Chapter Fifty-three
Two days later, Leonie calls with an update.
I’ve just cleaned up after a small workshop, Christmas Berries and Miniature Berry Trees. When her call comes through I pause just inside the entrance and perch on a crate.
“Tell me, any news?”
“Evan gathered all the partners Monday afternoon,” Leonie says.
“Monday?” That was just after our phone call. “He’s quick. Did they have a community dinner?”
“No, no. He didn’t wait for dinner. Didn’t wait to discuss it with Haneen, either, and he runs everything by Haneen normally. He just sent Wyn and Rhian to round everyone up for an urgent meeting. They hurried into the ballroom with various shades of worried.” Her voice sounds like she’s smiling.
“I was dying to tell them, but it was Evan’s place, not mine.
Anyway, he didn’t waste time on preambles.
Just explained why the legal ban on drawing an income didn’t apply to you, then told them they could each have a small loan from the Hope Gardens fund.
You should have seen it, Evie. The relief went round the group like a Mexican wave. ”
My own Mexican wave of pleasure washes into my heart and around my body. It’s the first real pleasure I’ve felt since leaving the Kendric Park community. The same community that helped me so much when I needed them. I’d agonised about how I was ever going to pay them back.
And Osian promised me there would come a time when I could help them.
“Except Osian.”
I’m so far away in my own thoughts, it takes me a couple of seconds to realise she’d spoken.
“Except Osian, what?” I ask.
“He wasn’t happy. He actually interrogated Evan about whether you really offered or if you’d been leaned on.”
“Leaned on?” How could he suspect such a thing? “No one leaned on me. I hope you told him. You heard me.” Thank God I had the foresight to insist Leonie witnessed the conversation.
“We did. But then he started questioning if you knew how much money you were donating. He kept saying that you shouldn’t be allowed to do this.”
I don’t know how to feel about this. “Is he being protective or just overly righteous?”
“I think he was worried you acted in haste and hadn’t really thought about it. He said you should have a cooling-off period. I had to tell him that it was your idea and that you called me back three days after you heard the news.”
I get off the crate, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Evan had to assure him that it’s a loan and that he was sending you receipts for everything.
And yesterday I saw him arguing with Haneen.
Couldn’t hear what they were saying but it looked like he was trying to convince her of something.
” She stops and swallows something. “Sorry, we’ve been so busy it’s the first moment I’ve had to sit and have a coffee.
Anyway, I think we underestimated Osian.
When he gets into his stubborn streak, he’s unshakable. ”
Unshakable. Don’t I know it?
What is he thinking?
On the drive home, via Morrisons, even walking down various aisles choosing food that costs less, the question nags me. If only I hadn’t blocked his emails.
Before I know what I’m doing, my phone is in my hand scrolling through. But I’d done a good job protecting myself from just such an impulse. The password to my locked folder can’t be accessed except from my laptop.
Annoyed, I drop the phone back into my bag and instead direct my frustration at Osian. Why is he trying to argue about my finances? He thinks he’s protecting me from a knee-jerk reaction, does he? A misguided need to help? As if he knows me better than I know myself. The way a best friend does.
It is that phrase, best friend, that always tortures me.
It also helps ease the pain of missing him because whenever I think about it, I channel all my heartache into anger. How dare he question my actions?
I know I’m being unfair, but I’m not in the mood to be fair. Anger is much easier.
I hug my anger to my heart all through driving home and pulling over in front of my little cottage.
Even some random Land Rover parked on the other side of the road, similar to Osian’s car, only fuels my anger.
I hate that I still miss him and I hate that everything reminds me of him.
And for God’s sake why did he have to email me and say things like “You’re my best friend”, and “You’re my journal”? Talk about twisting the knife.
I climb out of my car, slam the door too hard and turn toward my front door.
To find Osian himself.
He’d been sitting on the small, upturned terracotta pot behind the hedge, which is why I didn’t see him when I drove up.
My first words come from the angry place, the protective shield I keep between me and my feelings.
“Hiding behind the hedge like a stalker?”
“I’ve been here since one o’clock.” His voice is calm and tightly controlled. Just like the rest of him. “What was I supposed to do, stand by the door for hours?”
“No, you were supposed to be in Wales.”
He just looks at me, face unreadable. Why is he here?
“Evan had no right to give you my address.”
“He didn’t.”
“The Tylwyth Teg told you?” I’ve been reading about the fairy folk. Since leaving Wales, I’ve kept up a secret habit of reading about it. A little bittersweet hobby.
His lips quiver. “Glad to see you still remember some of the Welsh. I thought you tossed it over your shoulder along with the rest of us you no longer needed.”
His words cut me, so my answer is more than a little crisp. “Not very effectively, since you followed me here?”
“Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to stay on the doorstep?” Despite the semi-joking words, there’s a hint of suppressed anger in the way he stares at me.
“Oh no, please come in.” I turn my key in the lock and open the door. “I’d hate for you to interrogate me about my financial decision out in the street. Much better to bollock me in my own home.”
“This is not your home.” He follows me inside and looks around. “You have a wonderful home which you abandoned.”