One Last Gift, page 29
Josh’s expression changed. “You finished the treasure hunt?”
She nodded.
He reached out, took her hands in his. “You figured it out.”
She gripped his hands back, felt tears pricking her eyes. “He got you involved?”
Josh looked like he was about to cry, too. “I wasn’t sure you’d do it.”
“You’ve had it all this time? The gift?”
He nodded. “But I couldn’t give it to you. I knew you had to get to the end.” The phone rang and Josh picked up. “Hang on,” he said, in a very unprofessional voice. He put down the phone on the desk, fumbled in his desk drawer, and got out a letter, which he handed to Cassie. Then he picked up the phone again. “So sorry about that, new assistant, doesn’t know what he’s doing. Can I help?”
And while Josh was dealing with the inquiry, Cassie read, hearing Tom’s voice in her mind.
My favorite sis,
Congrats—you’ve got to the end!
But—there’s a caveat. There’s one more thing you need to do in order to get your epic Christmas present.
I’ve roped Josh in—I like him, have I ever told you that?—and he’s under explicit instruction not to give it to you until you do this last task, however long that takes. I know, I know! I’m mean and a terrible big brother, etc. etc. But I reckon you’ll thank me for it.
So your last task is this: quit your job. Yes, you heard me! Quit your job. It’s holding you back, and your boss doesn’t deserve you.
Whether you do it or not, I love you. But I hope you do. Because I think you’re destined for something else.
P.S. You’ll know by now about Amy, I’m sure. The baby—can you believe that, an actual baby?—is probably nearly here by the time you get to this point, if I’m right with my bets on how long this will take you. I didn’t handle it right at first—you’ll know that too. I got scared, about being a dad, about whether I’d know how to do it. I’m still a bit scared, truth be told, about letting them both down. I wasn’t looking for this, but I think I’ve figured out that sometimes the best gifts in life are the ones you don’t expect. So I want to go back, be there for Amy—and for my child. I’m going to take this time in Argentina to get my head straight and make sure I go back to them in the right place because I can’t let her down again the way I did when I left. I don’t want my child to grow up looking at me the way Sam looks at his dad.
But the point is, I’m not going to let being scared stop me—or I’m going to try not to. When I get back, I’m going to tell Amy how much I love her, how excited I am to meet our baby. And how sorry I am, for not saying that immediately. I love her so much, and I made a mistake, running like that. So what I’m saying—badly (I know, I know, I’m usually more articulate than this)—is that I don’t think you should let fear stop you.
P.P.S. If it’s a boy, what do you think of the name Elton? (Just kidding. I do like the name Noah though.)
Cassie stared at the letter, her heart murmuring in her chest, the paper gripped tightly between her fingers. She focused on the last bit first. He’d made a mistake with Amy. Relief coursed through her. He’d planned to come back, and hadn’t had the chance to tell her, to explain, before he’d died. He’d wanted the baby, had wanted to be with her. He hadn’t abandoned her. Sam had been right.
Then, she took stock of the rest of it. He wanted her to quit her job? That was completely insane. “He’s telling me to resign,” she said out loud, her voice a little hoarse.
He gave her a little smile. “Yeah.”
“But…I can’t. I can’t just quit!”
“Why not?”
What kind of stupid question was that? she thought silently. There was a whole multitude of reasons. Money. Career. Security.
Josh seemed to read all this on her face. “You’d get another job like this, if that’s what you wanted,” he said reasonably. “But you’re trapped here. Tom knew it. I know it. You are brilliant at what you do, but you don’t love it here.”
Cassie stared at him. “So you’re not going to give me the gift? Even after…everything?” After they kept it from her—him, Linda, Hazel. All of them part of it. And even though Tom couldn’t have known that this would be the last treasure hunt she’d ever do, it felt somehow right that her friends had been involved. It felt right that they’d kept the clues to themselves, had allowed her another gift entirely, in figuring it all out herself, no matter the ups and downs.
“I have to think it’s what Tom would have wanted,” Josh said gently.
Cassie stood there, the letter still in her hand, her mind reeling. Robert bustled back in, frowned at her. “Why are you still standing up? Have you even logged on yet?”
She took in his ugly, pouting face, his receding hairline. And she realized. They were right. Tom was right. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be doing her own thing. She was scared. But that didn’t make her a coward—she could be scared and brave. So she straightened her spine, and spoke before she could think better of it.
“No.”
Robert stared at her. “What?”
“No. I haven’t logged on, because…” She looked at Josh, who nodded. “Because I quit.” She realized then that she had no idea how to officially resign. Saying “I quit” was the type of thing that sounded good, in theory, but actually left you with no idea what to do next. Surely there was a way to officially resign? Notice to be worked? And, God, she was overthinking it—her brain was definitely doing its best to take away from her moment.
“I quit,” she said again. “And I’ll…” What? What did she say now? “Well, I won’t be working here any longer.”
Robert’s face went from blank to seething, his jaw clenched, eyes flashing, and she knew he was ready to jump on this, that he was about to tell her to get out, in that case. She knew that would ruin it, would make her panic about it, so she grabbed her bag and practically ran out of the office door, up the stairs to the reception area.
