“I think he was worried you acted in haste and hadn’t really thought about it. He said you should have a cooling-off period. I had to tell him that it was your idea and that you called me back three days after you heard the news.”
I get off the crate, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Evan had to assure him that it’s a loan and that he was sending you receipts for everything. And yesterday I saw himarguing with Haneen. Couldn’t hear what they were saying but it looked like he was trying to convince her of something.” She stops and swallows something. “Sorry, we’ve been so busy it’s the first moment I’ve had to sit and have a coffee. Anyway, I think we underestimated Osian. When he gets into his stubborn streak, he’s unshakable.”
Unshakable.Don’t I know it?
What is he thinking?
On the drive home, via Morrisons, even walking down various aisles choosing food that costs less, the question nags me. If only I hadn’t blocked his emails.
Before I know what I’m doing, my phone is in my hand scrolling through. But I’d done a good job protecting myself from just such an impulse. The password to my locked folder can’t be accessed except from my laptop.
Annoyed, I drop the phone back into my bag and instead direct my frustration at Osian. Why is he trying to argue about my finances? He thinks he’s protecting me from a knee-jerk reaction, does he? A misguided need to help? As if he knows me better than I know myself. The way a best friend does.
It is that phrase, best friend, that always tortures me.
It also helps ease the pain of missing him because whenever I think about it, I channel all my heartache into anger. How dare he question my actions?
I know I’m being unfair, but I’m not in the mood to be fair. Anger is much easier.
I hug my anger to my heart all through driving home and pulling over in front of my little cottage. Even some random Land Rover parked on the other side of the road, similar toOsian’s car, only fuels my anger. I hate that I still miss him and I hate that everything reminds me of him. And for God’s sake why did he have to email me and say things like “You’re my best friend”, and “You’re my journal”? Talk about twisting the knife.
I climb out of my car, slam the door too hard and turn toward my front door.
To find Osian himself.
He’d been sitting on the small, upturned terracotta pot behind the hedge, which is why I didn’t see him when I drove up.
My first words come from the angry place, the protective shield I keep between me and my feelings.
“Hiding behind the hedge like a stalker?”
“I’ve been here since one o’clock.” His voice is calm and tightly controlled. Just like the rest of him. “What was I supposed to do, stand by the door for hours?”
“No, you were supposed to be in Wales.”
He just looks at me, face unreadable.Why is he here?
“Evan had no right to give you my address.”
“He didn’t.”
“TheTylwyth Tegtold you?” I’ve been reading about the fairy folk. Since leaving Wales, I’ve kept up a secret habit of reading about it. A little bittersweet hobby.
His lips quiver. “Glad to see you still remember some of the Welsh. I thought you tossed it over your shoulder along with the rest of us you no longer needed.”
His words cut me, so my answer is more than a little crisp. “Not very effectively, since you followed me here?”
“Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to stay on the doorstep?” Despite the semi-joking words, there’s a hint of suppressed anger in the way he stares at me.
“Oh no, please come in.” I turn my key in the lock and open the door. “I’d hate for you to interrogate me about my financial decision out in the street. Much better to bollock me in my own home.”
“This is not your home.” He follows me inside and looks around. “You have a wonderful home which you abandoned.”
Chapter Fifty-four
Inside my kitchen, I dump my shopping bags and a tin of tuna rolls out. It has a red ‘Discounted’ sticker because it’s very near its sell-by date. I pick it up and put it on my kitchen table. Actually, not mine – it belongs to the landlord and was probably left outside for the recycling. I hate that Osian can see the evidence of me living on a shoestring.
