The Unfinished Garden (7 page)

Chapter 8

Tilly spotted him the moment the electronic doors
jolted open. At least she thought she did. It could also be a mirage, brought on
by lack of sleep and cheap gin—the airline had cut the Bombay Sapphire. It
couldn’t be Sebastian—one foot resting on the pillar behind him, head rolled
back, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his white jeans, suede jacket slung
through one arm. Not at 8:00 a.m. 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.” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, we have so much to catch up on.
Just like old times. And Isaac, I’m depending on you to help out tons with the
pheasant poults.”

Tilly ignored Rowena and spoke to Sebastian. “My hair got in
the way when I gardened. So I hacked it off with the kitchen scissors.”

“Kitchen scissors?” His tone was light, but his face gave
nothing away. “Makes you look younger.” And how would he know? He hadn’t seen
her in ten years. He grasped the metal bar of the cart, pushed forward with his
flat stomach, and walked off with her luggage. Ever the gentleman. Still, he
could have asked first. Then she could have said no.

Rowena and Isaac skipped after Sebastian, swinging their
clasped hands, gabbing away as if they hadn’t seen each other in six years, not
six months. Rowena stopped to smack a kiss on Isaac’s cheek, and they both
erupted into laughter.

Tilly watched her little band with a sigh. Who was she kidding?
Hating was such hard work, and she didn’t hate Sebastian. Well, maybe only a
smidgen. And yes, she could fault his radio silence, but history stood in
Sebastian’s favor. He had loved her, protected her, desired her when she had
believed no one could, and she had thrown the relationship away not once, but
three times. Technically, two and a half. Seemed he had every right to deny her
his friendship. But if he and Rowena had palled up, Tilly would have to let him
back into her life. The question, though, was how much.

She watched the back of Sebastian’s head as he walked away. His
hair, darkened to dirty-blond, was cut close to his scalp and gelled into
non-rebellious spikes. It was a banker’s haircut: sculpted, immaculate,
expensive. And, unfortunately, it suited him, too.

* * *

Tilly and Isaac were trapped in Rowena’s Discovery on a
seat spackled with dried mud and imbued with the stench of wet Labrador. Bob
Marley blasted into the back of the car as they hurtled around the M25, a loop
of a racetrack with few signs and no billboards. A highway that skirted a
capital city yet advertised nothing; a highway that didn’t distract you with the
lure of shopping or the promise of a fun family getaway. A highway that aimed to
get you from point A to point B at warp speed. At least, that seemed to be
Rowena’s interpretation.

If David had been in Sebastian’s seat, he would have insisted
Rowena pull over so they could swap. But Sebastian appeared as unruffled by
Rowena’s high-speed lane weaving as he was by his reunion with a girl he’d
sweet-talked out of her virginity. When the speedometer passed ninety, he turned
away and stared out of the window.

“For gawd’s sake, what does the plonker think he’s doing?”
Rowena accelerated up to the bumper of a French truck and blasted the horn. “Get
out of the fucking lane, wanker!”

“Ro—” Tilly jerked forward and kicked the back of the driver’s
seat.

“Fuck. Sorry,” Rowena said. Tilly kicked the seat again.

“Mom, what does fuc—”

“It’s an outlaw word,” Tilly raised her voice. “You are never
to use it. Understand?”

Isaac shriveled into the seat.
Tilly, you
loathsome
toad of a parent.
She never turned to Isaac in
anger, never, and being trapped in this sweltering car with Sebastian, shackled
in her own private hell, was no excuse for nipping at her son like a snapping
turtle.

“It’s a bad word, Angel Bug.” Tilly grabbed Isaac’s hand and
squeezed. “Or rather a word people see as bad. Which means that most people find
it offensive. Which is why you shouldn’t use it. Right, Ro?”

“Absolutely, dear heart. Ab-so-lutely. Always listen to Mummy.
Never bad, foul-mouthed Aunty Ro.” Rowena gave her right hand a playful
slap.

“But—” Isaac glanced at Sebastian, as if checking for his
reaction. “What does it mean?”

“This I’ve got to hear,” Rowena muttered, and turned down Bob
Marley.

“It’s an ugly word for sex.” Tilly’s cheeks flamed, which was
ridiculous. She and Rowena had spent half of their childhoods scouring
National Geographic
for pictures of naked tribesmen,
the other half searching Lady Roxton’s romance novels for sex scenes. And
Sebastian had known Tilly’s teenage body better than she had. So why did she
feel as if she were swirling down a whirlpool instead of bobbing along in the
slipstream of her past?

Isaac curled up his lips. “Are we going to have another
conversation about your sperm, Mom?”

Rowena brayed with laughter that sounded like whooping cough
shot through the nose, and the Discovery swerved.

“Let’s make this a private conversation,” Tilly said.

Isaac grinned; he loved mother-son secrets.

Then Sebastian giggled. How could she hear that giggle and not
let her attitude toward him thaw? She imagined the expression that accompanied
the giggle: eyes sunk into creases of laughter, nose puckered up, lips stretched
back to reveal the sexy gap between his front teeth. This was the Sebastian
she’d fallen in love with—the boy who chased kites across the moors, or sat
cross-legged on Tilly’s window seat holding his cigarette out of her bedroom
window and laughing at who knew what. But that was before his father left and
Sebastian prepared for a life of responsibility, before he grew old with worry
for his mother, for his grandmother, even for Tilly. And that was the beginning
of the end, because the more Sebastian coddled her, the farther she ran.