12. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Catherine
T he kitchen smells amazing though I’d never admit it to Sebastian. He’s humming to himself, chopping herbs with the kind of precision that makes me think he’s secretly auditioning for MasterChef . I sit on a stool at the counter watching him work with a glass of wine in my hand.
“This is a lot of effort for ‘just friends,’” I tease, swirling the wine. “I feel like I should’ve brought flowers or something.”
He glances over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Please. You’d have killed the mood with petrol station flowers.”
“I’d have sprung for supermarket ones,” I say, feigning offence.
“Oh, my mistake. That’s much classier.”
We both laugh, the sound easy and familiar. It’s been like this since I arrived earlier this afternoon, a steady flow of jokes and teasing to paper over the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re spending it together.
But it’s not as carefree as in the past. The truth is the whole “friends with benefits” arrangement we’d half-jokingly agreed on has been in a kind of limbo since I got back to Fellside.
“What are you making?” I ask, leaning forward to inspect the pan on the hob.
“Coq au vin,” he says casually, tossing the herbs into the pan with a flourish. “Don’t act so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say, though I absolutely am. “I just thought it’d be... I don’t know, spaghetti hoops or something.”
Sebastian shakes his head, his smirk widening. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me about the time you burned toast again.”
“That was years ago,” he protests, pointing the wooden spoon at me. “And I’d had three pints. Completely unfair to bring it up now.”
I laugh, and for a moment it feels like we’re just two old friends catching up. And then the thoughts of our night together are back. It’s infuriating that I just can’t let it go.
I set down my glass and pull out my phone as Sebastian plates up dinner, complete with an absurdly perfect garnish.
“I found more background information about George,” I say.
His brow furrows, his fork paused mid-air. “What is it?”
“The charity I contacted sent me more details about what happened to him.”
Sebastian puts his fork down, his full attention on me. “And?”
I take a deep breath. “When George was found behind the lines he was trying to get away from being captured. He fought two soldiers. He kept shouting that he needed to go home. He was... trying to get back to Sally.”
His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “And they thought he was a coward but he was fighting for his love.”
“Sebastian,” I sniffle, “The witnesses said he kept saying her name and just before they shot him, he smiled and said, ‘There you are, my love’.”
Sebastian sits back, exhaling slowly as the weight of my words sinks in. “Bloody hell,” he mutters. “I never thought I could feel so sad for someone else. But it’s killing me that he could never see her again.”
I know what he means. When I read the witness statement the first time I cried for an hour and couldn’t stop. I had to call in sick the next day at work because my eyes were so red I looked like I had conjunctivitis.
“The witness said it was clear he was unwell. He called George insane but we now know that’s not the right word.”
Sebastian rubs a hand over his face, his expression tight. “And they still shot him.”
The silence between us stretches and feels heavy and uncomfortable. I don’t know what else to say. How do you explain something so senseless, so heartbreaking? Finally Sebastian picks up his fork, though he doesn’t take a bite.
“And Sally never knew,” he says quietly. “She never knew that he died to be with her.”
I swallow hard, my throat thick. “That’s why I wanted to talk to her. I think she needs to know the truth.”
Sebastian looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine. “Well, let's finish dinner and then go pay our friend Sally a visit.”
I nod and though I feel a flicker of apprehension at the thought there’s also a sense of certainty. This is something we need to do… for George, for Sally, and maybe even for us.
The attic feels different today. Less scary. It even feels warmer up here Sebastian holds the torch, its beam cutting through the darkness, but even that feels brighter tonight.
“Alright, Sally,” Sebastian says, setting the torch on the mattress next to us. The light wavers as it lands, casting flickering shadows on the far wall. His voice is steady but there’s tension in his shoulders. “We’re back. And we’ve got something to tell you.”
I clutch the bundle of papers on my lap, gripping the edges too tightly. My stomach twists and nervous energy humming through me. Tonight feels... more personal, like visiting friends.
I lower myself to the mattress cross-legged and spread the papers out in front of me: George’s profile, the court martial record, and my notes. They look small and inconsequential against the vastness of this space, but they hold everything we’ve learned and everything Sally needs to know.
My heart is racing. I clear my throat, the sound too loud in the silence, and begin.
“Sally,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “We found out what happened to George. And we think you deserve to know.”
Sebastian sits beside me, his hand resting lightly on his knee and the tension in his face mirroring how I feel. He doesn’t say anything but gives me a small nod, as if to say Go on .
I take a deep breath and gather my courage. “He wasn’t well, Sally. The war broke him. But he never stopped thinking about you. He never stopped loving you.”
The words hang in the air, unanswered, and I glance at Sebastian. He’s watching me with his jaw tight and I know he feels the tension too. I turn back to the papers, my voice growing steadier.
“He wasn’t running away from the fighting when he left the battlefield,” I say, the words catching in my throat. “He was trying to get back to you. You were the one thing keeping him going, the one thing he held onto when everything else fell apart.”
A faint breeze brushes past me which feels too cold to be natural. I shiver and my pulse quickens as I glance around. The attic is silent but the air feels charged like static before a storm.
Sebastian shifts closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “She’s listening,” he whispers.
I nod, my fingers trembling as I reach for the court martial record. “They didn’t understand what he was going through, Sally,” I say, my voice breaking. “They thought he was a deserter but he wasn’t. He was sick. He was hurting. And all he wanted was to come back to you.”
The words echo in the stillness, but there’s no reply. No knocks. No flickers of light. Just the faint sound of my own breathing and the creak of the floorboards as Sebastian shifts beside me.
For a moment I think it’s over. That she isn’t here, or worse that she doesn’t care. But then a sudden, sharp draft of wind sweeps through the attic, rustling the papers and tugging at my hair. I gasp and clutch the bundle to keep it from scattering. Seb’s hand closes over mine.
“Did you feel that?” I whisper, my heart pounding.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning the room. “Yeah I felt it.”
The draft fades as quickly as it came, leaving the attic still and heavy once more. My chest tightens and the weight of unspoken words press down on me. “Sally,” I say softly, almost pleading. “I hope you heard us. I hope... this helps.”
Seb’s hand tightens around mine, his warmth grounding me against the cold. The attic remains silent and I feel a lump forming in my throat. We’ve done everything we can but the uncertainty lingers, gnawing at the edges of my resolve.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. Neither of you did.”
Sebastian doesn’t say anything but his presence beside me is steady, solid. The torch flickers faintly, its beam wavering against the wall, and I wonder if it’s just the batteries or something else.
Finally, Sebastian shifts, his voice low. “Ready to go?”
I nod and carefully gather the papers with slightly trembling hands. I glance back at the spot where we’d been sitting as we stand up, half-expecting to see something… anything. But there’s nothing there. Just shadows and dust.
Seb’s hand brushes mine as we step into the corridor, his touch warm against the lingering chill and I glance up at him. His expression is softer now but the tension hasn’t fully left his face.
“Do you think she heard us?” I ask.
He pauses, his gaze meeting mine. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But if she did I hope it brought her some peace.”
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat as we make our way back down the stairs. It's cold outside but Seb’s hand holding mine is steady and grounding. Whatever comes next I know we’ve done what we can.
And for now that has to be enough.