Page 46 of One Last Gift

Sheila took them through a second door and held her arms out to encompass the room. Sam had to admit, it was pretty impressive for a youth center. It looked like some kind of indoor sporting center, though obviously on a mini scale. There was a big indoor basketball hoop; a kid was there, already shooting hoops. A trampoline in the corner, with some kind of hanging contraption that presumably meant you could do flips or whatever; those gym ropes you get that are way harder than they look. And a bouldering wall.

An image of Tom, falling off rocks much bigger than the brightly colored fake ones, slammed into Sam’s mind. He took a breath, forced it back. Sheila and Toby were walking away now, Sheila still explaining how it all worked here, and Sam rocked back on his heels, scanning the room. There was a kid climbing the bouldering wall; he stopped about halfway up, face pale, arms shaking a little. A skinny boy, midteens maybe, with slightly greasy black hair. Sam hesitated, then crossed to him.

“You need to use your legs a bit more,” he said. “They’re stronger than your arms.”

He had a flash, then, of Tom saying almost exactly the same thing when Sam had first gone bouldering with him, Claire driving them to the center and waiting around for them to finish. Tom had been a few times already and loved it, but Sam had been nervous, he remembered. They must have been about eleven, something like that, and Sam remembered the feel of his arms shaking at the top of the wall. He’d glanced down, and the ground had seemed a lot farther away than he’d expected.

Tom was next to him, hair flopping into his eyes as he grinned. “Fun, right?” No hint of fear there, as he hung off the wall.

“Yeah.” Sam thought he’d done a good job at keeping the shake out of his voice, but Tom cocked his head, noticing something. Sam glanced down again and swallowed.

“Noooo,” Tom said, his voice still playful. “Don’t look down.” He paused, considering. “Though it doesn’t matter anyway. They have mats and the ground isn’t that far. Look.” And with that, he literally launched himself backward off the wall, landing on the thick blue mat with a thump, laughing.

Sam let out a bark of laughter too, hesitated, then, heart thumping, copied Tom. He landed right next to him and Tom whooped, and then they were both laughing in that way you did when you were kids and couldn’t stop. By the end of the session, Sam had forgotten about being scared, had gone home to his mum and declared he was going to do climbing for a living, to which she’d made supportive noises as she’d made fish fingers and chips.

Back in the present, the boy on the wall was glaring down at him, saying nothing. He could read it, though, the tension in his body. Could remember, dimly, the feeling of those nerves.

Sam shrugged, kept his voice easy, casual. No big deal. “I’d relax your grip a little. If it’s only your fingertips keeping you on, then you’re in trouble.” It was something both he and Tom had been told once, on a week-long climbing holiday that his mum had saved up for for ages. He got a scowl at his suggestion, but the boy kept climbing, and did seem to be taking Sam’s comments on board as he reached the top of the wall. Then, without saying anything or showing any sign of being pleased that he’d made it to the top, the boy started his descent, slow, careful. Coming down wasn’t always easier than going up, Sam knew. Around halfway down, the kid looked down at the floor, and frowned. “Hey,” Sam said, pushing off the wall he was leaning against. “It’s OK, just keep going.”

The kid shot Sam a suspicious look, but did keep going, right down to the bottom. “Nice work.”

The kid gave him another suspicious look, but this time, it looked like he was trying not to break out into a smile. “It’s the first time I’ve made it all the way up and down again,” he said, his voice softer than Sam had imagined it would be.

Sam slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah.”

Toby came up behind him, clapped him on shoulder. “You ready?”

Sam saw the boy slink off at the same time as Sheila came up to join them. “That’s Liam,” she said, watching the boy leave. “He doesn’t talk to many people.” She gave Sam a questioning look, and he shrugged.

When they got to the reception area, Sheila slipped a leaflet off the desk and handed it to Toby. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to get it into the article, but we’re hiring at the moment.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Toby said, with the confidence of someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.

“You’re hiring?” Sam asked.

Sheila gave him a measured look. “Yes.” She handed a second leaflet to him, and he took it automatically. What must it be like, working somewhere like this? “It pays a pittance, obviously, and it’s part time, but, well, if you know anyone, tell them to give us a shout.”

Both Toby and Sam assured her they would, and Sheila showed them out, Toby making a big deal of thanking her profusely. Sam found himself looking at the leaflet again as they walked away from the youth center and toward some sort of bar that Toby wanted to try out. It was insane. Totally ridiculous to consider it. But there was a small part of him that felt almost hopeful at the idea of it. At the idea of trying something just a little bit different. And that hope made him think that maybe—just maybe—there might be a way out of this hole for him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cassie stepped into Linda’s pub, feeling that familiar tug of nostalgic love as she took in the wooden bar, the beams, the fireplace, now cold in the corner. She tried not to think about the last time she was here, nearly four months ago. The memory of Tom’s funeral resurfaced despite herself, and she took a breath, allowing the grief to wash through her.

This time, though, she wasn’t here to mourn him—she was here so that she could collect Linda, as he’d wanted her to, and so that they could find the next clue. Wales. Across the border, to the west. She’d figured it out—Tom was sending her to Wales.

Linda came running out of the door to the kitchen, red-and-white tea towel tucked into the top of her jeans. “Oh, Cassie love!” She rushed toward her, enveloping her in a big hug, and Cassie breathed in that familiar smell of coffee. “It’s been too long.” She stepped back, holding Cassie at arm’s length and giving her a shrewd look up and down. “You look thin. Are you eating properly?”

Cassie gave Linda’s arm a squeeze. “I’m fine,” she said. “How is everything here, then?”

“Oh, it’s good, it’s good—and it’s because of you that I’m still here, still able to do this.” She brought Cassie into another hug, and while Cassie hugged her back, she couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t really because of her that the pub was still here, but rather because of their mystery donor.

A woman with brown hair streaked with blond highlights stepped out of the kitchen at that moment, wearing smart black trousers and a checked blue-and-black shirt. “Linda, we’ve still got some of those chocolate mousse pots left, so is it all right if I put them on as a special at dinner?”

Linda flapped a hand. “Fine, fine. Now, come and meet Cassie.” Cassie smiled at the woman, who held out her hand as she approached.

“I’m Katie.”