Chapter 8: What Was in the Blue Folder

"Yes," I said.

The word tasted like metal.

Roz squealed and threw both arms around me, and on the screen her fiancé's mother cried happy tears.

"I knew it," Roz whispered in my ear. "I knew you'd come around."

She left with her bakery bag still full.

I locked the door behind her and stood there with my hands shaking.

The bedroom door opened, and Quinn came out in yesterday's jeans, with his face like stone.

"You said yes," he said.

"I had to."

"I know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wanted to put my fist through the wall."

"She had me in a man's shirt on camera, telling her future mother-in-law I was unwell."

"I heard."

"If I'd said no, I'd have proved it."

"I know, Imogen." He crossed the room and put his hands on my face.

"You're allowed to be furious. I'm furious."

"But I'm also very sure you're going to make them pay for that yes."

I leaned my forehead on his chest.

He smelled like me, and like sleep.

"Yes," I said into his shirt. "Starting tonight."

Ewan came at eight.

He didn't come to my door.

He came to Quinn's, around the back, and knocked twice.

When Quinn opened the door, he held out a blue cardboard folder with both hands.

"I took it out of Dad's desk," he said. "At lunch. He doesn't know. He'll know by Friday."

His hands were shaking.

Quinn's kitchen was small and warm.

A dozen half-finished things covered the counter, a chair leg and a clock and a spice rack.

Ewan sat at the table, and I sat across from him, and Quinn stood behind me with one hand on my shoulder.