Page 50 of The Breakup Bookshop

Jen shakes her head, clutching the hankie and patting her bloodshot eyes. ‘Please, someone else be miserable so I’m not the only one. And book me in for my hair transformation, Donna.’

Donna nods. ‘Yes, sweetheart, show him what he’s missing!’

Jen groans. ‘Right, can someone else take over now? Please?’

‘Hi everyone,’ I say, taking the floor to deflect attention from poor Jen. ‘I’m Ava and I… God, it’s harder than you think, isn’t it?’

I look around at everyone – Pete, Donna, Jen, Eilidh, Fiona – and they nod sympathetically. Even Margaret seems to agree as she gives a small nod, a flicker of agreement. I’d been more than a little surprised when she arrived early, the first breakup bookshop member of the evening. She seemed reluctant to admit she’d come for the group as she casually browsed the historical fiction section. When I mentioned it, she said that, yes, she would stay, as though she were doing me a favour.

‘Yes,’ Margaret says. ‘It’s easy to listen but hard to speak.’

I swallow my surprise. Has Margaret just said something supportive? Maybe the ice queen is thawing. I offer her a small smile, remembering what Rory said about her. She’d lost her husband. She’s obviously lonelier than she wants to admit and is finding it difficult to open up. That’s why she’s here, and that’s why the breakup bookshop is important. It can help people who struggle to admit they need help, support or company.

‘Like you said, it’s Chatham House rules,’ Eilidh reminds me with an encouraging smile.

‘What does that mean?’ Jen asks.

‘That we won’t go around telling people what you’ve been saying. It’s sensitive information, so we don’t want to broadcast it,’ Eilidh explains.

I take a deep breath. I have to set an example. This whole breakup bookshop is my idea, after all. The Next Chapter. I can’t let everyone else share their secrets and feelings but refuse to open up myself. I’m just not ready to share the whole story, though. I can’t talk about Macy. Not in front of everyone. I can barely admit that part to myself. It just hurts too much. Losing her as a friend seems like the biggest heartbreak of all.

So, instead, I tell them about Seb. I tell them how we met, how he encouraged me in my career, how I’d planned my future with him. Then, boom, I drop the bombshell that he cheated on me, and I moved here for a fresh start.

I smile. ‘And here I am.’

My head is thumping by the time I’ve finished my short account of the situation, and my heart is sad and heavy in my chest. I know it is good to talk about these things out loud, but right now it feels like a long, hard slog.

‘I think you’re an inspiration, Ava,’ Eilidh says. ‘You packed up everything and moved to the middle of nowhere, where you didn’t really know anyone, and started a whole new business and life. If that stuff with Seb hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking to one another. That’s all down to you.’

‘Well, it was more out of desperation than bravery,’ I say, and the others laugh. ‘But thank you. I hope you found the first meeting useful. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

As the group chatter at the end of the session, I start to gather the mugs and biscuits I’d handed out during the meeting, listening to the buzz of conversation around me.

‘Do you know, Fiona, I feel better after that,’ I hear Margaret reveal. ‘I think I’ll sleep well tonight.’

‘Wasn’t it great?’ Fiona agrees. ‘We should have done something like this years ago. We’re so on top of one another in the village, but how often do we actually just talk?’

I feel pride surge in my chest at the thought of helping this community I’ve fallen in love with. Eilidh and Donna congratulate me as they leave, both comforting poor Jen on the way out. Pete gives me a wink, then follows them out. Margaret says shemightsee me next time as she shuffles out with her stick in hand.

‘I’ll stay behind and help you tidy,’ Fiona offers.

Granny always said that when you’re part of a small community, you have to immerse yourself in it and let people in. She said your door was never really closed when you lived in Ullapool, and that people making themselves at home in your home was an honour. I think I’m feeling some of that village pride now.

‘Of course, that would be great.’

Fiona picks up an empty biscuit packet to fan her face, which has started to glisten with sweat. ‘These bloody hot flushes are a nightmare.’

‘Take a seat. You don’t need to help. We can just chat,’ I say, as I offer Fiona a biscuit. She takes one, then sits down again, flapping at her face.

‘You know, there are menopause support groups, there’s Alcoholics Anonymous and there are grief groups, but you have to fit in a box for all of them. This group’s great, because you don’t need to be just one thing. So, well done, you.’

‘It was good tonight,’ I say. ‘Emotionally exhausting, but good. You didn’t want to speak?’

Fiona had remained quiet throughout the session.

‘Oh, I just, well… I’m not sure about it all yet.’

‘No stories to share? Good-looking woman like you, I know you’ll have broken some hearts.’