‘She’s a kid.’
‘She’s a constant reminder,’ Seb says. ‘Of what we could’ve had.’
‘It’ll pass,’ Nimesh says.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Seb says. ‘It happened for you.’
Nimesh holds his quad stretch for a little longer than planned. On the other end of the line, Seb clears his throat, shifts a little.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘That sounded bitter.’
‘It did,’ Nimesh replies. ‘But you’re nervous for your date. It’s like talking to a thirteen-year-old.’
Seb laughs. Then he sighs. ‘That’s it, though, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘One day, Nora will be thirteen. What am I going to do when she starts asking about him? When she gets to the age where she can just look him up?’
‘I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.’
‘Or I’m getting out ahead of it.’
‘You’re doing that thing,’ Nimesh says.
‘What thing?’
‘The thing where you talk to me instead of the person you’re supposed to talk to,’ he says. ‘Clara needs to hear all this. You’re not going to scare her away.’
‘She doesn’t have the time,’ Seb says. ‘It’s not going to be an easy conversation.’
‘Which is exactly why you need to have it.’
The sound of Seb scratching his beard. ‘When?’
‘Tonight,’ Nimesh says.
‘Cheerful first date.’
‘Is that what we’re calling it?’
Seb laughs. It still gives Nimesh a flutter, when he manages to make that happen. They were barely teenagers when Seb’s sister died, and for a long time, it had seemed like Seb would never come back to him. Nimesh would do a funny impression or butcher a joke from a film they both liked, something so trivial there was no chance of him remembering it now. But it had made Seb laugh. And Nimesh had thought, at the time, that he could devote his entire existence just to this. Because it was so hard to do, but it felt so rewarding to do it. After Ellie, Nimesh had sworn to himself that his friend would never have to go it alone. Three decades later, he thinks he’s done a pretty good job of keeping his promise.
‘Why are you really calling, mate?’
Seb takes a moment to respond. ‘I wanted your opinion,’ he begins. ‘Not as a mate. Not as Clara’s mate, either, and not as Maisie’s husband, and not as the sensible vet who gives out advice like he’s writing prescriptions for a fucking guinea pig.’ He breathes slowly. ‘You’re my brother, so you have to answer as a brother would.’
‘I’m not hearing a question,’ Nimesh says.
‘Am I making a massive mistake?’
Nimesh exhales slowly. He thinks long and hard.
‘I think you need to take a step back,’ he says, eventually, into his headphones. ‘This isn’t about some bigger story, or what’s happened before. What you’re worried might happen next. It’s about how you feel when you walk into a room and she’s there.’
‘You’re right,’ Seb says on the other end of the line.
‘And how do you feel?’
A pause. A long pause. Nimesh stares off down the road, pictures his running route ahead of him. He imagines Seb waiting for Clara’s arrival, tattooed fingers drumming nervously against a crumpled bouquet of flowers. The image makes him smile.
‘I love her,’ Seb says, eventually, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if he’s said it a million times before, and not only a lifetime ago. ‘I’ve always loved her.’
