At first, Rowan had had sympathy for Seb. He’d loved Lorna, after all; it would take a while to come to terms with her being gone. But if anything, as the days passed, he’d got worse, not better. In those first two weeks, she’d been to the house five times and, though Jacqueline had tried, surreptitiously removing the bottle or clearing his glass away to the dishwasher, he’d only ever really been without a drink when the police were there.
And then, a month after Lorna died, Rowan had bumped into him in town. It had been a Saturday afternoon, she remembered, she’d texted Marianne to see if she could go over but, when no reply came, she’d decided to walk up to Waterstones. She’d needed to get out of the house: there were viewings lined up. Her father had made a big song and dance about how he wouldn’t sell Vicarage Road until she’d finished her degree – her ‘home base’ in Oxford, he’d managed to say with a straight face – but a fortnight to the day after she’d sat her final paper, he’d called to say he was putting it on the market.
Books bought, she was thinking about heading up to Fyfield Road anyway when she’d seen Seb coming round the corner of St Michael’s Street. He was one of those people who appeared sober long after anyone else would have been on their knees but even so, she’d seen straight away that he was drunk out of his mind. He was weaving along the pavement, lurching left and right in his exaggerated efforts to avoid people coming in the other direction. As he got closer, she heard him talking to himself, not words that she could make out but a sort of highly inflected mutter punctuated with emphatic stops. His hair was dirty and one side of his denim shirt was soaked. As she’d stepped into his way, she smelled the booze at once.
‘Seb.’ She put a hand out, touched his arm.
It had taken him a moment to recognise her but then he’d thrown his arms around her. ‘Rowan!’ The hug turned into a lean and she’d staggered a little with the effort of supporting him. ‘I was just at the pub. Come and have a drink with me.’ He’d turned and scanned around. ‘This way. The Three Goats’ Heads – just round the corner.’
‘Why don’t I take you home?’ she’d said. ‘You look a bit . . .’
‘No, no, no, don’t you have a go at me, too. I just want company. That’s all. Company and a drink. Is that too much to ask?’ Taking her arm, he’d started pulling her in the direction of the pub and, trying to think, she’d gone with him. What should she do? Call a cab and take him home herself? Or call the house and tell Jacqueline? There was no point calling Marianne’s mobile; she wouldn’t pick up.
As they’d approached the pub, however, a large man standing on the pavement outside to smoke a cigarette had seen them and started shaking his head. ‘Sorry,’ he’d said to her, ‘I’ve told him already: he can’t come in. He’s wasted, isn’t he? We can’t serve people in that state.’
‘Fascist,’ Seb had muttered.
‘What was that, mate?’ The barman had taken a long pull on his cigarette and looked at him, stony-faced.
‘You’re a fascist. Why do you have power to decide if . . .’
Over his head, she’d mouthed an apology. ‘I’ll take you home, Seb. Come on, we’ll get a cab.’
But with a sudden burst of energy, he’d pulled his arm away. ‘No. I don’t want to go home. I want Lorna. I want Lorna.’ Like a petulant child crying for its mother, he’d burst into tears. She’d watched, stunned, as he’d stumbled back in the direction of Cornmarket. Weeping audibly, he’d fallen against the wall of Austin Reed and slid slowly to the pavement.
The barman had been watching, too. ‘Do you need a hand?’ he said. ‘I can phone you a cab, help you get him in?’
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.’
She’d waited until he’d gone back down the stairs into the pub then walked to where Seb had by then been sitting, legs straight out in front of him like a ragdoll. She’d gone down on her haunches. ‘Come on, Seb,’ she said. ‘Pull yourself together. For Jacqueline. For Adam and Mazz.’
He’d looked at her, bleary-eyed. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I can’t.’
‘Pathetic,’ said Rowan, and the look in his eyes said he agreed with her. She’d left him there.