Chapter 25
“Seb, can we talk?”
I had headed him off on his way to the kitchen to get himself his first hit of instant caffeine for the day.
He was looking dapper in his fitted black jumper and slim-legged jeans. He was spending the day catching up on paperwork, no meetings with clients, so was adopting a rather more casual style, embracing the ethos of “dress down Friday”.
I doubted whether I was looking quite so stylish. I had barely slept the night before, and probably had eyebags big enough to serve as luggage for a family of four on a package holiday to the sun.
Worried how my conversation with him would pan out, I had counted sheep until the early hours. It was 5 a.m. before I finally nodded off.
But now the time was here, and I was keen to get things off my chest. It needed to be done. I was going to rip the plaster off quick; the wound would get exposed, but then the healing could begin.
He looked at me a little quizzically, probably wondering why I looked so serious for 9 a.m. on a Friday morning.
“Of course we can talk. Just give me two mins and I’ll make us both a cuppa to have in my office.”
I felt the nerves return, swirling around in my stomach like a toxic soup of adrenaline and Alka Seltzer. It was the knowledge that what I was going to tell him was going to hurt.
At one time I could have told him anything. In fact, I often did. Apart from Lottie and my son, there was no one in the world who knew me better than Seb. All my embarrassing foibles and details that would never be privy to public knowledge he knew. It was the same with him. I understood his strengths and recognised his weaknesses.
For instance, I knew that he had a faint scar on the side of his thumb that he had got from cutting himself with a steak knife when he was eight years old. He had been trying to retrieve an unripe conker from a horse chestnut, too impatient to wait for nature to take its course and open when ready.
I knew he had told his schoolmates that the class bully had bitten him and that’s how he had sustained the injury. He had then refused to give away his prize conker – a “sixer” – to the teeny tyrant who had wanted it for himself. He had earned the respect of his peers that afternoon. But now, some forty odd years later, he still felt guilty for telling that fib, especially in the cold weather when even now his scar would itch. Seb was the most honest, truthful person I had ever known. So unlike his current girlfriend.
I was also one of only a few people who was aware of his inexplicable fear of baby lambs, the cutest of all God’s creatures. He was fine with slimy crawly things and sharp-toothed rodents, but a gambolling lamb with an adorable bleat was enough to send him running screaming for the hills. The only way he appreciated lamb was in a nice big dollop of shepherd’s pie.
That was the thing with a friendship that had spanned so long: it had history and depth of feelings. But the sad truth was that we hadn’t been as close for quite a while now. The easiness between us was just no longer there. I missed it. I missed my friend. But I had something important to do, even if that inevitably meant I wasn’t just going to miss my friend, but lose him entirely.
Once inside the smart confines of his office, with its polished wood and neat bookshelves, I took a deep breath ready to get everything off my chest.
“Seb, I want to talk to you about Jo…”
At that very moment Jocasta burst into the room, all bouncy and chipper and dressed like she was off night-clubbing at barely 9.30 in the morning.
She was wearing less make-up for once though, and she looked better for it. However, if she felt she needed a bit more slap, I would be more than happy to give her a nice sharp one around the chops.
“Oh, sorry, Lila, I didn’t know you were in here. I just need to borrow Seb for a minute.”
I fixed my gaze on her. Her eyes held a warning in them, as if to say, “Watch your step, bitch.”
She’d known I had been in here with Seb. Of that I had no doubt. She would have seen see us walk together from the kitchen. She was worried about what I was going to say. And she had good reason to be.
“Sorry, Jo.”
Seb gestured to his steaming mug.
“It’ll have to wait, I’ve just made Lila and me a coffee. Give me ten minutes and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”
Her face took on a sour note, as if she might actually stamp her foot in frustration. However, clearly thinking better of it, her voice took on an irritating whiny pleading edge that was even worse than her normal breathy tone or occasional high-pitched squeak.
“But Sebby, sweetheart, you said you would have a quick look at my catalogue and help me decide what colour dress to choose. You haven’t forgotten, have you? If I leave it too long, they might have sold out.”
It was clear from his expression that he had indeed forgotten and couldn’t give a flying toss about what colour dress she chose. Seb was colour blind; he was the worst possible person to assist in matters relating to colour palettes and fashion.
His voice was pleasant but firm.
“I’m sure another ten minutes won’t matter, Jo. Then I’ll be with you.”
Her smile was as tight as her pencil skirt as she turned on her heel and tottered out of the office, not before shooting me another warning glance that I returned with a grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame.
Seb blew on his coffee before taking a large gulp.
“So, come on, Lila, what do you need to tell me that’s so important? Don’t keep me in suspense.”