Morag leaves, how am I going to stay sane, even?
“That’s not really a funny story, is it, Greg?” I say, trying to sound relaxed while killing him with my eyes. “And it was only a tiny slice. He hardly needed to go to hospital.”
“Well, we all laughed,” says Greg with a shrug. “Didn’t last,” he says to Seb. “Don’t even remember his name now. Oh yeah, I do—Matthew McConnell.”
“OK!” I say shrilly. “Well, we’d better get going; see you later, guys.…”
I grab Seb, hustle him out of the shop, and only breathe out once we’re safely on the pavement. “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.” His eyes crinkle in amusement. “They’re great.”
“They’re all deranged.”
“They watch out for you. I like that.” He squeezes my hand. “Now, come on. Let me buy you lunch.”
There’s a sandwich shop opposite Farrs, and it’s too freezing to venture any farther, so we duck in there and find a tiny table at the back, where no one can overhear us.
“So.” Seb spreads his hands, when we’re sitting down with our paninis. “You need to take charge. Sounds like a good idea to me. What’s the problem?”
“It’s Jake,” I say miserably. “He just … I just … He affects me. I need to make my case really strongly and I’m afraid that when it comes to it, I won’t.” I tug at the corner of my panini and nibble at the piece of bread.
“OK,” says Seb. “Let’s go back to the beginning. Why does Jake freak you out so much, and how?”
He looks like he really wants to know, and I’m tired of only telling half the story. So this time I go right back to our childhood, to Jake’s personality, to the way I always felt inferior to both my siblings. I talk about how my skating sucked up Mum’s attention, how my failed business sucked up Mum’s money, and how bad I felt about both of those.
And then I talk about how I feel today. The guilt. The inadequacy. My faltering voice. The ravens that flap about my face.
Seb listens silently. Occasionally his face flinches, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I have thoughts,” I conclude despairingly. “I have arguments. I can see them there, as if they’re in a thought bubble. But I can’t get them out of the thought bubble and into the air.”
Seb’s eyebrows are knitted together in a thoughtful frown. Then he looks directly at me and says, “You’re being too gentle. You need to punch through the bubble. Are you angry with your brother?”
“I am,” I say after a pause. “But I feel guilty too. I mean, he can be nice when he wants to be—”
“That wasn’t the question,” says Seb, cutting me off. “Are you angry with him?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Yes, I am. I’m angry.”
“Well, use that anger.” He leans forward, his face animated. “Feel it. Punch your way out of the bubble like a … a ninja.”
“A ninja?” I can’t help laughing.
“Yes! You have the words, you have the ideas; I know you do. You’re bright and dynamic and basically the best person I know, and to be honest the idea that some brother of yours is making you feel the way you do makes me feel pretty livid myself. I’ve only met the guy briefly, but …”
Seb smiles, but his jaw is tight and his hand has clenched hard around his panini.
“OK, I’ll be a ninja.” I stir my coffee round, gazing into the whirlpool, trying to find some strength. “I get so nervous, though. How do you do it?”
“How do I do what?” Seb seems surprised.
“You speak up at shareholders’ meetings and people shout at you and you don’t seem to care.”
“I guess I think about why I’m speaking,” says Seb thoughtfully. “Who I’m speaking for. Who I represent. I’m speaking for people who don’t have a voice, and that inspires me. That powers me along.”
He bites into his panini, then nods at me. “Eat,” he says. “Ninjas need strength.”
I take a bite of my panini, and as I’m chewing, I feel a backbone growing inside me. I’m going to speak up for Mum. She’s the one I represent. She’s the one who doesn’t have a voice right now. And that’s going to power me along.
For the rest of the lunch, we talk about general stuff, but as we’re saying goodbye, Seb holds me by both arms and looks directly into my face.
“Ninja Fixie,” he says. “You can do it.”
He kisses me and walks away, his breath a