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‘You didn’t cause it,’ Ella said. ‘He was looking to hurt people and you were the weapon he found to hand, but if it hadn’t been you, there would have been something else. You should have been able to trust him, and you have nothing to apologise for.’
‘No, I do.’ Prue swallowed. ‘I wrote the letters. The one you came here about, Jem, the one that made you lose your job. I wrote them to all of you. I had been putting away Joe’s things—my son, who died—and I was so angry and I wanted to hurt someone. I wanted everyone to feel as I did, as if the past wouldn’t ever let go. I’m so sorry.’
‘I’m not,’ Nicky said. ‘If you spurred Jem into action, I think all of us owe you as well as him a debt of gratitude. I have been mired in the past for a decade. I should like to experiment with a future, if I am to be permitted one.’
‘So should I,’ Jem said. ‘I mean, a future for me. I need to pick myself up. Find better work. Settle to something instead of settling for nothing.’
‘I should be very pleased to help with any aspect of that,’ Nicky said. ‘If you wished, of course.’ He handed Jem a plate of toasted cheese as he spoke, and their eyes met.
‘I—Yes. I mean, yes, I’d appreciate that. If you’d like.’ Jem clamped his mouth shut and concentrated furiously on his plate.
‘I had a letter from Miss Keele,’ Prue said, to his relief. ‘She thinks I should come and speak to her.’
‘Will you?’
‘I think I might. What about you, Ella? And Aaron?’
The two exchanged glances. Aaron coughed. ‘I don’t know.’
‘We’ll see,’ Ella said. ‘I suppose we’ll all see.’
Jem looked between them, once seven, now five. Ten years older, endlessly wearier, but with that same quiver between them he remembered from the golden days. It was the sensation of potential, possibility, things going to happen. Toby had always been bursting with it. Jem had believed it had died with him.
He raised his plate high in the air. Nicky gave him a quizzical look. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? A toast.’
Aaron gave a deep bark of laughter. Nicky said, ‘MyGod, Jeremy.’
Prue raised her own slice, molten cheese slipping dangerously sideways. ‘A toast. To what?’
‘Absent friends. Forgiveness. What happens next.’
Nicky, Aaron, and Ella raised their mugs. ‘What happens next,’ Ella said. ‘Yes. I’ll drink to that.’
THE END
