Page 79 of Mirrors of the Past

‘Only we were at the same place, like, over a century later.’

‘Stop splitting hairs. You know what I mean.’

‘Do I?’ asked Ryan. But he thought he did and his heart began to pound. He was looking in her eyes, and, he realised, they were leaning across the table, very close to one another. ‘Do you — want to explain what I think you mean.’

‘Not really.’

‘Are we supposed to be calling a truce?’

‘I thought we’d done that.’

‘So what do we do next?’ Ryan couldn’t understand the feelings she was stirring up in him. This was Tegan! His nemesis, the girl he’d disliked so intently at Glasgow that they could barely tolerate the other person breathing the same air.

‘Do we — wait and see what happens?’

‘That’s one way to approach it.’

They stared at one another for a moment more. Then they both jumped as Tegan’s phone rang.

‘Shit.’ She looked at her bag and pulled her phone out. ‘Hello? Oh! Coren. Hi. Yeah, yeah. It’s gone well. Thanks for checking in — Ianthe sorted the invoice when I was there. Yeah, the evergreens — I agreed that. Is that okay? I know you said I had authority to do whatever was best . . . fantastic . . . thanks . . . oh, brilliant . . .’

Ryan sat back in his seat. The moment, whatever that moment had been or whatever it had been leading up to, was lost.

Ah, well.

He looked at the half-drunk coffee in front of him. There was one lone marshmallow wallowing in the murky liquid, bobbing and turning to and fro. Thank God she’d got that call, actually, because he was sure his next comment was going to be something stupid, like, “do you want another marshmallow?” Good grief, he was useless. He knew in his heart what he wanted to do — and, yes, what those ghosts were actually trying to tell him. But he wanted to choose his moment. And a knee-jerk reaction to a weird, freaky, old-fashioned-Christmas-fair experience was, he considered, not the best time to blurt it all out — to blurt out what he really wanted to say.

What exactly are you waiting for?came a stern, frustrated voice. What is it, man?

Christmas, he told the voice silently. I think I’m waiting for Christmas.

Tegan ended the call and tapped around on her phone for a moment. Ryan wondered whether she was playing for time and transferred his attention to the marshmallow, which was slowly sinking into the coffee. It was better than staring at her, and he absolutely knew he was staring at her . . .

‘Well now.’ She looked up at him and held her phone up. ‘Angelo messaged back.’ Her face was pale, but her eyes sparked a little with anger or frustration — he couldn’t really tell.

‘What? Boyfriend Angelo?’

He’d almost forgotten she had a boyfriend.

‘Yeah.’ She shrugged. ‘So — here it is. Remember I was saying we needed to confirm when he was coming over? I asked him again when he thought he could make it. Reckons he can’t get over here in January either. First he says he can’t make Christmas, then he says he’ll come after New Year. Now he thinks February or March might be more affordable.’

‘Ah.’ Ryan didn’t really know what to say. ‘Might it be possible for you to go over there? I’m sure you’ll get some holiday entitlement after we’ve finished the midwinter exhibition.’

‘Yeah.’ She stared at her phone again, then laid it down, perfectly square in front of her. ‘I could. I guess.’

Ryan didn’t answer. If she wanted to go, nobody was going to stop her.

‘But we could be busy after Christmas, couldn’t we? I mean — me and you.’ She held his gaze, with huge green eyes he could almost — almost — drown in, if he stared too long into them. ‘Easter. Stuff like that to plan. We’re sort of vital people. Like — a network.’

Ryan nodded, then opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Then scowled.

‘What?’ Tegan scowled back at him, then said in a quiet, clipped, snappy tone, ‘Has this been too horrendous for you? Don’t you think we’d be able to do it again?’

‘No! No, I mean, it’s been great. It’s just . . .’ His voice trailed off.

‘Just what?’

‘Just . . . I don’t know if I’ll be staying on, is all.’ He forced himself to look at her. ‘I applied for a job. At Glasgow. Working with Art Deco things and researching the Glasgow Boys in a new gallery that’s opening. And we’ll be including the Glasgow Girls of course. Don’t want to leave them out.’