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Back I Know What I Saw Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for I Know What I Saw
  3. By the Same Author
  4. Dedication Page
  5. 1
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  54. Now read on for a preview
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  59. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I don’t know what to say to him so in the end I look down at my hands and say nothing. He doesn’t move. The silence swells between us until he speaks again.

‘When?’ he says.

The question catches me. I continue breathing slowly until I have to swallow. ‘Soon. A week, maybe.’

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘And you’re certain?’ he asks quietly. ‘I just can’t believe it, Xander. What happened?’

I have nothing to help him with this. Nothing I can give him can explain it. I loved her. I must have. But I couldn’t live without her. Is that it? Was it that awful?

‘Shit,’ he says, coming to himself. ‘Nina – what do I tell Nina?’

I reach across the table and take his hand. ‘Seb.’

‘You can’t do it, Xander. It’s a coward’s way out.’

I smile as my throat catches more tears. ‘That’s me, Seb. Coward. A bridge. A jump.’

‘No, Xand, that is not you. You’re not a coward. You’ve held this so long now. You’ve suffered, you have, but you can’t just leave. Not now. Not after all this time. When I’ve just got you—’ He breaks off, losing himself in tears.

‘This isn’t a thing to be sad about. You mustn’t be sad about it. I had chances. I had a lot of chances,’ I say. ‘I fucked them all up.’

He shrugs off my hand. He looks at me, his face stained with tears and disbelief. Finally, he gets up and I hear footsteps as he goes upstairs to his bedroom.

I splash some water on to my face in the sink and return to the living room. There’s a small bookcase in an alcove. And when I see the books I remember how I keep meaning to read and yet never seem to manage it. I run a finger along the spines. A few of the titles mean something to me. I pick out a Maupassant and study the cover. Le Nœud de vipères. The Nest of Vipers. Rory gave me this copy.

The Christmas that he gave it to me comes flooding back. We are in the drawing room. I am sixteen and sullen, he is innocent as he always was. The fire is flickering in the fireplace and Dad is sleeping in his favourite chair beside it. I remember the feeling of blackness radiating in waves from me. But there is a whisper of frustration through the hate. And it is love. The love won’t be rinsed away. It won’t leave me and him. It stains us both.

48

Tuesday

It has been three days since I delivered the bag to Blake. I know there’s no longer any spare time.