Page 60 of One Last Gift

Sam pulled a hand through his hair, dropped it to his side. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I guess I just thought…” But he didn’t finish the sentence. She knew what he’d been thinking, though—he’d thought the clues would be lost, like Tom was.

“I’ve done the first few already. It’s weird, they’re bigger than usual, almost…almost like he knew that it would be the last time.” It was impossible, of course, because his death had been an accident. She knew it must just be her brain, molding things that way, but still.

He smiled. “I remember him talking about it. He wanted this year to be bigger and better.” She nearly asked him if he knew what the gift was at the end, but changed her mind immediately. Her reasoning still stood: Tom wanted her to figure out the clues, so that’s what she’d do. Help, though: she didn’t think that was cheating, not when Tom would have given her hints if he’d been here—and not when she’d figured out most of it by herself.

“I can’t work out this most recent one, though, so I’m stuck.”

“What’s the clue?” She told him and he frowned. “I feel like that’s somehow familiar.”

“I know that it’s about a beach and a lighthouse, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.” She chose not to tell him that she’d only figured out the lighthouse part this morning.

He nodded slowly. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” He looked at her for a moment, then ran one hand across the back of his neck. “See you at breakfast?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, working up a smile. It shouldn’t feel difficult to do that. She shouldn’t be feeling disappointed that he didn’t suggest something else to do tomorrow. This was Sam—she shouldn’t want to spend time with him. But it was a new him, and it seemed to change the rules of play, neither of them sniping, both of them treading carefully around each other. He was still looking at her, and she cleared her throat, gestured to her door behind her. “Well, I’ll get to bed then.”

He hesitated, then leaned in, pressed his lips softly against her cheek. The tingle ran from there all the way to the back of her neck, where it stayed. She heard herself suck in a soft breath, unable to stop it.

“Night, Cass,” he whispered, his breath softly caressing her ear, in a way that lingered after he had walked away down the corridor.

—

She woke to the sound of banging and went from groggy to alert in a matter of moments. Why was someone trying to hammer down her door? She jolted upright in bed, switched on her lamp, and stared at the door, heart beating extra fast. A murderer, trying to break in? She scrambled out of bed at that thought, glanced frantically around the room. But no, a murderer was unlikely to knock, bad tactic. A fire maybe? But surely they had alarms for that?

The banging stopped and she waited, hovering by her bed. When it started up again, she crossed the room tentatively. “Hello?” she called out, still with the door safely shut.

“Cassie?” His voice was a little muffled. “It’s me.”

She let out a whooshing breath and opened the door. “Sam! What the hell’s going on?” She pushed her hair out of her face. “What time is it?” Had she overslept and missed breakfast or something? The curtains in the room were too good—they effectively blocked out all morning light.

“Six a.m.,” he answered impatiently, as if that were completely irrelevant.

She stared at him incredulously. “Six a.m.?! But…it’s my day off.” OK, so maybe she was still a bit groggy from sleep, if that was the best she could come up with. Slowly, she became aware that she was standing in front of him in her old pajama top, no makeup on, her hair surely a complete mess. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Sam, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and looked like he was fizzing with energy, just about bouncing on the spot. He had his jeans and shirt on again, but it was buttoned up wrongly, like he’d thrown clothes on impatiently at the last minute. “I figured it out!”

“What?”

“I figured it out,” he repeated. “The clue!” He looked so young then, face all alight, and so damn cute. No, she corrected herself immediately. Not cute. Annoying. It was annoying to be woken at six a.m.; there was nothing cute about it.

She shook her head, trying to keep up with him. Then it dawned on her and she dropped her arms, momentarily forgetting to be embarrassed about what she looked like. “You know where it is.”

“You do too,” he said, smiling. “Surfing. He won’t make you surf this time. Do you remember?”

Cassie only frowned at him.

“We went on holiday,” Sam continued. “You, me, Tom, Claire, Mum.”

And she remembered then—they’d gone to Cornwall, all together. They’d gone, and Tom and Sam had gone surfing and forced her to come too and she’d hated it, coughed up water and gotten hit over the head with her surfboard.

“Cornwall,” she breathed and he nodded, actually did bounce this time. But Cassie shook her head, pulled a hand through her hair. She was right—it was matted at the back. “He wants me to go to a bloody lighthouse in Cornwall?” There was a pit in her stomach at the thought of it—Cornwall was miles away—but Sam was looking positively delighted.

“Yes! And I looked it up, and I think it must be Pendeen lighthouse, because we were in Penzance and that’s the closest one there. And I’ve been on trainline and there’s a train in an hour.” He clapped his hands in front of him.

Cassie took a step back, feeling like she wanted to back away completely, at speed. “Wait, hang on, you want us to go today? Now?”

“Yeah, why not? You’ve been trying to work it out for ages, right? So why not now?”

“Because…” Because it was last-minute and spontaneous and so many things could go wrong, and she hadn’t packed for Cornwall. Because Cornwall was bloody miles away and would surely take hours to get to. But Sam was smiling at her, so excited, and something tugged at her heart, looking at him like that. She thought of Tom, and how he’d be grinning at her right now, trying to get her to just do it. Stop overthinking and just roll with it. She took a slow breath, let it out, and tried to quiet the gnawing in her stomach. “OK. I’ll go today.” She’d look up the return journey on the way—surely she’d be able to figure something out, get back in time for work tomorrow. As long as she found the clue quickly, that was. She hesitated. “Does this mean you’re coming with me?”