Page 21 of Spellbinding Spirit

He glances over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Please. You’d have killed the mood with petrol station flowers.”

“I’d have sprung for supermarket ones,” I say, feigning offence.

“Oh, my mistake. That’s much classier.”

We both laugh, the sound easy and familiar. It’s been like this since I arrived earlier this afternoon, a steady flow of jokes and teasing to paper over the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re spending it together.

But it’s not as carefree as in the past. The truth is the whole “friends with benefits” arrangement we’d half-jokingly agreed on has been in a kind of limbo since I got back to Fellside.

“What are you making?” I ask, leaning forward to inspect the pan on the hob.

“Coq au vin,” he says casually, tossing the herbs into the pan with a flourish. “Don’t act so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised,” I say, though I absolutely am. “I just thought it’d be... I don’t know, spaghetti hoops or something.”

Sebastian shakes his head, his smirk widening. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me about the time you burned toast again.”

“That was years ago,” he protests, pointing the wooden spoon at me. “And I’d had three pints. Completely unfair to bring it up now.”

I laugh, and for a moment it feels like we’re just two old friends catching up. And then the thoughts of our night together are back. It’s infuriating that I just can’t let it go.

I set down my glass and pull out my phone as Sebastian plates up dinner, complete with an absurdly perfect garnish.

“I found more background information about George,” I say.

His brow furrows, his fork paused mid-air. “What is it?”

“The charity I contacted sent me more details about what happened to him.”

Sebastian puts his fork down, his full attention on me. “And?”

I take a deep breath. “When George was found behind the lines he was trying to get away from being captured. He fought two soldiers. He kept shouting that he needed to go home. He was... trying to get back to Sally.”

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “And they thought he was a coward but he was fighting for his love.”

“Sebastian,” I sniffle, “The witnesses said he kept saying her name and just before they shot him, he smiled and said, ‘There you are, my love’.”

Sebastian sits back, exhaling slowly as the weight of my words sinks in. “Bloody hell,” he mutters. “I never thought I could feel so sad for someone else. But it’s killing me that he could never see her again.”

I know what he means. When I read the witness statement the first time I cried for an hour and couldn’t stop. I had to call in sick the next day at work because my eyes were so red I looked like I had conjunctivitis.

“The witness said it was clear he was unwell. He called George insane but we now know that’s not the right word.”

Sebastian rubs a hand over his face, his expression tight. “And they still shot him.”

The silence between us stretches and feels heavy and uncomfortable. I don’t know what else to say. How do you explain something so senseless, so heartbreaking? Finally Sebastian picks up his fork, though he doesn’t take a bite.

“And Sally never knew,” he says quietly. “She never knew that he died to be with her.”

I swallow hard, my throat thick. “That’s why I wanted to talk to her. I think she needs to know the truth.”

Sebastian looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine. “Well, let's finish dinner and then go pay our friend Sally a visit.”

I nod and though I feel a flicker of apprehension at the thought there’s also a sense of certainty. This is something we need to do… for George, for Sally, and maybe even for us.

The attic feels different today. Less scary. It even feels warmer up here Sebastian holds the torch, its beam cutting through the darkness, but even that feels brighter tonight.

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