Page 9 of The Last Casterglass
She blinked, surprised, gratified. “You went all the way to Broughton-in-Furness to get me a brownie?”
“Well…” Oliver grinned a bit shamefacedly, seeming embarrassed, although Seph thought maybe his hangdog manner had to be affected. He seemed too confident to actually be embarrassed about anything. “Yes. I was hoping Casterglass Village might have something, but…”
“They have a pub and a post office.” She smiled back at him, genuinely touched that he’d gone to such trouble. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had. “Thank you for going all that way.”
“It wasn’t any trouble. I enjoyed exploring the area. I didn’t realise quite how remote Casterglass was, actually. Definitely the back of beyond.”
She laughed even as she grimaced. “You’ve got that right.”
Once again, her tone had a bit of an edge and Oliver looked as if he wanted to ask her a million questions, so Seph said hurriedly, “Anyway, this afternoon, yes. I need to finish up in the workshop, but I should be free by three. If that’s not too late?”
“Three’s perfect.”
“Great.” She gave him one last smile, uncertainty making its edges wobble, and then with a nod, she backed out of the room and hurried down the hallway, her head down so she nearly smacked right into Olivia.
“Goodness, you’re in a hurry!” her sister exclaimed, laughing. “Is there a fire?”
“No.” Seph realised she was blushing—as if she was embarrassed, or had something to hide, or both. Olivia’s laughing expression immediately turned to something both concerned and shrewd.
“Everything all right, Seph?”
“Yes. Fine.” Of all her siblings, Olivia had been the most involved when she’d been growing up—checking in periodically, asking her how she was. She’d had her over to York a couple of times, which had been fun if a bit daunting. Seph appreciated the effort she’d made, but she still had the sense that she’d disappeared completely from Olivia’s mind as soon as she returned to Casterglass. The Sister Nobody Knew, that had been her. Still was.
Olivia peered closely at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Olivia, of course I’m sure!” In her unease Seph did what she always did—turned snarky and sullen. “I just have a lot of work to do, unlike some people, it seems,” she added, and hurried down the hallway before her sister could ask her any more questions.
Back in her shop she paced for a few minutes, walking off the excitement—and anxiety—of what was ahead.
“Get a grip,” she said aloud, half-annoyed with her own freakery. “It’s acoffee.”
It wasn’t as if she’d never gone out before. She did socialise, on occasion. She and her friend Doug, a casual labourer at John’s farm, had gone to the Casterglass pub plenty of times, and yet mainly it was to down a pint in silence, or play darts, also in silence. A get-to-know-you coffee with someone like Oliver, who seemed so sure of himself, had gone to Oxford, spoke like a proper posh person, had probably had loads of experiences, travelled to places she hadn’t even heard of…well, that was outside of her realm of experience, and it made her nervous, and yes, excited too. A little.
Should she change? she wondered. Would that be too obvious? Could she do anything with her hair, which she knew full well was ridiculous—half straight blonde, half pink dreadlocks? She’d decided to dye and dread her hair a year ago, as a kind of armour against the world, but when Althea had started getting the castle ready to open, she’d suggested,somewhattactfully, that Seph try not to look so scary. She’d huffed at her sister’s high-handed request, but the truth was she was tired of looking—and feeling—ferocious, and growing her hair out seemed like a relatively easy way to change her image.
Could she go further than that, though?
Not today, Seph decided. It was still a couple of hours before she had to meet Oliver, so she decided to focus on her work. When she had wood under her hands and the lathe purring along, her mind emptied out, a blissful feeling after the welter of emotions she’d been dealing with today, far more than she usually let herself.
Two hours later, however, as soon as she switched off the machine and wiped the sweat and sawdust from her face, the feelings all came rushing back. Excitement. Anxiety. Worry. Hope. Seph took a deep breath and decided she would change after all, since she was wearing old work clothes, and it felt like a reasonable thing to do. A clean pair of jeans, Converse sneakers instead of work boots, and a baggy sweater were hardly making too much of an effort, surely? She pulled her dreadlocks back into a ponytail, and after a second’s hesitation slicked on some lip balm, which was the only make-up she ever used, not that it was really make-up. Still, she felt as if she had a painted face as, her heart hammering, she headed downstairs.
Oliver was waiting in the kitchen, jangling the keys in his pocket, as she came down the stairs. His face lit up as he saw her and somehow this made Seph smile. He’d cleaned up too, she saw, just a little—a new pair of pressed cords and yet another button-down shirt, this one in pale pink. Did the man wear anything else? He was as strait-laced as they came, she supposed. Why on earth did he want to have anything to do with her?
And yet he did, because his smile widened as he leapt to open the door.
“After you,” he said graciously, and with a nod of thanks Seph headed outside.
Chapter Five
“So,” Oliver askedas he opened the door of his battered VW, “what was it like, growing up at Casterglass?”
He’d meant it as an easy opener, but the startled, guarded look Seph gave him made him feel as if he’d asked something intrusive. This was either going to be a very long afternoon, he thought, or a depressingly short one. Hopefully he wouldn’t put his foot in it too many times in his bungling attempts to get to know her.
“It was okay,” she said after a moment as she climbed into the car, sounding as guarded as she’d looked.
“Your sisters seem quite a bit older than you,” he remarked as he reversed and then started down the drive. “Were they around when you were growing up?”
She tensed, her shoulders scrunching practically all the way to her ears, and Oliver realised he must have asked another zinger. Well, were they supposed to talk about the weather? Actually, he reflected, maybe.