Seb gets it – it isn’t about retribution. All he wants is for his family to be safe. What he doesn’t tell Rosie is that Sarah Wilcox and her colleagues are looking in the wrong places because the person who did this isn’t out there, walking the streets. He might not have lit the fuse but still, the person responsible is right here. In front of Rosie, inside him. Inescapable.
Rosie and Seb put Heath and Greer to bed together and as soon as the younger two are asleep they go to Sylvie and sit side by side on her bed.
‘You’re OK again, aren’t you?’ Sylvie asks. Seb looks at Rosie, who glances briefly back at him. She’s confused too. ‘You guys, I mean.’
Seb sits on the edge of his daughter’s bed and feels a tug, deep, towards the old ways, a desire to tell Sylvie that of course they’re fine. But he looks at his girl and sees for the first time that she’s not OK.
Seb experiments with the truth again. ‘We’re getting there, Sylv. I think we’re getting there.’
Sylvie nods seriously before smiling, satisfied, as she snuggles down in bed, and both Rosie and Seb kiss her forehead again and tell her they love her. Sylvie’s asleep before they’ve even tiptoed out of her room.
Seb follows Rosie downstairs and finds Eva, in one of Rosie’s nightshirts, stirring something in a pan on the stove.
‘Oh good, they’re asleep,’ she says when she sees them, before turning back to the pan. Still stirring, she asks, ‘Now, have you got any cinnamon?’
‘Eva,’ Rosie says, ‘we’ve had so much food brought over, you shouldn’t be …’
Eva shakes her head. ‘I needed to do something. And besides, I really fancy a dhal.’
They eat together quietly. Eva was right: the dhal is perfect. Seb can practically feel the spicy goodness of it warming his cells. When they’ve finished, Rosie stacks their bowls by the sink and sits back at the table.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Seb starts, quietly, but his voice clots in his throat so he clears it and tries again. ‘I’ve been thinking, Ro. I’m worried something else might happen, that it’s not safe here …’
‘You think we should go away somewhere?’
Seb nods.
‘Where? Where could we go?’
Seb looks away.
‘Center Parcs?’ Rosie asks, sarcastic, the thought of a holiday now totally absurd, before adding, ‘We’re staying here, Seb. The kids want to be here. I think they want, need, things to be as normal as possible, to go to school …’
‘Well, I’ll go away. For a few days. It’s me they …’
Rosie is shaking her head again and Eva says, ‘Rosie’s right, Sebastian: you need to stay here.’
He looks at them, the bravest people he knows. They can tell he needs them to explain.
‘There’s the parent forum on Monday. If you leave Waverly, it’ll be like you’re running away,’ Rosie says and Eva nods, agreeing.
‘She’s right. The fire didn’t burn all that stuff away. You still have to face everyone; you still have a responsibility to the kids.’
‘No, no, I’m resigning. There’s no way …’
‘If you resign now then you’re right, Sebastian.’ Eva’s voice is steady but firm. ‘You are in danger. In danger of all of this being for absolutely nothing. Of going through so much and buckling anyway. The kids’ petition is all the proof we need. They need you to hold on.’
She puts her warm palm on top of his before adding more gently, ‘And don’t forget what your dad always said. Chaos often precedes change. That’s the way of things.’
Her voice cracks and Seb wonders whether she too is thinking about everything they’ve lost. They only have a small handful of photos of Seb’s dad now, just one or two from Seb’s childhood and none of Eva’s family or her own youth. A young police officer had brought them over in a small tray, along with a bronze dolphin figurine and a couple of bits of pottery they’d been able to save from the wreckage.
‘I don’t know how …’ he stumbles, feeling the full impact of his weakness, the rush of his helplessness.
‘None of us do. It’s OK not to know and it’s OK not to succeed but it’s not OK, when you’ve come so far, to just give up.’
How many times has Seb delivered a similar speech to his students over the years? Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?
He still doesn’t know if it’s the right thing but, then again, he doesn’t even know if there’s any such thing as ‘the right thing’ any more. Was there ever? It seems to Seb that all there is, all there ever was, is trying. Trying. The rest is out of their control.
He nods and says, ‘If it’s what you both want.’
‘I don’t think either of us
Eva goes back up to bed after supper. Seb and Rosie sit next to each other on the sofa in the sitting room. It’s dark but neither of them makes a move to turn on the lights and a part of Seb wishes they could stay like that, just the two of them, in the darkness and silence. Just sit like they did before Anna’s radio appearance. But he knows he might not get another chance to say the things he’s not sure she’ll believe.