She heard Josh following her, spun to face him. He was grinning. “Here,” he said, thrusting an envelope into her hands. “You forgot this.” He gave her a wink, then dashed back to the office, no doubt to face Robert’s fury.
It was just like the others: a small, white envelope. No number on it, but a little man doing a victory dance was drawn on the front. There was a speech bubble coming from the little man’s mouth.
You did it.
She blew out a breath as she stepped out of the hotel onto the pavement. She had. She’d done it. She’d gotten to the end.
She opened the envelope, and when she saw what her gift was, what Tom had been gearing up to all this time, she felt all the blood rush from her head.
The house. In Wales. Tiff’s house.
Tom wanted her to buy it. And he’d given her the means to do it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cassie stood next to Amy in the little second bedroom of her flat, which she’d converted into a nursery. Amy’s little boy was asleep, tiny pudgy hands clenched into fists, little chubby legs wriggling every now and then. Tom’s nose, she decided. He had Tom’s nose. Maybe he’d look more like him as he grew up, although right now that was all she could see. But that little part, well, it proved it, didn’t it? There was a part of Tom still here, right in front of her.
She dashed away a tear as she watched him sleep and Amy put an arm around her. “Sorry,” Cassie whispered, and Amy shook her head. They stayed like that for a moment longer, then crept out of the bedroom and into the living room.
Cassie made Amy sit while she made them two herbal teas, then carried them to the sofa and sat down next to her. Amy’s parents were out at the moment, so it was just the two of them, but Amy had told her that her mum was staying another two months to help out. Even with the help, Amy looked knackered: dark circles under her eyes, her curly hair done up loosely in a bun on top of her head—no headband—her face pale. Still, when she smiled at Cassie, it looked genuine.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come by more,” Cassie said.
Amy blew on her tea. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t have been much fun before now, anyway. Although, I still don’t feel normal. Mum keeps saying I’m going to have to get used to a new normal.”
“I knew your parents were here,” Cassie explained, still feeling the need to justify, “and I didn’t want to, I don’t know, get in the way or intrude or whatever.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re his auntie, you could never intrude.”
Cassie felt her eyes burn a little at that, took a sip of her tea to hide it. “So. Have you settled on Albert for sure now? That’s the name you were going for last time we spoke, I think?”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Oh yes. The Albert phase. I don’t know what I was thinking there. It must have been the hormones or lack of sleep or something.”
Cassie’s lips twitched. “So no Albert?” She had to admit, she was a little relieved about that.
“No. I’ve been toying with Leo, but I’m not quite sure. It’s ridiculous that I still can’t decide, I know, and I have to soon, but it’s just, nothing seems quite right somehow.”
“In that case,” Cassie said slowly, “there might be another name to consider.” She slipped Tom’s letter out of her handbag, saw Amy frowning at it. “It’s the letter Tom left for me, when I did the final clue.” She held it out gently. “I think you might want to read it.” She waited while Amy read, watched her frown even out, watched her blink as she took in the words. Watched as she hitched in a sobbing breath when she got to the last part.
“He was going to come back.”
Cassie nodded. “He was. He loved you, Amy.”
Amy met Cassie’s gaze. “Thank you for showing me.” She held the letter back out to her and Cassie reached out to take it, but Amy’s fingers tightened on the paper. “Sorry,” she said. “I know it’s yours, I just…” Cassie gently pried Amy’s fingers away, then looked down at the letter. She made a crease with her nails, then tore off the P.S. section, handed it back to Amy.
Amy looked down, and then, with another sob, took it, gripped it in her fist. “Thank you,” she whispered, then took a shaking breath. “So, Noah, hey?”
“Not that there’s any pressure,” Cassie said quickly. “I just…I thought you might like to know.”
“I quite like it, I think.”
Cassie smiled. “Me too.”
Amy placed the note on her lap, like she couldn’t bring herself to put it away just yet. “So. Wales?”
Cassie laughed, the sound a little incredulous. “So it seems.”
Tom had spoken to Tiff in December last year, apparently. He’d talked through prices, said he’d be in touch again during the following year. And then, Tiff had told her when she’d rung, she’d heard nothing. Obviously. Tiff hadn’t realized that Cassie was Tom’s sister, hadn’t connected the dots to the chap on the phone last year. But, yes, it was still for sale and yes, she’d love to talk through the details with Cassie directly.
Tom had used his half of their inheritance, put it in an account in her name, ready and waiting, should she want to use it. It was an investment, his note in the envelope had explained. He would be a shareholder in the business.
“You’re really going to go through with it? Just up and buy this place? Leave London?”
“I really am.” Linda had convinced her, had told her it didn’t have to be permanent—nothing had to be permanent. But if she didn’t try, how would she ever know? There was a lot of work to be done. Things wouldn’t be ready for some time. But she had plans—and now, she had money to start her on her way, plus her own inheritance money. She was going to try. If she failed, that was OK. But she was going to try. She was going to be brave.
