Page 78 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘No,’ Donna giggles. ‘No, that works fine. That works well, actually. Very well.’

‘What then? What doesn’t work?’ Eilidh presses.

‘I don’t. Finlay wants a huge family. I broke up with him when I found out… That’s not possible for me. Because I can’t have children,’ she says in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’s a medical thing. Early menopause that started in my early twenties. I broke things off with him when I learnt about it.’

‘Oh, Donna!’ I exclaim, my heart hurting for my lovely friend. ‘I’m… I’m so sorry.’

‘Thank you. I decided not to tell him about it, for lots of reasons. I know he’s always wanted to be a dad, and I wanted to give him that chance. Then I stupidly let my guard down again recently. He’s just so kind and thoughtful and really looked after me and Dad after Mum died. But I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve hurt him all over again.’

There are so many things I want to say to Donna, beginning with: wouldn’t it be better to tell Finlay and at least try and work it out? If you want to have children, can you look at other options? But I doubt I’m the best person to be dishing out advice when my own love life is in tatters. Eilidh obviously feels the same way, as she stays quiet too.

Instead, we gather Donna into a hug.

‘Ooh,’ she giggles. ‘I’ve never had a three-way before.’

‘Donna!’ Eilidh exclaims.

‘Well, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry,’ she says with a shrug. ‘And I’m past the crying stage, you know?’

‘It’s obviously your decision,’ I say, carefully, ‘but can’t you at least think about telling him this?’

‘I could,’ she says, rubbing my arm as though she’s coaching me through the situation. ‘But he would stay with me, out of a sense of duty. I don’t want that, never knowing if I’d caused him disappointment because I can’t give him what he really wants.’

As Donna and Eilidh’s taxi pulls up, Donna gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, tells me not to worry about it and that we can talk again soon, and jumps into the back seat. Eilidh says goodbye too, following her into the taxi. The window opens and Donna leans out as the car speeds away, calling on me to text them when I’m home.

I stand rooted to the spot, my mouth hanging open. The boozy haze and sudden emotional conversation make my shoulders feel heavier as I head for home.

I won’t tell Rory. I won’t tell anyone. It’s Donna’s decision not to let Finlay know and it’s not my place to talk about it, but I just feel so sad for her, for Finlay, and what could have been. The weight of Donna’s confession weighs on me. She appears so happy, so carefree, but this has obviously been on her mind for a long time. And not having her mum to talk to about it any more, that must hurt too.

‘Ava!’ a voice calls, interrupting my train of thought. I gaze around to locate the voice. It can’t be Rory, he’s away for the wedding. Besides, it’s too English.

I turn around and there he is, standing at the door of his cobalt-blue BMW, which gleams even in the darkness.

Seb. Seb is here in Ullapool.

What the fuck?

27

‘Ava,’ he repeats, in a low voice. ‘Can we talk?’

I frown as he leans against the BMW, his pride and joy, wearing the dark grey suit he bought after his latest promotion. He looks good. He always looks good. But who wears a suit for a ten-hour drive? His bright blue eyes regard me playfully, like this is one big joke. His dark hair is slicked back into his favourite style, and his dark-rimmed glasses are as on-trend as ever.

‘Nope,’ I say, fumbling in my bag to locate my house keys. It’s a struggle. My shaking hand fishes around in its mass and finds nothing. Seriously, there is nothing in the bag except my house keys and phone, how can I not find them?

I glance up and frown at the small drops of rain that start to spit from the sky. Great timing. I hope it pisses down on Seb.

‘Need a hand?’ he asks.

‘Not from you.’

Keys. I’m drunk. I need to find the keys and get the hell away from Seb and his stupid fancy car. I don’t want to look at him for too long. I don’t want this to be real. I don’t want to see Seb here, in Ullapool. This is my happy place, my peace, and he is ruining it.

‘Oh, come on, Ava. I’ve come all this way.’

Seb’s self-important tone vibrates around the narrow streets. His accent sounds weird here too. Posh and pretentious. Did I really listen to him for six years?

‘I brought a few things you left at our flat,’ he says, trying to lure me into conversation.