‘No?’ Jem’s voice softened. ‘Youleft the city.’
‘Not just because of that,’ she said, stealing a glance at him only to be met with an expression of crumpled pity. ‘Not just because of you. It was Lillian, too. The show. It was all—’Too much.Too much,and all at once.
Jem was quiet for a while. ‘What brought you back?’
‘Oliver’s broken arm,’ she said. ‘And Pa. He isn’t doing so well.’
Jem nodded. ‘You know if you need help you can come past the apothecary. If your father is ill—’
‘Not ill,’ Ava corrected. ‘Just …’ She looked at him, and he at her, and she knew she didn’t have to tell him. Heknew, because he’d seen her father when her mother was alive, and he’d seen her father after she’d died, and it was such a great relief not to have to try and put the starkness of that contrast into words.
‘Well, if I can help, then I will. In any way I can.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Iwantto do it,’ he said, his eyebrows furrowing. ‘I want for us to be friends again, Ava. And I should like for you to feel you can come and ask for help when you need it, and not stay away just because of something that happened months ago. I just … I can’t stand the thought of you hating me.’
Ava reached to pinch at the skin upon the back of her hand, so that her mind could focus on the sharp tug there, and not on the ache that was growing in the back of her throat. She hated how his voice cracked as he said it. Hated how it sent a spear of hope through her chest – for if he regretted it as much as he looked like he did – then why did he do it? Why break the engagement? But more than that, she hated how even now she wished she could reach out and comfort him, despite the wall his words had built between them.
‘I could never hate you, Jem,’ she said softly, forcing herself to look at him – to meet his trembling gaze with her own. For he was like family. He’d been like family – and perhaps that’s why it wasn’t anger welling within her now. It wasn’t sadness either – it was something else, something which felt like a small voice in her ear, and three scratching words.
Not good enough.
She forced herself to smile, as though her heart was not aching inside her chest, and say: ‘If I need medicine, I’ll come past the shop.’
‘Good,’ said Jem softly. ‘Because it wasn’t anything you did, Ava. You do know that, don’t you?’
Now her smile grew taut. ‘Not you too,’ she said. ‘Do you and Oliver communicate in secret or something? Send one another messages in code?’
Something shifted in Jem’s expression. ‘What?’
‘He said the very same thing to me on our walk here,’ she mused. ‘Although I suppose the pair of you were always like that. One of you scrapes his knee, and the other one winces.’
‘Yes, well.’ Jem gave her a pained smile. ‘Not anymore, it would seem.’
‘He’ll come around,’ Ava said, turning to follow Jem’s gaze, and frowning. ‘You know his temper. Quick to anger, quick to forgiveness.’
Although months had passed now. So this was not ‘quick to anger’. And the look on Jem’s face seemed to suggest that he knew it, too.
‘I miss his cooking, you know,’ he said, heaving a deep breath between his lips. ‘His apple pie was always my favourite.’
‘Don’t tell him that,’ Ava said quickly. ‘He’ll call it proof he’s an excellent chef and stop practising.’
‘He’s practising again?’ Jem’s gaze flicked back to her.
‘Mmm. Said he wants to apply for an apprenticeship – even though no one takes on apprentices at his age.’
‘Well, I wish him the best,’ Jem said, casting a final glance towards the crowd. ‘If he wants some space to practise, I’m renting out the back room of the shop. We need a bit more coin, Mam and I, and … well, I imagine we’d have to get a better window in there if he were to cook, but I’m sure that could be arranged if he wanted somewhere to practise. Just … just let him know, will you?’
Ava nodded, although she already knew what Oliver would say. Jem must’ve known it, too, because his blue eyes looked sadder then, even as he stitched a forcefully cheery smile upon his face. ‘Well then, Ava.’ He blinked. ‘I can still call you Ava, can’t I? You’re not Miss Adams now?’
‘You can still call me Ava,’ she said, feeling a twinge in her chest. ‘So long as I can still call you Jem.’
‘No one calls me Jeremy,’ said Jem, wincing. ‘And Mr Foster was my father.’
‘Jem it is then,’ she said, taking his outstretched hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘And you, Ava. And do me a favour?’
