I head over to the coffee machine and stare at it impatiently. I know it had beans yesterday.
“It’s temperamental,” says Nicole, following my gaze. “You know? It’s needy. Never mind, Café Allegro is open. Someone can pop out and buy more beans?”
“I’m in the middle of this,” says Jake, looking up from the cheesecake. “Leila’ll go.”
“Jakey, you know I’ve hurt my toe,” says Leila, sounding hurt. “You know it’s all swollen up.”
“Nicole, you go,” I command, but Nicole looks affronted.
“I can’t go!” she says. “I’m talking to Drew in a moment. It’s all been arranged. God, Fixie, you could go yourself, you know. It’s only ten minutes’ walk.”
“I thought you were supposed to have changed.” I glare at her. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“Have a coffee!” calls Nicole mollifyingly. “There’s no rush!”
As I head out, my bag swinging on my shoulder, I feel indignant with both my siblings. Why should I have to go? It’s so typical.
But as I walk along, my anger abates, and I start feeling glad of the fresh air, grateful for the time out. It’s been a pretty intense couple of days, and I woke this morning with my heart hammering. I’m not nervous about Mum returning, exactly, but …
Well. Maybe I am nervous. I so don’t want her to be disappointed in us.
I round the corner and head toward Café Allegro and my heart starts beating hard again—but not because of Mum. I’ve been in here for coffee a few times since Seb and I broke up, and it’s always been difficult. Now I’m getting impatient with myself. Am I going to feel like this every time I go to Café Allegro? Am I going to replay every instant of our meeting? The laptop … the ceiling crashing down … the coffee sleeve …
It’s ridiculous, I tell myself firmly as I push open the door. I’m here for coffee beans. I’m not even going to think about him. A few people are sitting around with coffees, but there’s no queue and I walk straight up to the counter. I order the beans and order myself a takeaway cappuccino, then turn to go.
And everything seems to go wobbly.
Am I …
Is this real?
He’s sitting by the window in the same seat. He’s working on his laptop. And there’s a spare seat opposite. As though he can feel my gaze on him, Seb looks up briefly, and I see everything in his eyes that I want to see.
I don’t know what magic has brought him here. My brain can’t function well enough; I can’t make sense of it. But he’s here. And his eyes are telling me that they love me.
Hardly able to breathe, I make my way over to the table and sit down. Seb doesn’t look up from his laptop but keeps typing, and I look out of the window as though I don’t know him.
You can’t go back in time and do life a different way.
Well, maybe you can.
Seb’s phone buzzes with a call and I watch, prickling like a cat, as he answers it. I feel so taut, so wound up, I could scream. I have to get this right. We have to get this right.
“Oh, hi, Fred. Yes, it’s me.” Seb listens for a bit to the voice at the other end, then gets to his feet.
“Excuse me,” he says politely to me in a stranger’s voice. “I’m just stepping out to take a phone call. Could you watch my laptop?”
“Sure,” I manage, my voice hardly working. I watch him threading his way between the tables, already back on the phone, saying, “Thanks, mate. Yup.”
He stands outside, exactly as he did before, and I take a sip of cappuccino, but I can’t taste it. All my senses are on high alert. Now is the cue for the ceiling to collapse, but the ceiling’s been mended; I saw the workmen doing it last month. It’s different, all different.
And now Seb’s coming back into the shop, and I’m not clutching his laptop while water drips from me; it’s there, safe on the table. But he still stops before he reaches the table and meets my eyes as though something seismic has happened.
Or maybe is happening.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m Sebastian.”
“I’m Fixie,” I say.
“Thanks for looking after my laptop.”
And this is where he should add, “I owe you one,” and we should start down the inexorable path toward shouting and tears and splitting up—but this time the words don’t come. All that comes is his warm gaze. Loving and kind of questioning.
“Anytime,” I say, and he nods, and I can sense us both breathing out.
We did it. We did it differently.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he says, still in über-polite tones. “Or a cup of tea? A juice?”
“Actually, I must be going,” I say, remembering my script. “I have a family party I need to get back for.” Seb’s face falls and I see doubt creep in, and just for a moment I let him suffer … before I add with a tentative smile, “Would you like to come?”