And with that in mind, there was one more thing she had to do.
* * *
—
She stood outside the front door, staring at the slightly peeling green paint, trying to psych herself up to knock. Come on, Cassie. If she could quit her job, abandon her London life for bloody Wales, and start a whole new business venture, then she could do this. Because Hazel had been right. It was stupid to pretend that Sam didn’t have a place in her heart. She’d tried to shove him out. Tried, and failed.
She’d found out where he lived from his mum. He’d been in London for three months now, apparently. Since Cornwall. They’d been in the same city, all over the summer, and never seen each other. Which made sense, she supposed, given the size of London, but still, it didn’t stop the nerves on her skin from prickling at the thought that he’d been here the whole time.
She brought her hand halfway to the door, paused. Get a bloody grip, Cassie. She knocked.
It took five agonizing seconds before the door opened. And when it did, Cassie’s heart stumbled, then seemed to fall into her stomach.
Jessica. It was Jessica standing there, one hand resting on the doorframe. Her auburn hair seemed to shine as she pushed it back from her face, and Cassie felt, in that moment, ridiculously short and frumpy, next to Jessica’s tall elegance.
“Cassie!” she exclaimed, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, then smiled uncertainly. “How are you?” she asked in that sexy Irish lilt.
“I’m…” But she couldn’t think what to say. They were back together. They were living together.
“Jess?” It was Sam’s voice, calling from inside the house. The sound of it reverberated through Cassie. “Who is it?”
“It’s—”
“No,” Cassie said quickly, cutting her off. It had been stupid, she realized, to come here. Stupid to think that Sam would just be waiting around for her.
Jessica frowned. “You don’t want to see Sam?”
“No,” Cassie said again, knowing that she must look utterly ridiculous, showing up at Sam’s doorstep and then refusing to see him. “No, it’s OK. Sorry, I…I have to go, actually.” She backed away a step. Thank God. Thank God Sam hadn’t answered the door, that she hadn’t blurted out some stupid declaration of love, or asked him to come to Wales or something equally ridiculous.
“OK,” Jessica said, looking perplexed. “Do you want me to give him a message?”
“No, that’s OK,” Cassie said, already turning to walk away, to get out of there. Did Jessica know? Cassie wondered. Had Sam told her what had happened in Cornwall?
“Cassie?” Jessica called from behind her, and Cassie turned back. Jessica smiled, and it was impossible, right then, to hate her, even though she wanted to, because there was such genuine warmth in that smile. “You look really well.” She hesitated, like she wanted to say something more, but only smiled one more time, and closed the door.
Cassie refused to look back as she walked away, kept her head high, just in case anyone was watching. Of course. Of course Sam had gone back to Jessica—he’d been due to marry her in March, for God’s sake. And she was beautiful, and clever, and kind. Would they get married? she wondered briefly. Sam had clearly lost it a bit after Tom died—just like she had—but now that he was healing, would that still be in the cards?
Stop it, she told herself. There was no point going down that road, even as her stomach churned, nausea swelling and burning the back of her throat. It was her fault, wasn’t it? She’d accused him of being too scared to go back to Jessica, and now he’d done just that. She’d driven him back to his ex-fiancée, because she’d refused to admit that he was right, that she loved him too.
And now it was too late.
She took a breath, squashed down the feeling. She’d had the chance to say it back to him, to see whether they might finally be able to make something between them. She hadn’t taken it, and now she would just have to live with that.
So she’d go to Wales, and she’d find a way to pour life into that beautiful house. She’d honor Tom with that. And she’d leave Sam Malone, and her feelings for him, firmly behind.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sam hovered on the stairs on the way back from the bathroom, reading a message on his phone. A reply, to a message he’d sent a few days ago.
That would be great, I’d love to see you. How about next Thursday?
He stared at the message from his dad. But he’d gone there—it had been him who had gotten in touch, who had made the first move this time. He remembered what Cassie had told him, back in Cornwall. About wishing she’d had more time with her parents. It was part of the reason he’d reached out.
Great, he typed back. See you then.
Maybe he and his dad would never be best friends or have a perfect father-son relationship. But maybe they could have some kind of relationship. And maybe he could let go of the anger that he’d been carrying around for as long as he could remember. He could try, at least.
He shoved his phone back into his trouser pocket and walked into the kitchen of the little one-bed flat he was renting out in Peckham. Jessica was standing there by the kettle, waiting for it to boil. Whoever had been at the door had clearly gone. Wrong house, probably.
Jessica was scrolling through her phone, still wearing her smart dress and tights from the day, her auburn hair falling in waves around her shoulders, looking perfectly made-up after a day at the office. How did she do that? he wondered. He was sure he looked like a mess after a day at his desk, then fighting for space on the Jubilee Line home, before hitting the overground that did, at least, have more space. She glanced at him as he got two mugs down from the cupboard and put a teabag in each one automatically, before noticing the subtle raised-eyebrow look she was giving him.
“Right,” he muttered, and bent down to get a teapot—dusty from lack of use—out of the bottom cupboard. She always liked tea to be done properly, Jess.
