As Seb opens and shuts drawers, I’m light-headed with confusion. I feel like everything is out of my grasp. I can’t remember why I thought it was a good idea to come here. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have anything. Except the knowledge that I’ve destroyed any hopes of being with Seb.

I feel a dart of anguish, so painful that I drop my head into my hands. Random thoughts are running through my head, in such a bewildering stream that I can’t keep track. Family first. Tough love. Block them out. That’s what Seb said: Block them out. But how can I block out Jake? He said he’d break up the family. He looked like he meant it. And I love my family, I love them, despite everything.…

And then it comes to me in a kind of flash.

Love. It’s all about love.

Love isn’t blocking people out; it’s the opposite. If you love someone, you engage with them. You don’t block them out; you talk to them.

When did I last properly talk to Jake? When did Mum? He doesn’t let us in. He bats us away with his smart cars and drawling accent, with his lies and threats. But who is he underneath?

My head feels like it’s exploding. Everything is becoming clear. I don’t need to love Jake less; I need to love him more. We all do. Me. Mum. Leila. He needs the kind of tough, unconditional love that means we actually, properly, help him sort himself out.

Tough love. The toughest love. The lovingest love there is.

“OK.” I hear Seb’s voice and I lift my head to see him sitting back at his desk. “What do I owe you?”

A shaft of light from the window is catching his eyes, turning them a shiny green-brown again. I look at his face and find myself thinking, I love you. But what good is that now?

“Nothing.” I gather up my bag. “Actually, I don’t need any money, after all. Or any help. Thank you. Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s quite the volte-face,” says Seb expressionlessly.

“Yes, well. I’ve realized something. And, actually, it was you who helped me realize it.” My voice wavers slightly, and I clear my throat. “So … thanks.”

“Oh yes?” says Seb with stony indifference.

“Yes. You did.” His expression could not be less encouraging, but I force myself to press on. “When you talked about tough love. You helped me realize that if you really love someone, you don’t just shove cash at them. You help them become the person they’re meant to be. And that’s what unconditional love is.”

I gaze at him, desperate for some reaction, some warmth, something …

“Unconditional love,” Seb echoes at last, in an odd voice. His eyes look kind of scorched, as though I’ve dealt him some blow. “Well, I’m glad if you’ve worked that all out for yourself. But I have a busy day. So.” He pushes his chair back, as though to wrap up things.

I stare at him, feeling winded. That’s it? That’s his reaction?

“Why aren’t you more pleased?” My words tumble out before I can stop them, and to my horror, two tears spill over onto my cheeks. “I listened to you! I took your advice!”

“I am pleased,” he says. “I’m super-pleased. Good luck with your project. Goodbye,” he adds, standing up, and with trembling legs I rise too.

“Goodbye,” I echo him with miserable sarcasm. “Nice knowing you.”

I stalk out, my head in a daze, my eyes filling with fresh tears. As I do so, I think I catch sight of the IOU coffee sleeve resting on a shelf—and something seems to tug at my mind.

But I’m in too much turmoil to dwell on it or think about anything beyond the fact that Seb looked at me like I was a stranger. And everything’s worse than before. And I just don’t get it.


Twenty-four

I get back to the shop to find Jake waiting outside, looking tense and coiled, like a snake about to strike.

“So?” he says, walking to meet me. “So? So?”

I draw breath, trying to overcome my nerves, trying to ignore the ravens. Unconditional love, I remind myself. I can do this. If I talk honestly and from the heart, maybe I’ll get through to him.

“I didn’t get you any money,” I say.

“Great.” Jake swings away, looking murderous. “Just fucking … great.”

“I didn’t get you any,” I continue, my voice shaking desperately, “because you shouldn’t be borrowing any more. You’re only going to get into more and more trouble. Jake, couldn’t you make some changes to your life?” I follow him to where he’s leaning against the shop front and look earnestly into his face, trying to meet his eye. “Couldn’t you stop taking people out for flash lunches? Stop chasing gazillion-pound deals that aren’t going to happen? Do some solid work. Guaranteed work. Wouldn’t that make you happier—”

I break off, gazing up at him with a hope which instantly crumbles. If I was hoping to get through to him, I was an idiot. He doesn’t look transformed. He doesn’t exclaim, “My God, but you’re right.” He doesn’t give me a heartfelt hug and say, “Thanks. I see it all so clearly now.”