—
Mum looks amazing. I mean, amazing. She’s not only tanned and fit-looking, with a new red sweater and dangling pearl earrings, she has a new spring in her step. She’s energetic. As we greet her taxi, she cries out in delight and hugs us all, over and over, and then we bundle her luggage into the house while she tells us about Christmas in Spain and how Aunty Karen was planning to serve lobster.
“I was all set to do it,” she says. “I really was. But then, do you know what it was? It was watching White Christmas one evening. Oh, it got to me! My eyes filled with tears and I looked at your Aunty Karen and she said, ‘You’re going home, aren’t you?’ And I said, ‘Oh, Karen.’ And I booked the flight the next day. I couldn’t have Christmas away from home, just couldn’t do it. I had to be here with you all—Jake, Nicole, and Fixie, and Leila, of course, and—” Her eyes fall confusedly on Seb, as though for the first time. Well, in fact, exactly for the first time, I realize.
“Right,” I say hastily. “Er … this is Seb.”
“Seb!” cries Mum, as though she’d known all the time, his name had just slipped her mind. “Oh, it’s wonderful to be back. You all look so well, and the house looks lovely.…”
She’s picked up a bit of Aunty Karen’s zest for life, I decide as we troop into the kitchen, and that’s no bad thing.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Would you like some coffee?” chimes in Nicole. “I can do you a macchiato, a latte, flat white.…”
“I’m opening the Cava,” says Jake firmly. “Red-letter day.”
“Red-letter day,” echoes Seb, drawing me a little way into the hall. His lips brush briefly against mine and he murmurs, “I want you so much,” in my ear, and I feel an instant pang of lust.
“Later,” I murmur back, smiling.
For a while we just gaze silently at each other. I feel as if his woodland eyes are enveloping me and I can’t bear to tear myself away—till a sudden clatter from the kitchen makes us both start.
“Come on,” I say, my voice a little husky. “We’d better join the others.”
As we enter the kitchen, I see Leila nudging Nicole excitedly—and at once my lust is replaced by hope they won’t be too mortifying over lunch. Leila has already totally embarrassed me by calling out, “It’s them! They’re together! Yay!” as we approached the house.
Then, when we got inside, it all came out. It wasn’t magic that brought Seb to Café Allegro; it was Nicole and Hannah. They contacted Seb secretly on Friday night and filled him in on a few key facts. Apparently Hannah set up a conference call to discuss it, which is so her. Apparently she also said directly to Seb, “And why did you get back together with Briony?” and Seb said, “Better the devil you know,” whereupon Hannah said, “No! Wrong!” as though he was a junior on her team.
I mean, I wish I’d been on the call, now.
It was Hannah’s idea to set up our meeting today, and it was Nicole who thought of emptying the coffee machine of beans. I mean, honestly. Since when did she become so practical?
“So, is there anything I can do?” I ask, a little too briskly. “We were just …”
“We know,” says Leila with a sudden gurgle of laughter. Then her expression changes. “Fixie, let me …” She adjusts my hair quickly, patting and tweaking it, then gives me one of her sweet smiles. “There. That’s better!”
“How’s Drew?” says Mum as Jake hands out the Cava, and Nicole colors slightly.
“Actually, Mum, there’s something I need to tell you. I won’t be here for Christmas. I’m off to Abu Dhabi to see Drew. I’m flying tomorrow.”
Mum’s sharp eyes survey Nicole as though searching for trouble—but then something in her face relaxes.
“Good idea, Nicole,” she says. “Good idea, darling.”
“Well, here’s to you, Mum,” says Jake, lifting a glass. “Welcome back!”
We all take a sip and then Mum says, “Here’s to you, loves. All of you. You’ve done so well, keeping the house spotless and everything running so well. The shop looks in marvelous shape! Morag sent me some pictures of you, Jake, all dressed up as a gingerbread man.” She smiles at him. “And the events for children are such a good idea.…”
“The sales aren’t bad either,” I say eagerly. “Last week’s takings are better than last year’s.”