Page 77 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘I’m the same. In the best way possible,’ Eilidh says with a smile. ‘There was something in the air tonight, wasn’t there?’

I nod. ‘We got pretty heavy. I suppose it’s because the first few weeks were us getting to know one another. It really feels like we’re getting somewhere now, doesn’t it? Great idea to continue tomorrow night.’

‘Everyone’s starting to feel comfortable with one another,’ Eilidh says. ‘Even people that have known one another for years. I’ve been to Fiona’s cafe, spoken to her a million times about the weather or whatever, but never gone any deeper than that. A lot of the time we co-exist with people in our community without getting to know them properly. Pete’s right, this bookshop has brought us all together.’

‘We should celebrate,’ Donna grins. ‘Toast the success of The Next Chapter bookshop with a night on the town.’

‘Not sure we can call it a success right now. My bank balance suggests otherwise. But if my funding application for a book festival is approved, then we can break out the champers. Or, more likely, the English sparkling wine.’

‘Ah, come on,’ Donna urges. ‘We need a good girls’ night out! It’ll help you take your mind off your finances and stop Eilidh thinking about her twat of an ex parading around in his Speedos.’

And keep my mind off Rory receiving a declaration of love at the wedding. It could be happening right now. Elle could sidle up to him at the bar, compliment him on his kilt and whisper in his ear…

‘Okay, I’m in,’ I agree.

We make our way over to the pub and place our orders. A large group of men dressed in Scotland tops and kilts gather around one of the tables.

‘Is there a Scotland game on tonight?’ I whisper to Donna.

‘Worse than that,’ she whispers back. ‘It’s a stag do. I recognize a couple of the lads here.’

‘Alright, Donna!’ one calls. ‘Do you ladies fancy joining us?’

‘Christ, we’ve only been in the door five seconds and you’re already pouncing,’ Donna says with a roll of the eyes. ‘We’ll be keeping it quiet over in the corner. Maybe later, okay?’

Famous last words. One gin turns into two, before we agree we’d be as well sharing a bottle or two of wine. Within a couple of hours, we’ve put the world to rights and Donna is trying to persuade Eilidh to approach one of the men on the stag do.

‘I’m telling you, Eilidh, he’s perfect for you,’ she says, slurring her words.

‘What do we have in common exactly?’ She raises an eyebrow towards the group, who are cheering one another on in a game of beer pong on the pool table.

‘Who cares?’ Donna retorts. ‘You just need some love. Unless, oooh, did you finally take up Richard J.’s offer of a good time?’

Eilidh’s cheeks flush. ‘No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times since he was here.’

‘Talking on the phone,’ Donna says, flicking her wrist dismissively. ‘Just throw yourself in at the deep end and be done with it.’

Donna starts to sing ‘Come on, Eilidh’ to the tune of ‘Come on Eileen’. The stags overhear. The next thing we know, they are singing at the top of their lungs. Eilidh’s cheeks flush bright pink, while Donna and I take turns twirling her around the circle they’ve created. No one really knows the words to the song, aside from the title, so it turns into a drunken, not-particularly-tuneful chorus as Donna picks us up some shots.

I order a drink every time I check my phone and hear nothing from Rory, which makes for a boozy evening. The last time I was in the pub, Rory swept me off my feet. Now, I’m on the edge of my seat waiting for some kind, any kind, of update from him.

Stop thinking about the wedding. Concentrate on having fun with your friends, Ava, I tell myself in the bathroom mirror.

Oops, I am drunk. Shit. It has been such an emotional, evening, and now it’s spiralled out of control. One minute Eilidh is having a deep and meaningful chat about Mark, the next we are joining the stag do’s conga line.

By the time we leave at closing time, one of the stags is in deep discussion with another about changing career at the age of twenty-five, as if they are eighty-five.

I spot Finlay on a late-night dog walk with Piper as we wait outside for Donna and Eilidh’s taxi to arrive.

I slur slightly, nudging Donna in the ribs. ‘There’s Finlay. Why don’t you go speak to him?’

She seems to consider it before saying, ‘No, I can’t. It’s bad enough trying to talk to him sober. I’d be all over the place tonight.’

‘You still like him, don’t you?’ I ask gently.

‘It wasn’t meant to be with Finlay. I can’t… It wouldn’t work.’

‘What doesn’t work?’ Eilidh asks, with a frown. ‘Oh, God, you don’t mean—’