Page 84 of Unless It's You
“I’m guessing you might want to keep it?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice too loud as I attempt to project casual confidence.
“We’re all done.” Scott looks at Stella first, then at me.
“Thank you, Scott.”
“What do you want to do with the keys?”
“Give them to me,” Stella says before I can jump in, then turns to me, a darting glance at the box. “I’ll drop them off with the landlord. He lives around here, right?”
I nod and pull up the address in my mobile. I should fight her on this, insist I can do it on my own, but the truth is, I’m not sure I can. She’s pulling me through this flaming forest of pain and nightmares, not leaving me behind to burn. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.
“Thank you,” I manage to mumble, looking at Scott, then Stella. I wish I could say more. I want to say more, but there are no words. Scott heads back inside.
“Want to open the box together?” Stella slips her mobile in her back pocket and clutches the keys.
“No,” I say, and she nods once.
Five silent minutes later, a car pulls up behind the moving truck.
“That’s my Uber,” Stella says to me. “See you tomorrow, okay?”
I can’t manage a word or a gesture, and then she’s gone. The movers leave, and I’m by myself in front of the building of flats, done with it forever.
I eye the box at my feet like it might be full of spiders or sharp knives. I bend to grab it—it’s heavier than it looks—and shove it in the backseat of my rental car.
I have a feeling it might be like Mum’s flat: something I never have the nerve to open.
33
STELLA
Thursday, August 1
BUCKET LIST DAY 25
“The shoot’s gone amazing so far,” I say to Tessa.
“Lovely!” Her voice projects through the speaker on my phone.
We’re at the base of a rocky mountain on the Isle of Skye, large boulders strewn on either side of a bumpy trail, bright green moss and ground cover everywhere it can grow. There are mountains and lakes and beautiful views. It’s vast and feels like the wild west of Scotland.
Ethan stands twenty feet away from me with the director, Gerald, who gave me a ride from Inverness to Skye yesterday after I took multiple trains to get there from Newcastle. I’m assuming Ethan drove from Newcastle—which is a seven- or eight-hour drive—and stopped to spend the night somewhere along the way.
I was not kidding when I said it’s impossible to get to this gorgeous little nook of Scotland.
And Izzy is here, which warms my heart. She’s so happy, bouncing around and joking with the other girl and the pair ofrugby boys. They are laughing and taking selfies and generally having the time of their lives.
She told me today that she is in the final three for the scholarship competition.
“We just have a few more shots to get,” I say to Tessa. “Rugby scenes went smoothly, Izzy’s interview was perfect, and they are about to start a quick hike up to the best viewpoints for the group scene.”
My chest constricts, thinking of why we’re even shooting this here. Why I’ll be able to check Skye off the bucket list, knowing I did it the way Evelyn wanted me to.
Ethan.
Tessa asks a few more questions before letting me go.
