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