Page 79 of Book People

‘I know that, but think of the logistics of people going out and coming in.’

Temper flashes in her eyes. ‘I don’t care about the logistics. This is in aid of Portable Magic too, you promised. And after all, I was the one who brought her here.’

‘Yes. But formygreat-grandfather’s letters.’

My voice has risen and, if it rises any more, Lisa is going to know we’re having an argument about her, which will be desperately uncomfortable for all concerned.

‘They’re notyourgreat-grandfather’s letters,’ Kate shouts back. ‘Not all of them, at least. Some of them are my great-grandmother’s too.’

I feel bizarrely enraged and I don’t know why. I don’t even know why we’re arguing, because this is a ridiculous thing to argue about.

No. Actually, Idoknow why we’re arguing and it’s got nothing to do with where Lisa signs her books. It’s about the expression I saw in Kate’s eyes just before, when Lisa asked if we were together. She didn’t like me saying it was casual. She looked . . . unhappy. And the reason I’m angry now is that I care about her feelings. It matters to me if she’s unhappy. It matters if she’s sad. It matters if some pathetic waste of space, who has the gall to call himself a man, hurts her.

She told me about said pathetic waste of space, she trusted me with her feelings, and it matters. Her feelings matter. They’re important and I . . . I don’t like it. I don’t want to care about them. Because once you start to care, you’re fucked.

Caring is difficult and painful, and sometimes it feels pointless, because caring doesn’t change things. It doesn’t make cancer disappear or cure alcoholism, or make people stay when you want them. It only makes everything hurt more.

Not caring is so much easier, so much simpler.

I’m angry that I’ve lost that.

Kate stands in front of me, grey eyes flashing, her chin jutting out in that stubborn way I’ve come to recognise. She’s sobeautiful, so free and honest with her emotions, while I’m the opposite.

I want to go cold. Freeze my anger. Lock it down. Find my way back to the man I was before she wrecked me, but that’s impossible now. She’s worked her way under my defences like a sapper under a castle wall, and I’m not sure how I can get her back out again.

All I can think is how strong she is. How brave. That bastard she was with tried to beat her down and yet here she is, standing in front of me, arguing with me. No fear, not a scrap. She’s amazing.

‘This is a stupid thing to argue about,’ I say flatly. ‘Lisa can sign wherever she wants, but what I want to know is why you went quiet when she asked if we were together.’

Her mouth opens. Shuts. Then she glances away and is silent so long I think she’s not going to answer. Then she says, ‘You said “no”. Then you said “casually”.’

I wasn’t wrong, then. I don’t know whether to be pleased I was right or annoyed about it.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s what we agreed on.’

She bites her lip, keeps her gaze turned away. ‘We did, that’s true.’

‘I can hear a “but”.’

She sighs and finally looks at me. ‘It’s fine, forget I said anything.’

‘I have read that when a woman says it’s fine, you’re on the point of being decapitated.’

The anger fades from her eyes as quickly as it appeared and she gives me that little quirk of her mouth that I know is a reluctant half-smile. The kind where she doesn’t actually want to smile, but she can’t help herself.

I’m addicted to that smile.

‘Close,’ she says. ‘But I don’t think we’re at decapitation yet. A light strangling maybe.’

‘Kathryn,’ I say, indulging myself with her full name. ‘Is it fine? Is it really?’

‘Do you care?’ she asks, half-joking.

‘Yes.’ I don’t smile. This is serious. ‘I’m not another Jasper. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not what this is supposed to be about.’ I reach for her hand and pull her close and she doesn’t resist. ‘Was there something wrong with casual?’

She looks up at me and there is painful honesty in her expression. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Nothing. That’s what we agreed on, and that’s what I want. I’m not ready for anything more.’

This is exactly what I want to hear and yet the words scrape over my skin like steel wool, and I don’t know why. Casual is fine for me too. Seeing someone in the village is new for me. Seeing anyone more than once or twice is, frankly, new for me. And I don’t want to promise her anything I may not end up being able to give.

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