Page 20 of The Last Casterglass

He’d reached out to Seph; he’d thought they were becoming friends. The way she’d spoken to Sam, so completely derisively, had scarred his soul. All right, perhaps that was aslightexaggeration, but still, it had both surprised and hurt him. A lot. Had he read her completely wrong, seeing vulnerability where there wasn’t any? Or had she lashed out like that because she’d been put on the defensive?

In the end he decided it didn’t really matter. Either way, she’d acted like a big jerk—and she hadn’t even bothered to apologise, and he knew she’d seen him because he’d watched her eyes widen in surprised horror before he’d walked out of the room. Well, fine. Whatever. He’d misjudged her completely; not the first time he’d done such a thing.

He thought of Audrey, at Oxford, whom he’d thought he’d been having a pretty serious relationship with. They’d dated for two years, which had felt like a long time to Oliver, but when, right before graduation, he’d mentioned future steps—nothing too crazy, but he’d semi-assumed he’d been on fairly firm ground, she’d looked horrified.

“Ollie…” (she was the only one who called him that; he didn’t actually like it) “I don’t think… I mean, this has been fun, but…we were never serious, you know?”

He’d stared at her, feeling both gormless and at sea. Obviously, he hadn’t known. He’d assumed that dating someone for two years, spending most weekends together, meant that the relationship was going somewhere.

“I mean, we can still be friends,” she’d said, as if this was somehow going to placate him. “I really do like you…as a friend.”

And even though he’d felt like raging at her, he’d gulped and nodded and assured her that yes, of course they could be friends. He liked her as a friend too, and really, considering how different their lives were—she was moving to London and he was hoping to head back to Pembury—well, it all made a lot of sense. By the end of their conversation, he was practically applauding her sensible decision. What achump. What a pathetic, puppyish wet schoolboy he’d been, just as Seph had said.

Well, not this time. Not, he acknowledged, that he and Seph had been anything but acquaintances-almost-friends, but still. He wasn’t going to fall all over himself explaining away someone else’s cruelty. He was going to stand up for himself for once, if he ever got the chance.

“Oliver?”

He glanced up, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm, surprised to see Seph standing at the edge of the orchard, as if he’d conjured her up by sheer force of will. She was back to wearing her usual get-up of dungarees with a plaid shirt and work boots, but her hair was still a short tangle of blonde curls, and it made her look shorn somehow, both gamine and vulnerable. Oliver did his best to harden his far-too-soft heart. Her scathing words from last night were still ringing in his ears, and he was not going to roll over for her or anyone.

“Hey,” he said, making sure to keep his tone neutral.

“Althea said you’d be up here.”

“And so I am.” She blinked at his rather brusque tone, and Oliver was glad. He was done bending over backwards for Seph or anyone, actually. It had never got him very far, after all, and he had more important things to focus on, like Pembury Farm.

She hesitated, brushing the curls from her face, looking so fragile that, in an instant, Oliver almost unbent.No, he told himself.Stay strong. Stay tough, as tough as Seph can be.

“I, um, just wanted to say…sorry,” she offered hesitantly. “For last night.”

“What about last night, exactly?” The question, said in such a hard voice, surprised them both. This was the point at which he usually melted like butter, and started tripping over himself to accept an apology, or better yet, apologise himself, whether he needed to or not. He was glad he wasn’t now. It felt both strange and strong.

And yet…was his anger an overreaction?

Really, they barely knew each other. A couple of careless comments—he should be able to brush it all off, and yet…he couldn’t. And, he knew, he wasn’t willing to let her off that easily. Not for his own sake, and maybe not even hers. A free pass never really helped anyone, did it?

Seph blinked at him. “For what I said,” she replied after a moment, her tone still hesitant. “To my brother Sam…”

“Oh, right.” Oliver slapped his forehead in a parody of remembering. “You mean that thing about me being—let me recall—a wet schoolboy? Or the bit about me being like a puppy begging to be kicked?” He raised his eyebrows, knowing he was digging a hole for himself but too wound up to care. “Or maybe it was that final, ringing pronouncement—pathetic. Says it all, really, doesn’t it?” Yes, he’d clearly remembered it all, and now she knew it. So what?

Seph looked stricken, her eyes wide as she nibbled her lip. “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I don’t care,” Oliver replied recklessly, heady with the novelty of speaking his mind. “Because you know what? It doesn’t even matter. Yes, it’s true I made an effort with you, because I thought I liked you, and stupid me, I also thought I saw something vulnerable beneath your I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. But I guess I was wrong, and that’s all there is.” He turned back to the bramble he’d been cutting through, swinging the scythe in a satisfyingly sweeping arc, watching the thorns fall to the ground. “Lesson learned, so thanks for that. I won’t bother next time.”

He expected her to go then, because he knew he was being something of an arse—even if it felt kind of good—and she wasn’t one to take any stick. But she didn’t. She simply stood there, staring at him, until, mired in guilt for the way he was acting, he snarled, “What?”

“I…I didn’t think you’d be so hurt,” she said, sounding both regretful and wondering.

“I’m—”Not hurt, was what he was about to say, but then he thought,Screw it.He couldn’t pretend not to care and care at the same time, and she’d already accused him of wearing his heart on his sleeve. “Well, I was,” he told her shortly. “As I imagine you would have been, if you’d heard me saying the kind of stuff you were, about you. But maybe not.” Maybe she wouldn’t care at all.

She paled, chewing her lip practically to shreds. “I…I would have been,” she admitted quietly. “And I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have said such… It’s just Sam was teasing me… It’s not an excuse,” she clarified quickly. “I’m not saying that, just that it’s a reason. I’ve…I’ve never been good with…social stuff. Of any kind. I say the first thing that pops into my head—”

“Oh, great,” Oliver interjected sarcastically. “Is that supposed to make me feel better, thatthatwas the first thing that popped into your head?”

“Oliver, no.” She took a step towards him, one hand flung out in appeal. “I’m not saying it was. I just…I didn’t want Sam figuring out how I really felt.”

He wasnotthawing. Not yet, anyway. “Which was?” he asked, his tone as forbidding as he could make it.

Seph hesitated. Oliver could tell she was battling with herself, a need for self-preservation warring with a desire to be honest. Or was he projecting his own emotions onto her…again? Because that was certainly how he felt.