I Owe You One: A Novel(57)

“Look,” I say to Stacey, feeling a quickening of excitement in spite of myself. “It’s Kitten Smith.”

“Oh yeah,” says Stacey, shooting her an unimpressed look. “How much did Jake pay her to come?”

“Pay her?” I stare at Stacey.

“Well, she wouldn’t have done it for free, would she?” Stacey rolls her eyes.

“Right. Of course not!” I say hastily, trying not to sound as na?ve as I feel. It never occurred to me that Jake was shelling out on this YouTuber. I thought he’d got her interested in Farrs somehow.

How much did he pay?

As I’m watching, two girls in glitzy-looking dresses come through the door and Jake kisses them both with loud exclamations. I have no idea who they are. I have no idea who anyone is. I know I need to go and mingle, but they all look terrifying. I decide I’ll finish my drink, get another one, and then go and mingle.

Jake looks in his element, I can’t help noticing. He’s handing out drinks and cracking jokes, all loud and confident. I keep hearing the phrase “Notting Hill” in conversation, which makes me prickle suspiciously, but I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I drain my glass, fill it up again, and am about to approach the glitziest, most-frightening-looking girl, when I see a welcome sight coming in through the door. It’s Vanessa! She’s dressed up smartly in a navy suit, but she’s as smiley and familiar as ever.

Finally! An actual customer! I hurry over and find myself kissing her on both cheeks, which is not what I’d normally do but I’m picking up habits from Jake.

“Vanessa! Welcome!” I grab a glass of champagne from a waitress and give it to her.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” says Vanessa pleasantly, looking around. “Very smart. What’s it in aid of? I couldn’t quite work it out, from the invitation.”

“Oh … a revamp,” I say vaguely. “Relaunch.”

“That’s what I told the others.” Vanessa nods. “They’re on their way. We met in the pub first, actually, but I’m pressed for time, so I thought I’d hurry along.”

“The others?” I say, not following.

“The Cake Club!” says Vanessa with a friendly laugh. “They didn’t seem to know anything about it. I had to send out a round-robin email. You really need to look at your mailing list, Fixie.”

“You did what?” I stare at her.

“But they’ll be along any moment,” she says cheerfully. “Ah, look, there’s Sheila now.”

Sheila? My head whips round. Oh my God. Sheila.

I’m sure Sheila wasn’t on Jake’s curated guest list, what with her being a “repulsive wreck.” But after what looks like an altercation with the bouncer, she firmly pushes her way in. She takes off her shabby mac to reveal a crumpled, tent-like dress and her usual furry boots. I can see her peering around, searching for a familiar face—then she spots Nicole on the red carpet.

“Nicole!” she exclaims, and shuffles onto the red carpet to join Nicole and Kitten Smith. “Don’t you look nice? Who’s this? A new salesgirl? Are we doing photos?”

I glance over at Jake and feel a convulsion of laughter. His face. His face! He breaks away from the group of smart people he’s with and heads swiftly toward the red carpet.

“Delighted to see you,” he says smoothly to Sheila. “Absolutely delighted. But may I suggest—” He breaks off as the door opens and six more members of the Cake Club pile in, sweeping past the bouncer, all wearing anoraks and sensible shoes.

“Ooh, look!” Brenda exclaims, peering around. “Doesn’t it all look strange?”

“Morag!” calls another woman whose name I don’t know. “I brought oatmeal cookies. Where shall I put them?” She brandishes a plastic box, and I see Jake flinch in horror.

“Girls!” calls Sheila, waving vigorously from the red carpet. “Here! We’re doing photos. Young man,” she says to the local photographer. “Would you do a group shot? Come on, Cake Club! Nicole, you don’t mind moving, do you? Morag, join us!”

As Sheila literally elbows Nicole off the red carpet, my stomach is hurting from trying not to laugh. Within thirty seconds, the red carpet is full of middle-aged women in sensible coats, all beaming and waving at the camera. The smart guests are peering at them in surprise. Jake looks like he wants to throw up. I can hear Nicole ranting to Kitten Smith about how she’s the face of Farrs and this is all so unprofessional.

At that moment, I hear a voice in my ear. “Love, I wondered if you had another mug? Same as before, the brown one.”

I whip round and bite my lip. It’s my friend the old shuffly man with the shopping trolley. Of course it is.

“Hello!” I say. “We’re not really open, but I’m sure I can get you a mug.”

“I saw the lights on,” he says conversationally, looking around. “Serving drinks, are you?”

“Here you are.” I pour him out a glass of champagne. “Enjoy.”

I hurry off and find a brown earthenware mug in the stock room. I wrap it in tissue, then return, take the old man’s money, and pack his new mug safely in his shopping trolley. The tills aren’t open, but I’ll sort it all out tomorrow.