Chapter 11

Moving day, Elliot helped me.

Sadie had planned to come too but a client kept her — she supervised by voice note.

I was carrying a box of books through the door when I found Elliot had already sorted out most of the kitchen.

He was standing by the window with his sleeves rolled up, the afternoon light on his shoulder, and there was something in the way he looked — quiet, steady, solid — that stopped me for a moment.

I put the box down and felt, briefly, disoriented.

Months ago, I'd imagined a scene like this.

I'd assumed the person standing in that kitchen would be Conrad.

Now, finally here, I found that I knew — in a way I couldn't have articulated before — the difference between the right person and the wrong one.

The wrong person in your home makes you question yourself.

The right person doesn't need to say a word. You just feel the ground under your feet.

Elliot put the last pot in the cabinet and turned around.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I looked away. "You're very well-suited to domestic tasks."

He let out a quiet sound. "Is that a compliment or exploitation?"

"Compliment."

"Noted."

I opened the fridge.

It was stocked.

Milk, fruit, eggs, a couple of instant noodles — and two boxes of prawn wontons, which happened to be my exact favourite.

I stared at it.

"You bought all this?"

"Yes."

"How did you know I like these?"

He hesitated fractionally. Like he'd said one thing more than he meant to.

I turned to look at him.

Elliot was quiet for two seconds. Then he admitted it.

"I saw you post about them."

I kept watching.

"On Instagram?"

"Before that."

"How far before?"

He set down the glass he was holding and finally looked at me directly.

"Stella Fairfax, which one of us is the solicitor here?"

"You."

"Then why are you always interrogating me?"

"Because you're clearly holding something back."

He was still for a moment. Then he said it.

"The university debate wasn't the first time."

I went very still.

"When was?"

"You were in the sixth form. Outside the school gates. A girl had been accused of stealing — money from the common room. A teacher was about to make her sign a confession." A pause. "You got between them. You were terrified — I could see your hands shaking from where I was. You still stood there and said: she didn't take it. Nobody is making her sign anything."

I listened.

And somewhere in the back of my memory, something old and nearly lost moved.

That was so long ago.

I could barely remember her name now — the girl I'd stood up for.

But someone had been watching. And remembered it until today.

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say something then?"

"You didn't need me. You won on your own."

He said that with a complete absence of drama. As if it were simply the state of the affair.

But something hit me softly in the chest.

Some people don't arrive suddenly.

They've just been where you couldn't see them.