“Fuck you, Fixie,” he snarls, and stomps off down the street. My heart is beating like a rabbit’s, and the ravens are batting round my head, and part of me wants to run after him, apologize, even grovel. But the other part knows better. I have to hold firm. This is just stage one.

I wait till he’s disappeared round the corner, then pull out my phone and compose a text.

Hi, Leila. Can we talk? Fixie xxx

I send it, then breathe out long and hard, shaking his voice out of my ears. That’s all I can do for now. I have other things to think about.

I spend the rest of the day working on plans for Farrs. Plans we can action now. By the end of the day I’ve made an itemized list of Christmas promotions, price cuts, events, and sales. I’ve ordered more stock. I’ve replanned the front of store. I haven’t deferred once to Jake, Nicole, or Uncle Ned. I’ve made decisions all alone, mentally channeling Mum and occasionally consulting with Morag. No one else. I’m in charge of this. Me, Fixie.

I get home exhausted and find Nicole lolling against the kitchen doorframe, lost in her phone as she always is.

“Oh, hi, Fixie,” she says, glancing up. “God, Jake was mad with you last night.”

“I know,” I say shortly. “And I wasn’t too impressed by him. So we’re quits.”

I wait for her to say something else about last night, but her brow is furrowed as she peers at her screen.

“I’m so stressed,” she sighs gustily. “I’m so, like … All my hormones are shot. I need to see someone.”

“Why are you stressed?” I say out of politeness.

“It’s Drew. He’s booked me a ticket, for the twenty-third. He’s, like, ‘You have to come to Abu Dhabi.’ ” She blinks at me. “He just, like, paid for it.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s so passive-aggressive!” She opens her eyes wide. “It’s so controlling! He knows I’m stressed out, but he just does that! It’s like …” She trails off in her usual way, and I feel a shaft of impatience.

“I thought you were stressed out because you were missing your husband,” I point out. “He’s bought you a plane ticket to see him, so surely now you should be less stressed out?”

“You don’t understand.” Nicole shoots me a glare. “God, I’m dying for a coffee. Make me a coffee, Fixie.”

I count to three, then say clearly, “Make it yourself.”

“What?” Nicole blinks at me.

“We’ve got a coffee machine.” I gesture at it. “Make it yourself.”

“Oh, but you know I can’t do it,” says Nicole at once, as though proclaiming a law of nature.

“So learn,” I say. “I’ll teach you.”

“My head can’t learn that kind of stuff.” Nicole wrinkles her nose. “It’s, like, I get a mental block? Go on, you do it, Fixie. You’re so brilliant at the coffee machine.”

And there’s something about her lazy, drifty, entitled voice that suddenly makes me flip out.

“Stop telling me I’m brilliant at things you don’t want to do!” I yell, and her head jerks up in surprise. “Stop pretending to be incompetent to get out of things!”

“What?” Nicole’s staring at me as though she’s never heard me speak before and didn’t even realize I had a voice. Which maybe she didn’t.

“You can learn the coffee machine! Of course you can. You just don’t want to! You avoid everything, Nicole! Everything! Including your own husband!”

Shit. That popped out before I could stop it.

“What are you talking about?” Nicole’s hand flutters defensively to her mouth, and I feel my face flame. That was going too far. Or was it?

I swallow a few times, my mind working furiously. I could backtrack. Apologize. Close the conversation down. But I’m not in the mood for backtracking, or apologizing, or closing the conversation down. Maybe it’s time for us to be the kind of sisters Mum always wanted us to be. The kind who actually know something meaningful about each other’s lives.

“I know it’s none of my business,” I say, more calmly. “But you never talk to him on the phone. You don’t seem to care when he’s ill. And now you don’t want to go to Abu Dhabi to see him. Nicole … do you actually love Drew?”

There’s a massive silence. Nicole’s beautiful face is swiveled away from me, but I can see a tightness at the corner of her mouth. Her fingers are fiddling with her tassely belt and I notice her chewed-up nails. Then at last she turns her head, and to my shock, her eyes are full of tears.

“I don’t know,” she says in a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t bloody know.”

“Right,” I say, trying to hide my shock. “Well … did you love him when you married him?”

“I don’t know.” Nicole looks desperate. “I thought I did. But I might have made a massive mistake. Don’t tell Mum,” she adds quickly, and she sounds so like she did when she was fifteen years old and I found her swigging from a bottle of vodka that I can’t help a snort of laughter.