And on and on. He spat the words at me and I sat and let them hit me. Piece by piece, they stuck to my skin, oozed through and stole into my brain. I was to blame. I got that first. Seb would never have started free running if he hadn’t known me. If I hadn’t made him think it was important to take risks. It was all my fault. All of it. Every last bit of it. At one moment, I thought I’d put my head down. Rest it on the table and let the barrage pass over me but I couldn’t move.
Eventually it stopped. The words stopped and only the hatred echoed round the café, bounced off the faces of the old French film stars and crackled in my ears. The manager and Grid were standing behind Mark. Arguing. I couldn’t hear their words. I was shut off from them as though watching through a small window in a
