“It’s this, really,” says Seb, gesturing at the big room. “What you see.”

“Uh-huh.” I nod, but I can feel a tiny cord of tension in my chest. Why hasn’t he mentioned the other room?

And I know I should leave it, it’s none of my business … but I just can’t. I can’t leave things.

“Nice big living room for a one-bedroom flat,” I say conversationally. “It’s massive!”

“Oh, well, there is another room,” says Seb after a pause. “It was James’s.”

He flashes me a brief smile, and I wince in sympathy, because I’d already guessed. I suddenly remember that first conversation I heard in the coffee shop. Briony wanted to turn a room into a home gym, didn’t she? It must have been that room.

“It’s hard,” I say in a gentle voice. “I remember my mum clearing out my dad’s stuff.”

“Yes,” says Seb noncommittally, and his face closes up a little. And now I regret even bringing up the subject when everything’s so bright and perfect.

“Well … thank you,” I say, more lightheartedly. “Thank you for my hairbrush. Thank you for dinner. Thank you for …” I trail away, not needing to continue. He knows what I mean.

“Thank you.” Seb comes close and kisses my hair, playing with the strands, winding them round his fingers. “I always wanted to date an Olympic skater,” he adds. “You’re pretty sexy on the ice, did I mention that?”

“I shouldn’t have showed off,” I say, shaking my head. “I feel bad now. I was rude to Briony.”

“You feel bad?” says Seb incredulously. “Do not feel bad about her.” He swivels round so that we’re both facing a massive wall mirror, and he looks at my reflection, his eyes glinting, his chin resting on my head. “I don’t know who this girl is or how she came into my life,” he says, his voice deadpan, and I can’t help smiling.

“No idea.” I echo his tone. “It’s a mystery.”

There’s silence, and Seb’s expression becomes more serious.

“You are in my life?” he says.

“Yes,” I say, and my voice suddenly falters. “I hope so.”

“Well, me too.” He strokes my hair and his eyes crinkle at mine in the mirror. And right now his life is the only place I want to be.


Twenty-one

Days turn into a week, then two … and it seems as if I’ve always been in Seb’s life. I stay every night at his place, popping back now and then for another supply of clothes. I’m barely at home anymore. I’m barely conscious of the world. I’m intoxicated by Seb. By his body and his mind. His voice and his laugh. The touch of him in the morning; the sound of his breathing at night.

When I’m not with him, I’m yearning for him. Everything else has receded. All the problems I used to have seem a little blurry—nothing except Seb seems that important anymore.

I smile at customers who put items back in the wrong place. I laugh when Stacey arrives at work late. I find Greg’s idiosyncrasies funny. Why shouldn’t he show off his double-jointed thumbs to customers when they’re trying to pay? The world is a wonderful place. I skive off a little—not much, just the odd afternoon or morning—so I can meet Seb out of work, or cook for him, or lie in bed with him for a delicious half hour longer.

The more I get to know him, the better I like him. His thoughts are straightforward. His take on life is wry but optimistic. We’ve talked for hours, and I haven’t once winced or frowned or thought, He thinks what? So many guys seem great until you actually find out what’s inside their brain, whereupon you run for cover, panting, “Oh my God, lucky escape!” to yourself. But I’ve spent two weeks exploring Seb’s brain and I haven’t stumbled on any gnarly knots of anger or walls of arrogance. Nor has he told any tasteless jokes and expected me to fall about in hysterics.

The only trip wire—the only one—is his brother’s stuff. His brother’s room. That whole situation. A couple of times I’ve suggested helping him sort out the magazines and he’s batted me away. Once or twice I’ve mentioned James’s room in passing and he’s changed the subject.

Then one day, when he was out, I took the key—it’s on a hook in the kitchen; it’s not hidden away—and very quickly opened the door and peeped inside.

I think I’d imagined a neatly kept bedroom with a few pieces of memorabilia around the place. I hadn’t imagined what I saw: a shambolically untidy, dusty room, with a screensaver still alive on the computer screen and a wizened apple core on the desk and a recycling bin overflowing with empty water bottles and the duvet rumpled as though it hadn’t been touched since—

Then I realized the truth. It hasn’t been touched since.

