I Owe You One: A Novel(97)

“Would you like me to clip or file?” she says, her voice jumpy.

“Er … don’t mind. You choose.”

I wait while she gets out her manicure implements and lays them carefully on the towel, side by side, as though trying to impose order on the world. Then finally she meets my eye.

“He doesn’t know I know this,” she practically whispers. “But the diamonds were a scam.”

“A scam?”

Leila nods, and for a moment we stare at each other. My mind is processing what a scam might mean. How damaging it might have been. How humiliating.

“Did he lose …” I can’t even say it.

“Loads,” she says, her voice not working properly. “He’s in big trouble. But he won’t see it, he won’t stop spending money, taking people out for lunch, trying to be flash …” Her eyes fill with tears and I stare at her, aghast. “Oh. We haven’t chosen you a color yet. I’ve got a lovely new amber shade. I think it would really suit you.”

She pulls her case of nail polishes onto her knee and a tear drips down onto it.

“Oh, Leila …” I put a hand on her arm, but she shoots me a bright smile.

“Or lilac,” she says, opening the lid. “With your lovely dark eyes. Or classic red?”

“Leila …” I squeeze her. “He’s so lucky to have you.”

“Oh, I don’t do anything,” says Leila, patting at her eyes. “I just do my nails and keep my head down. That’s it. Nails. That’s my life. But I understand nails,” she adds, looking up with a sudden passion. “I understand how I’m earning my wage. I give you a manicure; you pay me. That makes sense. Whereas what Jakey does …”

“What does he do?” I ask, because it’s something I’ve often wondered. “I mean, his MBA course, obviously …”

“Oh, he dropped out of that months ago,” says Leila. “He said the tutors were all useless.”

I should feel shocked, but somehow I don’t. Not now.

“He talks as though he’s still doing it,” I say. “Mum thinks he’s still doing it. Everyone does.”

“I know.” Leila bites her lip. “I’ve said to him, ‘Jakey, you should tell your family.’ ”

He dropped out of his MBA but he didn’t volunteer to do any more work at the shop, I silently register. Yet he’s taken all these loans from it.

“So what does he do all day?” I persist. “How does he make all his money?”

“He made a lot out of those nude knickers,” says Leila, her brows winged anxiously. “That was a good deal. They were a good product. I wear them myself!” she adds, with a brief show of brightness. “But ever since then …” She trails into silence.

“But that was two years ago.” I stare at her. “Hasn’t he done any more deals since then? I thought …”

Jake talks as though he’s made a million deals, each more profitable than the last. He drops constant references to “export” and “my latest venture” and deals which are “on the horizon.” We’ve never questioned him, we’ve only listened, awed.

Leila still hasn’t replied. She’s busying herself with bottles of topcoat.

“Leila?” I say more urgently. “Has he?”

“I don’t think so,” she whispers at last. “He just has lunch with people. That’s what I don’t get. How does having lunch earn you money?” she says in sudden bewilderment. “I like a job I can see.” She pats her manicure case. “I like work. So, if you give me your right hand again …” she adds, in her manicurist’s voice.

I watch silently as she starts filing my nails. The rhythmic action of her file is kind of mesmerizing and soothing. It’s reassuring. For both of us, I suspect.

“I knew he was stressed out,” I say after a while. “But I had no idea …”

“He’s secretive,” says Leila. “He doesn’t even tell me everything. He wants everyone to think he’s …” She pauses as though thinking how to put it. “Winning. Master of the universe.”

“I thought maybe he was burned out from too many deals.”

“It’s the opposite!” Leila replies, her voice wavering between a sob and a laugh. “It’s not enough deals! It’s no income! Nothing to pay the mortgage!”

“But you’re still with him?” I blurt out the question before I can stop myself. For a moment Leila stops filing my nails and I worry that I’ve offended her. But when she looks up, her gaze is nothing but wistful.

“Jake’s been good to me. I’m not going to abandon him, just because …” She hesitates, her eyes dimming slightly. “I know some people find him a bit … much. But he’s got a softer side, you know.”

“I know.” I nod.

“Jakey talks about life. He has interesting ideas. He’s fun. He wants to do things, you know? Some men, they don’t want to do anything or go anywhere.”

“Jake’s never had that problem,” I say in wry tones, and Leila smiles, then wipes her wet eyes and resumes filing.

When both my hands are done, she pats them dry and starts to apply a base coat.