Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

T he next day, Kiera found herself at Seymour’s flat, waiting to be let in. She hadn’t called in advance, because she didn’t have any idea what she could possibly say. But she knew she owed some kind of explanation. She hoped that seeing Seymour in person would help.

Seymour’s eyes opened wide when she saw Kiera. “Hi,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d see you.”

“No,” said Kiera, “and I’m sorry about that. It really had nothing to do with you, at all.”

“Oh,” said Seymour, her eyes slightly red. Had she been crying?

“I mean, I didn’t run away from you. I just had to go and deal with something.”

“But you did run away, though. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Kiera, looking at her shoes. “Can we go for a walk?”

“I guess,” said Seymour, vanishing briefly to grab a thin jacket. “Let’s go. But you need to talk to me. To tell me what happened. ”

“Yes, you’re right.”

They strolled down Station Road, passing vast numbers of Edwardian terraced houses, each one slightly different, in spite of their original uniformity. Kiera tried to tell the story as best she could, hampered by the fatigue she could now feel hitting her. When they reached Kings Heath Park she was still talking, and Seymour hadn’t said a word.

“So,” said Seymour, slowly, when at last Kiera paused, “you ran out on me because your ex-wife who dumped you, divorced you and stole your savings rang you needing to be rescued from a cult?”

It didn’t sound great when put like that.

“And you want to be with her now?”

“No,” said Kiera, “I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re saying she wants to be with you?”

“I don’t know. She’s a mess right now. She’s been through this utterly traumatic experience and lost everything and she needs someone. I don’t mean a girlfriend or a wife, but someone.” They stopped in front of a bench which looked out over the duck pond. Kiera sat down. Seymour didn’t.

“But does that have to be you?” asked Seymour.

Kiera looked up. “She’s got no one else.”

“And what about me? Or was that just a passing thing for you?”

“No, Seymour, God, no. You’re incredible. I’m so glad I met you. I’m just a bit thrown right now. I need a bit of time to think and work out how the heck I deal with all of this.”

“You need time to think,” said Seymour, more to herself than to Kiera. “Well, I guess that’s what you’ve got.” She looked at Kiera, not unkindly, but with tears in her eyes. She turned and walked away.

Kiera watched her go, unable to work out what to do next. She started to cry, and began to think she might not stop. How had her life changed so dramatically in the space of twenty-four hours? And why was it that every time something like this happened to her, Chrissie was always at the centre of it?