The Unfinished Garden. Barbara White Claypole
in the arrivals area of Heathrow. Except that the redhead jumping up and down next to him screeching, “Haddy! Over here, you twit!” was Rowena.
With a dang and a thud, Tilly’s luggage cart rear-ended a chrome bollard. How did that happen? One moment she was gripping the metal bar so tightly she thought she might cut off circulation to her fingers, the next all she could think about was escape. She turned, but the door to the customs hall had closed behind her.
“Haddy!” Rowena waved and the bangles and beads on her wrists chinked against each other like gypsy bells. “Haddy!”
Isaac ducked under the barricade and hurtled toward Rowena. “Hey, Rosy-Posy,” he giggled, then launched himself into her arms.
Sebastian lowered his head, but appeared to have no interest in locating his ex-lover. He looked more dazed than intrigued, his expression that of a person who had just woken from a nightmare and was struggling to cobble together his surroundings.
Tilly experienced a sudden plummeting in her gut. Still beautiful, then. Maybe more so. But she hadn’t really expected him to be fat, bald and ruddy. She had always known he would gain substance with age.
“My little man,” Rowena squealed as she twirled Isaac. “I’ve missed you so much! I forbid you from leaving me ever again.”
Isaac disappeared into a kaleidoscope of laughter and color, wrapped in Rowena’s ankle-length skirt and clasped to the turquoise sweater that nipped in at her tiny waist and stretched over her perfect breasts. The sleeves were forced above her elbows in an effort, no doubt, to hide the holes. Secondhand cashmere sweaters—they’re recycled, Haddy!—were Ro’s standard uniform and she was loyal to the last thread. Even on toasty summer days she complained of being fucking freezing. But then Rowena, a landowner infamous for serving marijuana with her shooting lunches, had always lived outside the lines. Being with Rowena was like jettisoning yourself through a bubble wand and not knowing when you would burst back into reality.
Being with Sebastian, however, was to stay firmly on the ground, to do one’s duty. Tilly’s stomach lurched as if she were still on the plane and riding out a patch of turbulence. He certainly had the air of someone who crafted his appearance with care. The cuffs of his pale blue shirt—linen, had to be, since it crumpled in all the right places—were folded back to reveal a heavy metal watch worn, as the battered Timex had been, with the face on the inside of his wrist so that he alone could read it.
“Haddy!” The familiarity of Rowena engulfed Tilly: the smell of satsuma soap, the softness of cashmere, the thick curtain of coarse hair. “It seems like only yesterday I was waving you off at Christmas and crying buckets.” Rowena drew back. “But you look horribly pale. Are you eating properly? Sleeping? And why don’t you answer my emails, you lazy old cow? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Missed you, too,” Tilly said. “Now tell me what he’s doing here.” She nodded backward.
“Be nice,” Rowena whispered. “Sebastian’s had a rough week.”
“But—”
“Poppet! How you’ve grown since Christmas.” Rowena ran a hand from the top of Isaac’s head to below her collarbone. “You’re only a head shorter than me now.”
Tilly inhaled sharply and spun around, glaring at Sebastian. You first.
Gradually, his face transformed into his lopsided smile. He pushed off the pillar and sauntered over, hands still buried in his pockets.
An announcement drifted through the Tannoy system. Rowena teased Isaac as she foraged in her carpetbag, and Isaac spoke in his knock-knock joke voice. But Tilly couldn’t decipher words. All she heard was noise, distorted by the thumping of her heart. Thump. Sebastian took another step—thump—and another step. Thump.
Finally, he stopped in front of her. Was his heart running a marathon, too? He hesitated—oh crap, was he thinking about a kiss?—and his grin spread. Bugger, he knows what I look like naked. A plastic bag rustled and Isaac shrieked with glee, but Tilly didn’t turn. If hell were tailored to fit, she was roasting in it, cooked to a mush before the man she had never wanted to see again.
“Hello,” Sebastian said.
“Hey,” Tilly replied with a deep breath.
He smelled of privilege, of dinner parties with port, cognac and cigars. Did he used to wear aftershave? She couldn’t remember. In ten years Sebastian had navigated a life she knew nothing of and returned a stranger. Did he like a cocktail before dinner? She had no clue. Could he still lose a Saturday to watching cricket on the television, curtains drawn against the sun? How would she know? A decade of silence lay between them, and in an instant he became blank.
“Awesome! The new Dr. X! Look, Mom. Look what Ro gave me!” Isaac tugged on her cardigan. “You can turn him upside down and all the green stuff in his tummy sloshes around. Thanks, Ro! You’re the best! Now I can have a huge battle with Action Man and—” Isaac dropped his voice “—the evil Dr. X. We did pack Action Man, right, Mom?”
“Right.” Tilly swallowed. “Isaac, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Sebastian, an old friend of mine.” Ex-friend.
“How come I’ve never met you?” Isaac zoomed Dr. X through the air.
Way to go, Angel Bug. You tell him.
“Your mother and I lost touch a while ago.” Sebastian’s smile wavered. “My fault, I suspect.”
Was he goading her? Tilly yanked down on her rumpled T-shirt.
“I see you’re a fan of Action Man,” Sebastian continued. “So’s Archie, my son. I think he has the largest collection of Action Man in the world, including the museum pieces I used to play with. Would you like to come over one weekend and meet him?”
“Yes, please!” Isaac’s face glowed with ecstasy. “Does he live in Bramwell Chase?”
“Sort of,” Sebastian said. His eyes narrowed slightly, not so anyone would notice, but Tilly had always gauged his mood from his eyes. So not a stranger, which should put her at ease, right? Wrong. She felt like a lump of leftover pudding, unsure of where to put her hands, her eyes, and—sod it. Her stomach churned again.
Rowena locked her arm through Sebastian’s and gave him a supportive nod, a we’re-in-this-together gesture. Wait…when did they become friends? Tilly had always been the fulcrum of their threesome. It was fact, as undeniable as chrysanthemums blooming in fall. Rowena and Sebastian had tolerated each other through high school, vying for Tilly’s attention until she coerced them into a truce, but that was it. And now Rowena was renting Manor Farm to Sebastian. Had they become buddies when Tilly wasn’t looking? And if so, why hadn’t her oldest, dearest, best-est friend told her?
“Archie’s at boarding school,” Rowena was talking to Isaac. “Where they lock you up and throw away the key.” She affected an evil laugh. “But he has an exeat coming up. That means he gets to escape for the weekend. And we’re not far off the summer hols now.”
Isaac’s eyes grew wide. “Sleep-away school? Jeez-um. He must be tons older than me.”
Sebastian disentangled his arm from Rowena’s. “I think you’re the same age. Am I correct?” he asked no one in particular.
“Exactly the same age.” Tilly arched her back. Slam-dunk, tosspot.
Sebastian plucked at the back of his gold signet ring. Yup, she could still push his buttons. More flip-flopping in her stomach. Why couldn’t he have stayed a stranger?
“I’ve never seen your hair so short.” Sebastian spoke to Tilly as if he were making an accusation. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
Yes, but I recognized you. Tilly crossed her arms. I’d recognize you anywhere.
“It’s fab, isn’t it?” Rowena glanced from Tilly to Sebastian and back again. “You look like a cross between Joan of Arc and a woodland sprite.”