Six weeks later...

London

Isla wished that there weren't carnivorous ducks around.

It was, Isla reflected, going to be a difficult conversation already; a gaggle of bacon-eating waterfowl were the last thing she needed. She watched as a yellow-billed duck batted a larger duck aside, diving for the scraps. Two children giggled, tossing more bacon into the shallow pond. The girl did a little dance in her red wellies.

Sweet.

Slightly demonic, Isla reflected, but sweet.

She leaned back. Hyde Park was busy today; couples bundled in scarves braved the crisp October weather, their heads bowed against the wind. Yellow leaves crunched underfoot. The smell of damp earth and city soot filled the air. A man stopped at a food truck, ordering a peppermint tea, and Isla felt a pang of longing.

She missed Matthew.

Ridiculously so.

Not, Isla reflected, that he'd been gone long; Matthew had only left for Brazil a week ago. She'd fly over tomorrow to join him for the final race.

She just had one thing to do first.

"Hi," a voice said.

She looked up.

A man in a navy bowler hat was striding towards Isla, his hands swinging loosely by his side. Greying hair peeked out beneath it, and his watch — a knock-off Rolex — flashed in the weak autumn sunshine. Her chest tightened.

Emilio Gonzalez.

Sebastián's brother.

Isla rose from the bench. Emilio was shorter than she'd expected — about her height — and he was carrying a briefcase. Isla blinked. She wasn't sure why this threw her, except that Sebastián had struck her as the type to buy a briefcase for the sole purpose of stuffing it with candy, hanging it, and using it as a pinata.

But here Emilio was.

Briefcase in tow.

"Hi," Isla said. "Thanks for coming."

Emilio paused by the bench. "It's okay. I was in London for a conference anyway."

There was an awkward pause. Isla swallowed.

"Shall we walk?" she suggested.

They fell into step. Isla was wracking her brain for how to begin when Emilio stopped dead, staring at the duck pond in disbelief.

"Dios Mío! Is that bacon?"

"It could be bread," Isla suggested half-heartedly.

Emilio shuddered. "That should be illegal."

"I think it is."

"So." Emilio switched his briefcase to the other hand. "You texted me."

"Yeah," Isla said. "Matthew gave me your number. I hope that's okay." She skirted around an overturned bin, avoiding his eyes. "Look, I just wanted to apologize about the party in Monaco. I should have said hello to you."

"You hid from me," Emilio observed.

It wasn't a question. Isla flushed.

"I'm sorry," Isla said. "I wasn't really in the right headspace. After what happened with your brother..." She fiddled with her lumpy green scarf — one of many hideous creations during her knitting phase — and wished that she'd worn something else. Literally anything else. "Did you have something you wanted to ask me? At the party?"

"Yes," Emilio said. "I..." He plucked a floating leaf out of the air, turning it over in his hand. "I know it must be painful, but I have to ask. You were the only person with him at the end." His gaze was entreating. "What did he say? What were his last words?"

He didn't have to specify who.

Isla wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers. Her heart was beating fast, and she felt suddenly light-headed. Emilio's shoulders stiffened.

"Just tell me," he said gruffly. "Please. I keep imagining it over and over, and the only thing worse than knowing is not knowing."

Isla took a breath. "Sebastián thought I was your mother. He called out for her."

"He did?"

"Several times."

Emilio's throat worked. "I'm glad he wasn't alone, at the end. I'm glad that he didn't die feeling afraid. Thank you."

Guilt filled her. "Please don't. I don't deserve..." She looked at the pond, watching as a piece of bacon sank to the bottom. "Just don't."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching a duck paddle around the pond. When Emilio spoke, his voice was quiet.

"Do you know what I do for work?" She shook her head, and Emilio nodded, as if he'd expected as much. "I'm an adolescent psychologist. I work with kids with eating disorders. For weeks, I get to know them — their ambitions, their fears, their favourite bands — and I try to help them through the hardest part of their lives. Some make it out and go on to live healthy lives. Others don't. And you know what I've learned?"

Again, Isla shook her head. Emilio's brown eyes softened.

"You save the ones you can," he said, "and you forgive yourself for the ones that you can't."

They fell into step. The sun was peeking out from behind a cloud, and Isla tipped her head back, feeling the warmth of it on her skin. She wondered if Spain ever got this grey. Wondered if Sebastián had thought about home in those final moments, the sweet, nutty horchata and white sand beaches.

She hoped so.

"I liked your brother," Isla said. "He bought me a coffee once."

Emilio arched an eyebrow. "He did?"

"Yeah. Lucas and I had a fight, and Sebastián found me crying in a break room. He turned around, and when he came back, he was holding a latte."

He studied her. "You didn't know Seb very well, did you?"

"No."

"He was a good man," Emilio said. "I know I'm biased, as his older brother, but I really think he was." He adjusted his briefcase. "Some people are born to light up a room. Sebastian lit up the whole fucking city."

"You must miss him."

Isla knew it was stupid, but it was true. Emilio smiled.

"Every day," Emilio said. "Every damn day. But Seb died doing what he loved; there's a comfort in that." His smile wobbled, and he looked back at the pond. "Anyway. I saw Matthew's accident on TV. How's he doing?"

"Better."

"Any damage?"

"Just burns," Isla said dryly. "And his sanity."

Emilio whistled. "That bad?"

"Oh, yeah." Isla smiled. "Matt took up one-handed jigsaw puzzles."

He gave her an odd look. "One-handed?"

"Broken wrist," Isla explained. "And he couldn't look at screens for the first week without getting a headache. So knitting, piano and baking were all out."

"But everything will be back to normal soon?"

Isla nodded. "As normal as Matthew gets, anyway."

"Good," Emilio said firmly. "He's not competing in the final this week, is he?" She shook her head, and he let out a breath. "I hate to speak for my brother, but he always liked Matthew. Seb would be happy that he's still in one piece. You're to thank for that."

They'd reached the edge of the park. Commuters streamed into the tube station, a swarm of wasps around a hive. Isla tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"The news must have got it wrong," she said. "I didn't pull Matthew out of the car; that was the paramedics."

Emilio smiled. "That's not what I meant." He tipped his hat. "Have a good day, Isla."

Isla frowned. She opened her mouth to say something when someone jostled her; she stumbled, fetching up against the railing. And when she looked up, Emilio had vanished into the crowd — a silver-haired ghost, fading into the blossoming autumn sunshine.