Page 32 of The Breakup Bookshop

Donna laughs. ‘I’m keen. I’d love a girly night of words and wine.’

‘Yes, definitely! Although, I mean, I love the books. Don’t get me wrong, Ava,’ Eilidh says, ‘but it would just be nice to have somewhere to go and talk. That’s what last night taught me.’

I nod along as Eilidh and Donna discuss the bookshop opening and how excited they are to have a new place to go, somewhere to read, but also somewhere to feel closer to other people in the village. It’s exactly what I’d secretly hoped but was too scared to voice. And finally, it’s all starting to come together.

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 Amazon 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.’