it is. She should have ownership.
“A director?” Morag peers at me, startled.
“We haven’t valued you nearly enough,” I say. “And I’m sorry. Morag, please stay.”
“So this is a bribe,” she says at once.
“It’s not.” I shake my head vigorously. “At least, it’s not meant that way. It’s recognition. Of everything that you do.”
“A director,” says Morag slowly, as though getting used to the idea. Then she looks at me suspiciously. “Is your mum in agreement with this? Your mum’s big on family. I’m not family.”
Family first runs through my mind. Family bloody first. I’m not saying Dad was wrong, I’ll never say that, but maybe I’m starting to see “family” differently. It’s not just the people you share genes with; it’s the people you share loyalty and friendship and respect with. It’s the people you love.
“You’re part of the Farrs family,” I say. “And that’s what counts.”
“Fixie, you didn’t answer the question,” says Morag sharply, and I think, That’s why we need her: She doesn’t miss a trick. “Does your mum even know you’re offering me this?”
“I haven’t asked Mum, but I don’t need to.” I look at Morag resolutely. “I know she’ll agree.”
I’ve never felt so positive in my life. I know this is the right thing. Mum charged me with keeping this shop safe, and that’s what I’m doing.
“Well, I’ll think about it,” says Morag, finishing her tea. “I’d better get back to the shop floor.”
And she’s so calm, so unruffled, so impressive, that I cross my fingers all the way back to the cash desk and think, Please stay, please stay, please stay.
I think she will.
* * *
—
For some reason we get a group of Japanese tourists in that morning, looking for Union Jack memorabilia. Morag, Stacey, and I sell twelve mugs, sixteen cushion covers, and a calendar to them, while Greg attempts to “speak Japanese” in phrases he’s picked up off manga cartoons. Although none of the Japanese people seem to understand a word.
“What were you saying?” I demand, as soon as they’ve all left.
“Not sure,” he admits. “Kill, probably.”
“Kill?” I stare at him. “You were saying kill in Japanese?”
“It might not have been,” he says after a moment’s thought. “It might have been decapitate.”
“Decapitate?” I echo in horror. “You greeted a group of customers with the word decapitate?”
“They didn’t understand,” Stacey chimes in. “They just thought he was an idiot. How’s your boyfriend, Fixie?” she adds seamlessly, blinking at me.
“Oh,” I say, taken off-balance. “He’s…Um. Yes.”
Trust Stacey to catch me off guard. Avoiding her curious eyes—Greg looks pretty interested too—I glance at my watch.
“All good,” I add briskly. “In fact, I have to go. And, new rule,” I add over my shoulder as I head off to get my coat. “Anyone who says decapitate to a customer gets fired.”
“Well, that’s unfair,” I can hear Greg grumbling behind my back. “What if it comes up in normal conversation?”
“Normal conversation?” says Stacey mockingly. “What kind of sicko are you, Greg? I’ve never even said the word decapitate.”
“You just did!” points out Greg triumphantly. “Just did!” And I can’t help biting my lip, trying not to smile. They might be a bit dysfunctional…but I do love our staff.
Seb and I haven’t actually fixed up a time to meet, so as I leave the shop, I text him:
On way to you now. Is that OK?
Almost immediately he fires back a reply:
Fine.
I compose another text—Great, see you soon—and am hesitating over whether to add a kiss when another text pings into my phone. It’s from Seb again, and as I read it, I feel a bolt of shock.
Why do you want to meet?
I’m so disconcerted, I stop dead on the pavement. Why do I want to meet?
Why?
For a few moments I don’t know how to reply. What does that even mean? Isn’t it obvious why I want to meet? Pitching Jake’s request is the last of my priorities. I want to see Seb. I want to wrap my arms around him. I want to say how sorry I am that I crossed the boundary of his brother’s room. I want to tell him that I’ve tried to take his advice, I’ve tried to be tough with Jake, but sometimes I just don’t feel strong enough.
I want him. That’s all. I want him.
I walk forward, trying to get my head straight, trying to work out what to say, and as I do, I feel more and more upset. Why do you want to meet? That’s