“I thought you were stressed out because you were missing your husband,” I point out. “He’s bought you a plane ticket to see him, so surely now you should be less stressed out?”
“You don’t understand.” Nicole shoots me a glare. “God, I’m dying for a coffee. Make me a coffee, Fixie.”
I count to three, then say clearly, “Make it yourself.”
“What?” Nicole blinks at me.
“We’ve got a coffee machine.” I gesture at it. “Make it yourself.”
“Oh, but you know I can’t do it,” says Nicole at once, as though proclaiming a law of nature.
“So learn,” I say. “I’ll teach you.”
“My head can’t learn that kind of stuff.” Nicole wrinkles her nose. “It’s, like, I get a mental block? Go on, you do it, Fixie. You’re so brilliant at the coffee machine.”
And there’s something about her lazy, drifty, entitled voice that suddenly makes me flip out.
“Stop telling me I’m brilliant at things you don’t want to do!” I yell, and her head jerks up in surprise. “Stop pretending to be incompetent to get out of things!”
“What?” Nicole’s staring at me as though she’s never heard me speak before and didn’t even realize I had a voice. Which maybe she didn’t.
“You can learn the coffee machine! Of course you can. You just don’t want to! You avoid everything, Nicole! Everything! Including your own husband!”
Shit. That popped out before I could stop it.
“What are you talking about?” Nicole’s hand flutters defensively to her mouth, and I feel my face flame. That was going too far. Or was it?
I swallow a few times, my mind working furiously. I could backtrack. Apologize. Close the conversation down. But I’m not in the mood for backtracking, or apologizing, or closing the conversation down. Maybe it’s time for us to be the kind of sisters Mum always wanted us to be. The kind who actually know something meaningful about each other’s lives.
“I know it’s none of my business,” I say, more calmly. “But you never talk to him on the phone. You don’t seem to care when he’s ill. And now you don’t want to go to Abu Dhabi to see him. Nicole … do you actually love Drew?”
There’s a massive silence. Nicole’s beautiful face is swiveled away from me, but I can see a tightness at the corner of her mouth. Her fingers are fiddling with her tassely belt and I notice her chewed-up nails. Then at last she turns her head, and to my shock, her eyes are full of tears.
“I don’t know,” she says in a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t bloody know.”
“Right,” I say, trying to hide my shock. “Well … did you love him when you married him?”
“I don’t know.” Nicole looks desperate. “I thought I did. But I might have made a massive mistake. Don’t tell Mum,” she adds quickly, and she sounds so like she did when she was fifteen years old and I found her swigging from a bottle of vodka that I can’t help a snort of laughter.
“I thought you were dying from separation anxiety,” I say, and Nicole’s nostrils flare.
“I have been really stressed out, actually,” she says, returning to her haughty self. “My yoga teacher says she’s concerned about me.”
I roll my eyes. Nicole will never not take herself seriously. But at least she’s sounding a bit more real.
“So, what went wrong?” I can’t help asking. “You seemed so happy at the wedding.”
“The wedding was great.” Nicole’s eyes soften with the memory. “And the honeymoon was great. But then I was a bit, ‘Is this it?’ There wasn’t anything to plan for anymore, you know? All the excitement was gone. It was so, I dunno, flat.”
“Couldn’t you have gone to Abu Dhabi with Drew?” I suggest. “Couldn’t you have planned for that? Why didn’t you go, anyway? Don’t tell me there aren’t yoga courses out there.”
“I panicked,” admits Nicole after a pause. “We’d had a couple of rows, and I thought, Drew and me on our own in Abu Dhabi in some expat flat? What if it all goes pear-shaped? What if we have more rows? I thought it would be easier this way. You know. It’d be …” She trails off in her usual unfinished way.
“You thought it would be easier to completely avoid your husband than to have a few rows.” I stare at her. “Yup. That makes sense.”
“It was stressful!” says Nicole defensively. “I thought, I’ll sit it out in England and it’ll work out one way or another.”
“You don’t work out a relationship by burying your head in the sand!” I exclaim incredulously. “All relationships are stressful! All relationships have rows! Do you love him?”
