few rows.” I stare at her. “Yup. That makes sense.”
“It was stressful!” says Nicole defensively. “I thought, I’ll sit it out in England and it’ll work out one way or another.”
“You don’t work out a relationship by burying your head in the sand!” I exclaim incredulously. “All relationships are stressful! All relationships have rows! Do you love him?”
There’s a long silence. Nicole is twisting her hair round her fingers, her face turned away.
“Sometimes I think yes,” she says finally. “But sometimes I look at him and I think…” She flinches expressively. “But I mean, I haven’t seen him for, like, so long….”
I wait for her to continue—then realize that she’s finished. Even by Nicole standards, it’s a pretty inconclusive answer.
“Nicole, you have to go to Abu Dhabi,” I say firmly. “And then maybe you’ll find out whether you love Drew or not.”
“Yeah,” says Nicole, looking uncertain. “I suppose.”
“You have to,” I impress on her. “You need to spend time together. You need to confront this. Otherwise you don’t even know if you want to be married or not.”
“Maybe. But what if I get out there and…” Nicole trails off in her irritating way—but for once I know what she means. She means, “What if I realize I don’t love Drew?” And she looks pretty freaked out.
I mean, fair enough. I’d be freaked out too.
“I guess you have to face up to that possibility,” I say, with a sympathy I’ve never felt for Nicole before. “I mean, what else were you planning to do? Did you have a plan?”
“I don’t know! I thought…” She hesitates, chewing her nails. “I thought maybe Drew would meet someone else out there and it would all be decided for me.” And this is so ridiculous that I burst into real, proper laughter.
At once Nicole frowns, as though not sure whether to get offended or not—but then her face cracks into a smile. And I grin back. I feel like for the first time in our life, the two of us have connected. We were always like some electric circuit which didn’t work and was about to be chucked away in the bin. But now the bulb is flickering. There’s hope.
“For what it’s worth, I think Drew’s a great guy,” I say. “But that’s kind of irrelevant. The point is if he’s the right guy. For you.”
“Well, you know, either we stay married or we divorce,” replies Nicole, with a rare flash of comedy. “Win-win.” She pulls such a wry face I can’t help smiling. And now this connection has been made between us, I feel like I want to say everything I have to, very quickly.
“Nicole, there’s something else I need to say,” I blurt out. “It’s on a different topic, but it’s important. I was serious last night. You have to stop your yoga classes. We need to get back on track. Otherwise Morag will leave and Farrs will go bust and we’ll lose the house and Mum will never speak to us again.”
“You always exaggerate, Fixie.” Nicole gives me one of her dismissive eye rolls.
“I’m not exaggerating! We’re really in trouble! Bob said so,” I add for good measure. “Yesterday.”
This is a slight lie: Bob didn’t actually say we were in trouble. But everyone respects Bob. Sure enough, Nicole looks alarmed.
“Bob said we’re in trouble?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said…” I cross my fingers behind my back. “He said, ‘You’re in trouble.’ And it’s true!” I try to impress the facts on her. “Basically, we’ve messed up the shop while Mum’s been away and we need to put it right.”
“I haven’t messed up anything,” counters Nicole in her customary lordly manner. “Have you seen the Instagram page?” She tosses her hair back and glances at her reflection in a glass-fronted cupboard. “It’s transformed. Everyone agrees. The images are amazing.”
“Yes, but it’s only pictures of you!” I retort in exasperation. “And the only comments are people asking you for dates!”
“It’s increased our profile,” says Nicole at once, but she sounds defensive and I can tell I’m getting through.
“We need a big Christmas push,” I say. “I have a ton of ideas but you need to help me. Proper practical help in the store.”
“Oh, I can’t,” she says at once. “I’m not available. I’m going to Abu Dhabi.”
Is she for real?
“You’re not going until the twenty-third.” I give her a flinty look. “You’re free till then. And you’re helping. And you’re doing it my way. OK? You owe it to Farrs,” I add,