I stood there for a while, very still, my head teeming with thoughts. Then I locked the door again and put the key back in the kitchen. I was remembering Seb’s resolutely calm, almost upbeat demeanor when he talked about his family. The words he said, almost like a mantra: “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ve moved on, I’m at peace with it.”

At peace? With a dusty room that hasn’t been touched for two years and is locked away from view?

That evening I plucked up courage and ventured, “Seb, about your brother. You said you were at peace with … what happened.”

“I am,” he said, so convincingly that he would fool anyone. Except a girl who can’t leave things alone.

“Right. Great!” I hesitated, then forced myself to press on: “I mean, maybe one day you should clear up those magazines. And … will that room stay locked forever?”

For a few moments Seb was silent, turned away from me, but when at last he glanced over his shoulder it was with a sunny smile.

“I know. I’m going to do it. It’s not a big deal, really, just haven’t got round to it. So, more important, what are we going to have with this fish?”

Not a big deal?

Part of me longed to push him even further, but a wiser part told myself to leave it for now. So I moved onto the subject of salad, and I could see Seb relaxing.

Now I know him better, I’ve realized that he gets a look when you talk about his brother. Not stressed exactly but alert, like an anxious dog on the lookout for danger. And it breaks my heart a little—but I know that if I go blundering in too roughly, I’ll ruin everything.

So, for the first time in my life, I’m not rushing in. I’m not trying to fix it all straightaway. I’m biding my time. It’s nearly killing me, but I’m doing it.

And this is the only issue that bothers me. Apart from that, I’m walking around in a bubble of dazed, wondering bliss. Every morning I wake up and it’s the opposite of realizing I have the dentist. It’s realizing I don’t have the dentist but I do have the best guy in the world sleeping next to me. Nothing else matters.

Until one morning, as I’m arriving at the shop, my electronic calendar sends me an alert—Family Meeting—and I realize with a jolt that it’s tonight. I stare at the words, blinking back into reality, looking around the shop as though for the first time. Shit. I’ve been asleep on the job. There were things I planned to do for this meeting. I’ve been so swept up, I’ve let my concentration lapse. I’ve let everything lapse.

My thoughts swoop guiltily to Mum. I missed a call from her yesterday and I meant to call back, but I never did. Hastily I dial her number, but it goes to voicemail.

“Hi, Mum!” I say. “It’s Fixie calling you back; hope everything’s good … we’re all well … I’ll try you again soon. Take care, love you.”

I’m not going to tell her about Seb yet. And certainly not on voicemail.

As I tap my code into the till, I’m cursing myself. There was so much I was going to do before this meeting. I was going to read through all Bob’s emails, for a start. He sends us regular financial summaries, and I wanted to have all that information up my sleeve. I was going to research competitors’ websites. I was going to get exact sales figures on all of Jake’s new stock.

I’m humming with frustration at myself as Morag approaches me, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear.

“Fixie,” she says. “Can I have a word before we open?”

“Oh,” I say. “Yes, of course!”

I turn toward her, but for a few moments she doesn’t speak. She’s looking over my shoulder, her cheeks turning pink.

“I’ve been interviewing for other jobs,” she says at last. “I’ve had an offer from that big homewares place in Kew. Suttons. And I’m thinking of taking it.”

For a full half minute I can’t speak.

Morag wants to leave?

“Morag …” I falter at last. I’m so shocked, I can’t even frame any words.

“It’s not what I wanted.” Her mouth is tight, as though she’s trying not to show that she’s upset. “You know I love Farrs, you know that, Fixie. But …” She trails off, and I can hear that there are about a million unsaid words in that but.

“Can you tell me what …” I rub my face, trying to keep my breath steady. But now that my initial shock has died down, panic is swooping in. I can’t lose Morag, I can’t. “Could you tell me your main issues?”

“Oh, Fixie, love, you know the issues.” She exhales unsteadily. “This place has changed. Half the displays have disappeared, I don’t know what we’re supposed to be selling, all the customers are complaining.…” She shakes her head. “The Christmas-cookie promotion day was a disaster! There simply wasn’t enough stock!”

“I know,” I say with a flash of painful remembrance. “Jake wanted to promote those neon novelty lamps.”

I don’t even want to think about the neon lamps. Jake landed them on us and we’ve only sold one—and it’s already been returned.

“Yes, well.” Morag’s expression tells me what she thinks of that. “And I’ve just had to cancel Cake Club for the third time—”