There’s a long silence. Nicole is twisting her hair round her fingers, her face turned away.
“Sometimes I think yes,” she says finally. “But sometimes I look at him and I think …” She flinches expressively. “But I mean, I haven’t seen him for, like, so long …”
I wait for her to continue—then realize that she’s finished. Even by Nicole standards, it’s a pretty inconclusive answer.
“Nicole, you have to go to Abu Dhabi,” I say firmly. “And then maybe you’ll find out whether you love Drew or not.”
“Yeah,” says Nicole, looking uncertain. “I suppose.”
“You have to,” I impress on her. “You need to spend time together. You need to confront this. Otherwise you don’t even know if you want to be married or not.”
“Maybe. But what if I get out there and …” Nicole trails off in her irritating way—but for once I know what she means. She means, “What if I realize I don’t love Drew?” And she looks pretty freaked out.
I mean, fair enough. I’d be freaked out too.
“I guess you have to face up to that possibility,” I say, with a sympathy I’ve never felt for Nicole before. “I mean, what else were you planning to do? Did you have a plan?”
“I don’t know! I thought …” She hesitates, chewing her nails. “I thought maybe Drew would meet someone else out there and it would all be decided for me.” And this is so ridiculous that I burst into real, proper laughter.
At once Nicole frowns, as though not sure whether to get offended or not—but then her face cracks into a smile. And I grin back. I feel like for the first time in our life, the two of us have connected. We were always like some electric circuit which didn’t work and was about to be chucked away in the bin. But now the bulb is flickering. There’s hope.
“For what it’s worth, I think Drew’s a great guy,” I say. “But that’s kind of irrelevant. The point is if he’s the right guy. For you.”
“Well, you know, either we stay married or we divorce,” replies Nicole, with a rare flash of comedy. “Win-win.” She pulls such a wry face I can’t help smiling. And now this connection has been made between us, I feel like I want to say everything I have to, very quickly.
“Nicole, there’s something else I need to say,” I blurt out. “It’s on a different topic, but it’s important. I was serious last night. You have to stop your yoga classes. We need to get back on track. Otherwise Morag will leave and Farrs will go bust and we’ll lose the house and Mum will never speak to us again.”
“You always exaggerate, Fixie.” Nicole gives me one of her dismissive eye rolls.
“I’m not exaggerating! We’re really in trouble! Bob said so,” I add for good measure. “Yesterday.”
This is a slight lie: Bob didn’t actually say we were in trouble. But everyone respects Bob. Sure enough, Nicole looks alarmed.
“Bob said we’re in trouble?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said …” I cross my fingers behind my back. “He said, ‘You’re in trouble.’ And it’s true!” I try to impress the facts on her. “Basically, we’ve messed up the shop while Mum’s been away and we need to put it right.”
“I haven’t messed up anything,” counters Nicole in her customary lordly manner. “Have you seen the Instagram page?” She tosses her hair back and glances at her reflection in a glass-fronted cupboard. “It’s transformed. Everyone agrees. The images are amazing.”
“Yes, but it’s only pictures of you!” I retort in exasperation. “And the only comments are people asking you for dates!”
“It’s increased our profile,” says Nicole at once, but she sounds defensive and I can tell I’m getting through.
“We need a big Christmas push,” I say. “I have a ton of ideas but you need to help me. Proper practical help in the store.”
“Oh, I can’t,” she says at once. “I’m not available. I’m going to Abu Dhabi.”
Is she for real?
“You’re not going until the twenty-third.” I give her a flinty look. “You’re free till then. And you’re helping. And you’re doing it my way. OK? You owe it to Farrs,” I add, as she draws breath. “You owe it to Mum. You owe it to me.”
Nicole is silent for a while, her eyes narrowing. I stare at her, unblinking, realizing that this is probably the first time I’ve ever asserted myself against her.
“Fine,” she says finally, huffing loudly. “Only I’m not lugging stock about. My yoga teacher says I shouldn’t be lifting heavy items. My arms are exceptionally slender.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I say, lifting my eyes skyward. “And now, welcome to the coffee machine, your new best friend.”