Page 78 of One Last Gift

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.

“So,” she said, perhaps a touch too brightly. “How was your day?” She poured hot water into the teapot, then carried it to the small kitchen table, where they both sat, waiting for the tea to brew.

Sam grunted and shrugged noncommittally. He was back working as a solicitor. He’d caved in the end, mainly because he’d had no idea what else to do. He was no longer at Jessica’s firm, but her dad had not, apparently, wanted to ruin his reputation completely, so he’d taken a job at another firm right in the middle of central London. He’d only been at it two months, and the grind was already getting to him.

“You?” he asked, feeling the weight of the brief silence. The awkwardness hung between them—and really, what had he expected? Actually, he’d expected a lot worse. He’d expected her to shout at him or something, given it was the first time they were meeting up since he’d left her. It was why he’d invited her to his house, rather than meeting up somewhere public—both so she could rage at him, if she wanted to, without worrying about what other people were thinking, and so that he didn’t have to deal with other people knowing just what a dick he’d been. But she’d been polite, calm. She’d always been in control, Jess—probably why she was so good at her job—but she seemed settled now, too, in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed before.

“Oh, you know, the same.” She waved a hand in the air.

But she loved it, Sam knew. She’d always loved what she did, and he had no doubt that she’d take over from her dad one day as head of the firm.

“So,” Jessica said, the word loaded.

“So.”

She laughed a little. “Oh God. I didn’t expect this to be so awkward.”

Sam smiled wryly, but said nothing. Because he had expected it to be awkward—but then, he’d walked out on her, not the other way around. Sam’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he slipped it out, grateful for the distraction as Jessica poured the tea. His heart did an automatic little lurch, like it seemed to do nearly constantly when he got messages these days.

Stupid, to think it might be Cassie. Why would she randomly be texting him? She never had before. But it still felt as if a part of him was waiting for her to get in touch. Then again, maybe it was better that she didn’t. Maybe it was better that the whole thing, whatever that was, stayed closed.

He opened up the message from Sheila, frowning because they’d had barely any contact since he’d left New York.

Hey honey. Someone sent me this, just passing it on in case of interest. X

Along with the message there was a link, which, when Sam clicked on it, turned out to be an advert for a job. A job, working as a climbing instructor. It was a short-term thing, for two months this autumn. Teaching, running workshops, that kind of thing. The pay was terrible. And it was in Wales, in the middle of fucking nowhere. He couldn’t do it. It would be irresponsible of him, when he’d only just gotten his shit together again.

Jessica glanced down at his phone. “What’s that?”

“It’s…” He looked up at her as he put the phone to one side. “It’s a climbing job—someone in New York sent it to me in case I was interested. But I’m not,” he said quickly, feeling the need to explain, for some reason.

She met his gaze head on, in that very direct way of hers. “Why not?”

He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Because it’s silly. A job for a twenty-year-old, not someone who should be halfway up the career ladder by now.”

“But you are halfway up the career ladder. And you hate it.”

He grimaced. “It’d be like my dad,” he said quietly. “Taking a short-term job, jumping around all over the place. It’s flighty.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Not if it’s something you love, something that means something to you. Did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah. I guess I did.” It had certainly been better than being stuck in an office, at any rate.

“Well then.” She gave him a small smile and he knew it meant this was the end of the small talk.