felt like a different world. If someone had told him three months ago that he’d be teaching a bunch of teenagers he barely knew how to climb at the Gunks, he would’ve told them to piss off. Not least, he knew, because of the reminder of Tom. Yet here he was.
Sheila groaned as she fell onto the bench next to him, and Sam tossed her a bottle of water. “You’re a legend, Sheila.”
Sheila’s smile was one of the most genuine he’d ever seen—and like her laugh, it was infectious. “This was all you, honey,” she said in that brilliant New York accent. “And look,” she continued, gesturing to where the kids were now laughing and eating, their expressions maybe not the easy, carefree ones that some people their own age wore, but at least, Sam liked to think, slightly lighter than usual. “It’s been a success, right? Been good for them. Good for you too, I’d say.” She gave him a look before she bit into her sandwich. “It’s taken away a few of those demons, I can see it.”
Sam fought the urge to grimace. He supposed she was right. Focusing on other people had helped him to climb out of that dark hole. But still, it made his stomach feel a little tight. Had he done this for the kids? Or to prove something to himself?
Sheila gave him another look—she was good with her looks, was Sheila. Her dark eyes were wide and expressive, and her eyebrows had degrees of up and down that he’d never seen before. “It doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing to do, even if it was for you too,” she said evenly. “Things don’t need to be completely selfless to still be doing something good for someone else.” Not just observant, Sam thought, a bloody mind reader. It was kind of eerie sometimes.
She glanced over at the kids. “Liam, do not throw that there.” She got to her feet, walked a few meters toward them.
Sam took a sip of water, looking out across the scenery. Then he raised his water to the sky in a toast. “I wish you were here, mate.”
“I just don’t know why they don’t—” Sheila frowned at him. “Are you OK?”
He cleared his throat, took another sip of water. “Yeah.” He wasn’t, quite, but the fact that he could be somewhere like this, think of Tom, and not fall apart was, he thought, an improvement. And Tom would have loved it. He would’ve been out here too, getting involved, making all the kids laugh. Sam could just picture it.
Sheila was still looking at him in that mind-reader way of hers, so Sam picked up his phone as a distraction. There was an email from Cassie, which had come into the fake email he’d set up a couple of months ago. He still felt a bit guilty about that, setting up a separate email account just to message her and hiding who he was—but the alternative had been to refuse to help her, and he hadn’t been able to do that, either.
It’s official! The pub is ours to keep. Or Linda’s, I suppose. But anyway, just thought you’d like to know.
He smiled as he wrote back. That’s amazing! He sent a line of champagne bottles. A part of him tugged. He kind of wished he was there to celebrate with her, to raise a glass with her and Linda and toast the pub where they’d all grown up. To see the light in Cassie’s warm brown eyes, at the fact that she’d done it. And though it was done now, his part in it over, he couldn’t help asking a question in the desire to keep the conversation going, keep the connection with her alive.
Are you doing anything to celebrate?
Sort of. I’m heading off to an events exchange thing this weekend.
An events exchange? Sounds ominous…
It’s this thing where they let me manage an event at a different venue. This gorgeous manor house in Sussex—it’s called Gravetye. Anyway, it may be work, but it’s been something I’ve wanted to do for ages, so it’s kind of like celebrating!!
Sam snorted quietly to himself, earning a curious look from Sheila. She was working to celebrate? Didn’t sound like much fun to him. But then, Cassie had always been so sure, when it came to doing what she loved. He envied her that. He didn’t think she loved her current job—and he knew Tom had thought that too—but she’d never had any doubt on the type of career she wanted. So, if she wanted this “events exchange,” as ludicrous as it sounded to him, then he could imagine it would be a kind of celebration. Though he definitely couldn’t imagine ever working for fun.
It took a moment to realize that was exactly what he was doing here.
“So, honey,” Sheila said. “Now that you’re out of a job, what are you gonna do?”
Sam put his phone down, shook his head. “Shit.” He winced. “Sorry,” he said quickly, but Sheila only snorted quietly.
“Honey, you don’t work with teenagers like I do and not get used to a bit of swearing.”
“Right.” He didn’t know what it was about Sheila—she was far from old enough to be his mum, but he still had that kind of protective feeling toward her. “Well, ah…” He pulled his hands through his hair, gave her a blank look. “I have no idea.” And it was true. The youth center job had kept him going for the last eight weeks, given him some semblance of purpose and helped to pull him out of the hole. And now that it was gone, he had absolutely no fucking clue what he was going to do next.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cassie stood outside the block of flats staring at number 4a, working up the courage to knock. Amy was waiting for her inside—she’d asked Cassie to come round today. But Cassie needed a moment before the inevitable onslaught of memories, the grief that would punch through her, being in Tom’s old flat for the first time since he died.
When she lifted her hand to the wooden door, it felt heavy. “It’s open!” Amy called, and Cassie turned the door handle, stepped inside. “I’m in the kitchen!”
Cassie followed the sound of Amy’s voice and headed through the living room to the little kitchen. She couldn’t help looking around, trying to assess what had changed since Tom had lived here. So much of it was the same—same TV, same coffee table in the living room, same blue sofa. But there were differences, and the lack of Tom’s things was a punch to the gut. The bookshelf was less than half full, and some of the kitchen appliances had been put away. A few paintings had been taken down off the walls. The photos of Tom and Amy were still up, though. How Amy could face that every day was beyond Cassie.
There was a part of her, though, that was looking at more than just the memories. She was looking for clues.
Light a torch for the boats if you dare…
She hadn’t figured it out yet. But Tom was sending her to a beach for the next clue, she was sure of it. And unlike the previous one, there had been no suggestion of a deadline, so she didn’t have the anxiety hanging over her that she might miss a specific date. But she hadn’t got much further than that. She’d looked at a map of the UK, trying to see if any of the beaches held a particular connection to Tom. They’d been to loads of them together. Cornwall. Bournemouth. Brighton. A beach in Wales. So how was she supposed to know which one?
There was nothing on Amy’s bookshelf to help her. No photo of them all at a specific beach, for instance. She’d look later, she reasoned. Maybe see if Amy had any ideas.
Amy had her back to Cassie and was rummaging around in one of the top cupboards when Cassie found her in the kitchen. “What can I get you?” she asked, still not turning to face her. “I’m out of regular tea,” she continued, and Cassie thought her voice was a little high. “I’ve got herbal, though. Mint? Lemon and ginger?”
“Sure,” Cassie said. “Anything’s fine.” Amy took down a box of something from the cupboard, but didn’t turn around right away. “Amy? Is everything…?” But she trailed off. Because Amy finally turned around. And despite the fact that she was wearing a loose top, there was no hiding it. No hiding the bump.
Cassie stared at Amy’s stomach, before snapping her gaze to her face. “You’re pregnant,” she breathed. Amy winced, just a little, then nodded. She crossed the kitchen to flick the kettle switch on, and her hands came to rest on her belly, perhaps slightly protectively.
Cassie shook her head, a dull ache starting up there. “What…?” She wet her lips, tried again. “When…?”
The kettle boiled, clicked off, and neither of them did anything about it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how to.”
“Is it…?”
“Yes. Tom’s the father.” She took a breath, her shoulders heaving with the effort. “I’m sorry. I found out a few weeks before Tom died, and then I just didn’t…I didn’t know what to do, whether I wanted to…”
