Chapter 11
Seb still hasn’t texted me back. Not a peep. It’s not that I want to hear from him, but it feels like I’ve given him the upper hand. I hate that. Plus, it hurts. I hate that it hurts.
I try to forget about Seb and Macy, but reminders sneak up on me when I least expect it.
The morning sun creeps through the windows as I busy myself around the bookshop, slotting titles into the correct shelves.
Then, the radio blasts out a song that takes me straight back to my twenty-first birthday: ‘Chandelier’, by Sia.
Macy and I went to some horrible, sticky nightclub and danced into the small hours with our friends.
On the way home, we’d all taken turns singing the song in high-pitched warbles while walking hand in hand through the streets of London.
Hearing the song now, I can’t believe how carefree I was then.
Before Seb, before our ‘grown-up’ jobs, before real life kicked in and got in the way.
The nostalgia almost takes my breath away. I blink back tears. God, it is so stupid to feel this way over a pop song. We’d sounded like a cat’s choir. Someone had shouted at us to ‘shut the fuck up’ from across the road and we almost doubled over with laughter.
I miss that feeling. I miss Macy.
Shaking my head, I remind myself what’s happened since then.
Things have moved on for a reason. There is no time to wallow, I have to move on, make the most of the new life I am creating for myself.
I watch Rory’s car pull up outside. I must put a brave face on and be nice to Rory all day, until he’s completed the mural.
It is the finishing touch to my bookshop, the focal point, so it has to be perfect.
I fling the door open, fixing the cheeriest smile I can muster on my face. I check my watch: 8.56 a.m. Even if I am practically having to drag him into the shop and force him to paint, at least he is reliable.
‘Good morning!’
‘I’ll just get my stuff. Be with you in a minute.’
‘Excited to get started?’
He stops and shifts from foot to foot, looking down at the ground. ‘Look, I’m not usually… I don’t normally get paid for this kind of thing. The art thing has always been a bit of a pipe dream for me. Maybe you should hire someone who knows what they’re doing.’
I’ve never seen Rory like this before. Grumpy, yes, often. But nervous? Not so much. I can’t help but like this more vulnerable side to him.
‘I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could do it,’ I say softly.
He picks up his paintbrushes and sketches from the back seat of his car, still not meeting my eye. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘There’s no pressure. Best thing about painting is that it can always be painted over.’
‘Or you could order a print from instead?’
‘If it’s shit, I’ll just shove a chair and a huge plant in front of it,’ I say. ‘Hope no one notices.’
‘Good.’ He nods and offers me a small smile. ‘As long as we have a back-up plan, I’m good to go.’
‘We won’t need it. I’m pretty confident about that.’
‘Glad someone is,’ he mutters.
*
I want to give Rory the time and space he needs to work on the mural. So, I hold myself back from bouncing into the shop every five minutes to check on his progress and, instead, I concentrate on serving customers in The Toolbox.
I finally unleash myself near the end of the day, popping my head through the door of my bookshop.
Rory stands in front of the mural, peering at his sketches and then back at the wall.
I clear my throat to signal my presence and gasp at the sight of what he’s created.
He has sketched a map of Ullapool, from the mountains to the sea, with characterful drawings of the local wildlife and quirky features of the village too.
I spot the bookshop next to his DIY store, with Piper lapping some water outside. He’s in the middle of painting the sky.
‘Wow,’ I breathe. ‘It looks amazing, Rory.’
‘It’s getting there. I still need to build up the layers and add some details, but it’s a good start.’
‘An excellent start. Can I get a video of you working on the mural for my social media?’
‘Social media,’ he repeats with a roll of his eyes. ‘That wasn’t in the contract.’
‘Do you know the impact social media could have on your business? We don’t all have your dedicated fanbase in the village so I need all the help I can get.’
‘Ah, come on.’ He puts his paintbrush down on the counter. ‘It’s all bullshit. Influencers parading around, sponsored ads and Big Brother spying on your every click.’
‘I worked for a creative agency in London specializing in social media. It can increase business revenue massively. My business strategy is based on it.’
‘It’s not about social media and all that nonsense around here.
’ He leans back on the counter. ‘It’s about supporting people in real life.
Helping people with the things they need, like finding the right size of cable, ordering something in when you don’t have it in stock or changing a plug for them when they can’t do it for themselves. It’s about—’
‘I think you’re right,’ I interrupt.
‘You do?’ He raises his eyebrows.
‘Yes, you can tone down your righteous speech, I’ve got it covered.
Social media is a big part of my business strategy, but it’s not the whole thing.
I’ve been working on this other idea that could be great.
In fact, I think it’s going to be amazing, for the whole community.
Even your fangirl Margaret. She might end up liking me more than you. ’
‘That’s a bold statement. Go on then. I’m all ears.’
‘A support group. In the bookshop,’ I announce, proudly. ‘The Ullapool bookshop breakup and grief support group.’
‘Well, that’s a bit of a mouthful, for a start. What do you mean, a breakup and grief support group?’
‘I want the bookshop to be a space that the community really needs, as well as somewhere they can discover their next read. It would be somewhere people can go to talk about whatever they’re going through. From my short time in Ullapool, I feel something like that is really missing from here.’
‘You’ve completely lost me.’
‘This village has so much heart, but also a lot of heartache: breakups, affairs, grief. People like Donna and Pete, even Margaret, they’re all missing someone and want to talk about it.
Every person I’ve spoken to has a story of something they’re working through.
Well, except you. You have a heart of stone. ’
‘A breakup bookshop. You really have lost it.’
‘Rory, I’m telling you,’ I say, putting my hands on my hips. ‘People need a space to gather and share their stories.’
‘They already do. It’s called the pub.’
‘It’s not healthy, though, to go to the pub and drown your sorrows, is it? People around here are crying out for a space to open up and a shoulder to cry on.’
‘Alright, Oprah Winfrey. You’ve got these big ideas with your woo-woo city therapy speak, but we don’t need that kind of thing here. This is the Highlands. We don’t need social media and support groups and breakup bookshops. We just get on with things.’
‘You said yourself that people appreciate help,’ I point out. ‘It’s not fixing their washing lines or whatever you do, but this is a different way of helping them. Plus, it brings the community together. Surely that’s not a bad thing?’
‘Next, you’ll be suggesting we replace Fiona’s caff with artisan coffee shops and bougie restaurants with minuscule small-plates you need to remortgage your house to afford. Fish and chips served in wee metal trays, just to be posh.’
‘You’re just scared that I’m going to take your halo,’ I say. ‘I’ll be the new favourite.’
‘There’s no way that’s going to happen because of a support group.’
‘Just because you’re dead inside doesn’t mean everyone else is.’
‘I don’t want to see you crash and burn, Ava. I’m trying to help you here.’
‘You want to help me? Come along to the first breakup support group and open up about what turned you into such a negative Nigel,’ I snap. ‘And get the mural finished. I’m paying you for that.’
I can’t quite bring myself to leave it at that. I bite my lip to try to stop, but find myself adding, ‘Please.’