I Owe You One: A Novel(102)

“You look knackered,” I say, with a wince. “You look like what you need most is sleep.”

“Sleep!” He gives a short angry laugh, and I see a vein throbbing at his temple again. Everything I say is making him cross, but I can’t stop.

“Why don’t you go and have a nap?” I venture. “And I’ll make some soup. And then we’ll sit down and make a plan.”

Just for a split second I think he might agree. There’s a flash of some deep-down emotion in his eyes and I feel as though I’ve got somewhere. But almost at once it’s gone. His guard is back up and he’s striding around the room again.

“I don’t need soup, or a plan, or any bullshit like that. I need cash.” He turns to me again, his face alive and urgent. “So here’s what you do. You go and see your rich boyfriend and you find me some money. Or a new business contact. Something.”

“What?” I’m so shocked, I actually laugh. “I can’t do that!”

“I need it.”

“Jake, I can’t.”

“I need it,” he repeats harshly. “If I can’t get some money soon, I’ll have to go to the guys who break your legs.”

I feel a stab of terror, and the ravens start to bat their wings as hard as they ever have, but I force myself not to cave in. Tough love. That’s what Seb advised. Block him out.

“There has to be another way.”

“I’ve tried every way!” he erupts. “You know what every businessperson needs, Fixie? A bit of luck. One little nugget of luck. Well, you’re going out with this guy Seb, and that’s my nugget of luck.”

“Seb and I had a row last night,” I contradict him. “I’m not even sure if we’re going out.”

“He owes you, though, doesn’t he?” Jake comes back instantly. “You saved his life or whatever? Leila told me the whole thing,” he adds, and I curse myself for blabbing about Seb last night, while Leila was finishing off my topcoat.

“He’s not rich,” I say. “He’s not. He manages money, that’s all. He’s not some flash guy; he’s not like all your millionaire friends.”

“He has access to money,” says Jake. “He knows people. And I’m desperate.” He comes over and brings his face close to mine. “Family first, Fixie. Do this for me. Or do you want to break up the family?”

“What do you mean, break up the family?” I say in horror.

“If you don’t do this for me, that’s it,” he says nastily. “The family’s broken. What, you’re going to watch your own brother sink? You think we can play happy family after that?”

He swings away and I breathe out, my head spinning, close to tears. I know what Seb said: tough love. But I’m not tough enough. I can’t block out Jake’s energy, his aggression.

I have a sudden memory of Mum’s voice: “Just don’t lose the shop, Fixie. Or let the family break up.” And I promised her. I pointed at the gateleg oak table in the dining room and said, “When you get back, we’ll be sitting around that very table to celebrate. The shop will be in great shape. And we’ll be a happy family.”

A wave of despair crashes over me. I’ve failed on every front. Morag’s threatening to leave. Profits are shaky. And now Jake’s going to break up the family. He’ll turn Nicole against me. Mum will come back to split-up, warring factions and she’ll be devastated.

I can’t be tough. Not that tough. I can’t.

And, anyway, what’s Jake actually asking for? He only wants me to request some help from Seb. It’s not such a huge deal.

“Fine,” I mutter at last.

“What, you’ll do it?” Jake’s face lights up.

In answer, I reach for my phone and compose a text to Seb:

Can I come to see you? Lunchtime?

I send it and almost at once get a response:

Of course!

“OK, it’s on,” I say, putting my phone down. “I’m seeing him at lunch.”

“Yes!” says Jake, giving an energetic fist pump. “Fixie, you’re a star.”

“I can’t promise anything,” I say, wanting to make this clear. “I can’t promise anything. All I can do is ask him for help.”

“Oh, he’ll help you,” says Jake, and all his confident swagger seems to have returned. “He’ll help you, Fixie.”

—

As I walk to work, I keep looking at Seb’s text on my phone and trying to analyze it. It’s only two words—Of course!—but I think I can tell a lot from them. He sounds keen. He put an exclamation mark, which he didn’t have to. He doesn’t sound angry. Or … does he?

I try to picture him saying, “Of course!” with a furious scowl, but it doesn’t work. I think he wants to see me. I hope he does. And of course we’ll have to talk about last night, and I’ll apologize for looking in his brother’s room and it might be a bit prickly … but we’ll be OK.

Won’t we?

At last I shove my phone away. I can’t speculate anymore; it’s doing my head in. I enter the shop and at once see Morag at the other end. She’s lecturing Stacey about something—I can’t hear what exactly, but Morag’s pointing to a display—and I feel a sudden wave of love for her. She’s planning to leave, but she’s still taking the time to do that? She still cares about Farrs; I know she does.