Leila has filled him in.
So he’ll know that I was with Seb…and then somehow I wasn’t anymore. He’ll know how devastated I’ve been. What he won’t know is that I’ve replayed our last couple of days over in my mind almost obsessively, and I still can’t work out quite how everything disintegrated.
What happened? One minute Seb and I were happy, the next we were shouting, the next we couldn’t even look each other in the eye. All in a blink. And if I could go back, if I could only go back…
No, I tell myself furiously. Don’t think that. Seb said it himself: “You can’t go back in time and do life a different way.”
I take a piece of gingerbread from Jake’s basket and munch it, trying to get a grip on myself, but it’s not easy. Thinking about Seb and what might have been fills me with such pain I can barely breathe.
Which is why I try not to do it. But I can’t help myself.
He’s back with Briony. Which shouldn’t have shocked me but did. I discovered it from looking on Facebook a couple of weeks ago. She’d posted a picture of the pair of them, smiling at the camera, captioned: Back together after a blip, all good now!!
And my heart kind of caved in on itself.
I was the blip.
I didn’t feel like a blip. I felt like more than a blip. But there it is in black-and-white: blip. And there’s no reason whatsoever for me ever to run into Seb again—London’s a big city—so that’s it. The end. I’ll never quite know why we broke up. Or how you can be the happiest you’ve ever felt with someone and then the saddest.
“Fixie?” Jake’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I realize my damp eyes are giving me away.
“Right. Yes. Christmas Eve! It’ll be fun!” I say, my voice a little shrill, blinking furiously. “Although I’ve got nowhere with my Christmas shopping; is there anything you want?”
We talk for a bit more, then I head back inside to the familiar colorful buzz of the shop. Morag has just found a new source of picnicware, all printed with daffodils and perfect for summer, and we’re both oohing-and-aahing over the catalog when I hear a loud, hideously familiar voice: “Can I get some service?”
My stomach plummets to the floor. For a moment I can’t even move for horror—then, very slowly, I turn my head, knowing exactly who I’m going to see.
It’s her. Whiny.
She looks spectacular. She’s in a white cable-knit turtleneck with a faux-fur vest over the top and shiny riding boots. Her skin is glowing with fake tan and her black jeans fit her snugly and her hair is all glossy under the lights.
“Oh, hi, I’d forgotten this was your place,” she drawls, her eyes running over me with gratification.
She hadn’t forgotten. I know what this is: It’s payback for the skating.
“Welcome to Farrs,” I say, feeling like a robot. “What can I get for you?”
“Oh, I’m not sure,” she says carelessly. “I’ll just browse all your little things. I haven’t even thought about Christmas yet. Seb’s such a great chef and it’s the first Christmas we’re spending together, just the two of us…so the pressure’s on!” She laughs merrily. “Seb’s so sweet, though; he keeps saying he’ll cook everything. He’s an angel.” Her eyes slide to mine. “As you know.”
As I know. Is she trying to torture me? Well, yes, of course she is.
“Stacey,” I call out, my voice husky because I’m actually finding this really difficult. “Could you…This customer needs…”
But my voice doesn’t rise above the hubbub strongly enough. Stacey’s head doesn’t turn.
“So, I’m finally moving in with him,” Briony says, as though we’re having a cozy girls’ chat over coffee. “About bloody time! I said to him, ‘Seb, we’re a couple! Let’s behave like one!’ And he agreed. He was like, ‘I’ve been a bit mad these last few weeks. I don’t know what got into me.’ And we’re off to Klosters on Boxing Day, so, you know. Back to normal.”
“Right,” I manage. My head is pounding as though I’m about to vomit, but I force my lips into a smile.
“Hi, Lucia!” Briony suddenly waves at a girl I’m sure I’ve seen in here before, with glossy blond hair to match Briony’s and a navy coat. They kiss each other and Lucia brandishes a basket cheerfully at Briony.
“I’m going to go mad,” she says. “I love this place. I come in for cling film