I Owe You One: A Novel(66)

“That’s what I want,” says Seb, and there’s something about his voice and the way he’s looking at me that sends a sudden tremor through me.

“Fine,” I say at last, as though bestowing the hugest favor on him. “Fine.”

I follow him to the dance floor and we start to move. We don’t say a word. We don’t smile or even look at anyone else. Our eyes are locked on each other and our bodies seem naturally in synch from the minute we start.

I mean, here’s the thing. He can dance.

Song blends into song and still we keep on dancing. Lights are playing over us, turning Seb’s face into a multicolored whirl. The constant thump feels like a heartbeat. Jake and Leila come onto the dance floor and I glance over briefly, nodding hello, but I can’t disengage. I can’t shake the spell of dancing with Seb.

The longer I dance, the more I’m transfixed by him, by the intensity of his eyes, by the hint of his body under his shirt as he moves. He’s fluid and grounded all at once. Strong and lithe but not pumped up, not an extrovert, not constantly glancing around for approval like Ryan would be. Seb is focused. He’s honest. Everything he does seems natural, even the way he wipes the sweat off his brow.

I wipe my own face, mirroring his action. It is hot. We’re dancing to Calvin Harris now and I’m reflexively mouthing, How deep is your love, over and over along with the song. I can’t stop moving, I can’t stop responding to the music, but at the same time I’m aware of something that’s not quite right. The colors are blurring even more than they were before. I’m feeling pretty dizzy. I feel … not sick, exactly, but …

My stomach gives a heave. OK, I definitely feel weird.

I try to anchor myself by gazing at Seb’s face, but it’s splintering like a kaleidoscope. And my stomach is protesting about something—did I eat some bad food earlier? Why do I feel so—

Oh God.

OK, really not feeling good.

Although … does it matter?

My legs suddenly seem to be giving way beneath me, but then I don’t mind lying on the dance floor. I’m not fussy. I feel quite blissful, really, lying here under the lights. Leila’s face looms above me and I give her a beatific smile.

“Happy birthday,” I say, but she doesn’t seem to understand.

“Fixie! Oh my God, look at you!”

“Hi!” I try to wave cheerfully but my hand isn’t working.

Where is my hand? Oh my God, someone stole my hand.

“I don’t know!” I hear Seb’s voice above me. “She was fine. I mean, obviously she’d had a few—”

“Fixie!” Leila seems to be shouting from a great distance. “Fixie, are you OK? How many cocktails did you— Oh God, Jake? Jakey? I need some help here.…”

—

If there’s anything worse than waking up to a hangover, it’s waking up to a hangover at your brother’s flat and hearing how you ruined his girlfriend’s birthday and embarrassed him in front of all his friends.

My head is crashing with pain, but I can’t even take a paracetamol until Jake has stopped his tirade. Eventually he snaps, “I’ve got a meeting to go to,” as though that’s my fault too, and strides out.

“Oh, Fixie,” says Leila, giving me a glass of water and two tablets. “Don’t listen to Jake. It was quite funny, actually. D’you want some coffee?”

I totter into the living room, sink into the leather sofa (the Conran Shop one? I have no idea), and stare blankly at the massive TV screen which Jake bought last year. This whole flat is glossy and modern, with hi-tech everything. It’s in a block called Grosvenor Heights in Shepherd’s Bush (he calls it “West Holland Park”). Jake offered on it as soon as he’d landed his nude-knickers deal, and I’m sure he chose it because the word Grosvenor sounds posh.

Leila brings me in a cup of coffee, sits down next to me in her silky kimono, and starts opening birthday cards with her sharp nails.

“It was a fun evening, though, wasn’t it?” she says in her gentle voice. “Jakey spoils me, he really does. Those cocktails were lush.”

“Don’t talk about cocktails.” I wince.

“Sorry.” She laughs her rippling laugh, then puts down the card she’s holding and gives me an interested look.

“Who was the man?”

“The man?” I try to look blank.

“The man, silly! The one you were dancing with all that time. He’s nice.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Handsome.”

“Well, he’s taken,” I say quickly, before she gets any ideas.

He was carrying the coffee sleeve in his pocket, a small voice in my head points out.

But another one instantly answers: So what? He was there with his girlfriend.

“Oh.” Leila deflates. “Shame. Well, he was very concerned about you. He wanted to come and make sure you were all right, but we said don’t worry, we’re family, we’ll look after her.”

The way she says, “We’re family,” gets under my skin and makes me blink. I love Leila. She is family.

“Oh, Leila.” Impulsively, I throw my arms around her. “Thank you. And I’m sorry I spoiled everything.”

“You didn’t!” She hugs me back with her bony arms. “If I blame anyone, it’s Ryan. I said to Jakey, ‘No wonder! I’d be in a state too if the love of my life disappeared like that!’ ”