Page 53 of The Breakup Bookshop

Eilidh giggles as she hangs up.

I open the bookshop early after sharing the story on social media and then wait behind the till, willing someone to walk in so I can share the joy of the article with them in real life.

But no one appears, so I roll my blind-date bookstand outside the store, glancing around for someone, anyone, to talk to. Donna’s salon isn’t open yet and the streets are empty, but then Rory pulls up. It’s 8.56, of course.

For a moment, my face flushes as I remember the almost-kiss that I likely made up in my head on the boat trip. I’d felt so close to him – something I’d never imagined. But he hates the idea of the bookshop, the support group, everything… Which is why he is the perfect person to share Richard’s article with.

‘Soo,’ I say, sidling up beside his car and leaning on it. ‘You know how you said that Ullapool doesn’t need a bookshop. And then you said it didn’t need a support group, because we should all just go to the pub and ignore our feelings…’

‘I didn’t say ignore them,’ Rory says. ‘I said—’

‘Well, you weren’t exactly on board with the idea of my bookshop. Put it that way. Anyway, here.’

I thrust my phone into his hands and add: ‘Read it and weep.’

‘Can I get out of the car first?’

‘Fine.’ I step back to allow him to open the door.

He stretches out his legs, clutching my phone, and reads the article.

‘A message just popped up,’ he says, glancing up at me. ‘Someone called Seb?’

I swallow the salty taste in my mouth. I haven’t heard from Seb since I texted him on whisky night. The last message I’d had from him was a thumbs-up when I told him I was leaving the flat and had posted my key through the letterbox. Six years of my life and that was all I got – a fucking thumbs-up.

I want to snatch the phone from Rory to see what the hell Seb said, but I don’t want to appear too keen. Instead I shrug, in what I hope is a nonchalant manner.

I tap my foot against the pavement. What does the text say? Oh God, what if it follows on from Macy’s message that I deleted? What if they are announcing their engagement? Or apregnancy? I swallow, watching Rory’s face studying my phone screen. When he finishes reading, he hands it back to me.

‘Well done. Great article. Seb thinks so too.’

‘Is that what he said?’ I frown, scrolling to read the message.

Saw the article. Congrats.

Congrats. He can’t even be bothered to type out a full word in recognition of my achievements. The bastard.

‘Yup,’ Rory nods. ‘I take it he’s the verging on grey guy? The one you’re running away from?’

‘Something like that,’ I mumble, walking back into the bookshop. The wind has well and truly been sucked from my sails.

Four words:Saw. The. Article. Congrats.

How can he be so flippant about it? Surely I deserve more thanthat? A response to a drunken question, for a start:Why Macy? Total recognition of his wrongdoing along with full admission to the arsehole hall of fame?

There had been a sort of garbled apology at the time, but I’d cut him off. I didn’t want to hear whether he planned a future with Macy or where he went while I was in his flat. I’d assumed he moved into her place for a bit. The one I’d spent days, weeks, months of my life in. Where we’d hung out watching endless episodes ofGrey’s Anatomyon her sofa. Where I’d helped her build her Ikea wardrobes. Where we’d hosted regularCome Dine With Meevenings. I would buy the dessert and she would cook up a storm for the other two courses because she was the most talented home-cook I knew, and she made the best carbonara I’d ever had.

We were best fucking friends, Seb.

Congrats.

‘Glad to see the breakup bookshop is helping,’ Rory calls.

I spin around. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Just that you obviously started the support group to get some closure from him. Now you’ve got him texting you again and you’re wandering around like a fart in a trance.’

‘I’m not,’ I frown. ‘I have work to do.’