I Owe You One(17)

Well. Affectionate. She definitely looks affectionate.

I’ve never really got a handle on Nicole’s relationship with Drew, but then, that’s Nicole. She doesn’t talk about stuff. She doesn’t confide in anyone, even Mum. If anyone confronts her or tries to dig deeper, she just slides away and changes the subject or looks blank.

She met Drew through a friend, and at first he was going to help her with a new digital lifestyle company. He used to come over and they’d get quite animated about it and we’d all make suggestions. Then Nicole went off the idea, but by that time they were going out together, and then, fairly soon, they were engaged. I think Mum was concerned it was too quick—but on the other hand, Drew seemed nice and stable and well meaning … and the wedding was amazing.

I turn away from the montage and look at some new cushions on the bed. They’ve all got embroidered slogans, like Love Yourself and Me Time and a big one which says, You can’t pour from an empty cup: Take care of yourself first.

Nicole is lighting a series of scented candles in glasses, and they’ve got slogans printed on them too: Love. Spirit. Compassion.

“I’m all about compassion right now,” says Nicole seriously, following my gaze. “Compassion feeds the soul. Compassion is what makes us human.”

I blink at Nicole, trying to hide my surprise. Compassion? I’ve never heard her talk like this before.

“I totally agree!” I say eagerly, as she reaches into a low drawer for her curling wand. “You know, I often think we could do more at the shop to help people. Like, have a senior citizens’ cooking group or something?”

Maybe we can be close sisters, after all, I’m thinking. Maybe we can start a joint community project and really bond.… But as Nicole sits back up again, she shoots me a blank look.

“It’s not about the shop,” she says pityingly. “You and Mum are obsessed by that stupid shop.”

That stupid shop? I feel a tweak of indignation. That stupid shop which is paying for the roof over her head? Which paid for her wedding?

I don’t say anything, though, because I’m trying to be positive and bonding.

“Compassion is about yourself,” Nicole continues wisely. “It’s about your journey. It’s about: What is your light and how do you make it shine?”

“Right,” I say, slightly baffled. “I was just thinking that some of our older customers might be a bit lonely.…”

Nicole isn’t even listening, I realize.

“Compassion is actually very much a Buddhist concept,” she informs me, plugging in the curling wand. “If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete. That’s a quote from Buddha. You should get into Buddhism, Fixie. It’s like …”

I wait for her to tell me what it’s like, then realize she’s finished.

“Maybe I will,” I say, nodding. “Absolutely.”

“My yoga teacher, Anita, says affirmations are crucial for me right now,” Nicole adds. “It’s important for me to boost my endorphins, because I’m pretty vulnerable, with Drew away.” She eyes me seriously. “I could spiral.”

“Right,” I say hastily. “Awful. Poor you.”

“Anita says I’ve got to prioritize myself,” Nicole carries on. “Take care of myself. You know? It’s always about other people, but sometimes you have to say, ‘Sod other people; it’s about me. I deserve it.’ Sit there.”

Nicole nods at a chair and I take a seat. She brushes out my hair, sprays it with something from a bottle, then starts winding it round the curling wand.

I notice a book on the dressing table called Your Animal Psychological Self, and Nicole follows my gaze as she creates a tightly curled ringlet.

“I’ve got into psychological profiles too,” she says. “I’m a Dragonfly. I’ll give you a questionnaire. You should, like, rearrange your whole life according to …” She trails off and stares critically at a second ringlet. “Your hair doesn’t really shine, does it?”

“No,” I admit. “It doesn’t.”

My hair is the same length as Nicole’s—shoulder-blade level. But while hers ripples and glows with a combination of highlights and natural brilliance, mine just hangs. Nicole blasts my head with more spray and pulls my hair so tight that tears come to my eyes.

“You know Ryan’s got a girlfriend?” she says. “Ariana. I mean, I don’t know what you’re expecting, Fixie, but—”

“Leila says they’ve split up,” I say, too quickly.

“Really?” Nicole makes a skeptical face and releases another ringlet. “I follow Ariana on Instagram. She’s amazing. She’s all about compassion too. Compassion through cuisine.”

“Right.” I try to sound more nonchalant. “Well, they’re over now, so—”

“Look, this is her.” To my dismay, Nicole thrusts her phone into my field of vision. “She’s so inspirational. I commented on her pomegranate salad once, and she replied to me.”

“Don’t!” I want to wail. “Don’t show me pictures of Ryan’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, or whatever she is!” But that would sound insecure, so I keep my mouth shut. I know Nicole isn’t trying to torment me; she just doesn’t think about other people much. She’s scrolling through the photos now, presumably searching for her own comment. Short of closing my eyes, I can’t escape, so I gaze morosely at the blond Californian vision in front of me, doing yoga, cooking, and rollerblading in tiny shorts.