I Owe You One(106)

“Goodbye,” I echo him with miserable sarcasm. “Nice knowing you.”

I stalk out, my head in a daze, my eyes filling with fresh tears. As I do so, I think I catch sight of the IOU coffee sleeve resting on a shelf—and something seems to tug at my mind.

But I’m in too much turmoil to dwell on it or think about anything beyond the fact that Seb looked at me like I was a stranger. And everything’s worse than before. And I just don’t get it.





Twenty-four




I get back to the shop to find Jake waiting outside, looking tense and coiled, like a snake about to strike.

“So?” he says, walking to meet me. “So? So?”

I draw breath, trying to overcome my nerves, trying to ignore the ravens. Unconditional love, I remind myself. I can do this. If I talk honestly and from the heart, maybe I’ll get through to him.

“I didn’t get you any money,” I say.

“Great.” Jake swings away, looking murderous. “Just fucking … great.”

“I didn’t get you any,” I continue, my voice shaking desperately, “because you shouldn’t be borrowing any more. You’re only going to get into more and more trouble. Jake, couldn’t you make some changes to your life?” I follow him to where he’s leaning against the shop front and look earnestly into his face, trying to meet his eye. “Couldn’t you stop taking people out for flash lunches? Stop chasing gazillion-pound deals that aren’t going to happen? Do some solid work. Guaranteed work. Wouldn’t that make you happier—”

I break off, gazing up at him with a hope which instantly crumbles. If I was hoping to get through to him, I was an idiot. He doesn’t look transformed. He doesn’t exclaim, “My God, but you’re right.” He doesn’t give me a heartfelt hug and say, “Thanks. I see it all so clearly now.”

“Fuck you, Fixie,” he snarls, and stomps off down the street. My heart is beating like a rabbit’s, and the ravens are batting round my head, and part of me wants to run after him, apologize, even grovel. But the other part knows better. I have to hold firm. This is just stage one.

I wait till he’s disappeared round the corner, then pull out my phone and compose a text.

Hi, Leila. Can we talk? Fixie xxx

I send it, then breathe out long and hard, shaking his voice out of my ears. That’s all I can do for now. I have other things to think about.

I spend the rest of the day working on plans for Farrs. Plans we can action now. By the end of the day I’ve made an itemized list of Christmas promotions, price cuts, events, and sales. I’ve ordered more stock. I’ve replanned the front of store. I haven’t deferred once to Jake, Nicole, or Uncle Ned. I’ve made decisions all alone, mentally channeling Mum and occasionally consulting with Morag. No one else. I’m in charge of this. Me, Fixie.

I get home exhausted and find Nicole lolling against the kitchen doorframe, lost in her phone as she always is.

“Oh, hi, Fixie,” she says, glancing up. “God, Jake was mad with you last night.”

“I know,” I say shortly. “And I wasn’t too impressed by him. So we’re quits.”

I wait for her to say something else about last night, but her brow is furrowed as she peers at her screen.

“I’m so stressed,” she sighs gustily. “I’m so, like … All my hormones are shot. I need to see someone.”

“Why are you stressed?” I say out of politeness.

“It’s Drew. He’s booked me a ticket, for the twenty-third. He’s, like, ‘You have to come to Abu Dhabi.’ ” She blinks at me. “He just, like, paid for it.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s so passive-aggressive!” She opens her eyes wide. “It’s so controlling! He knows I’m stressed out, but he just does that! It’s like …” She trails off in her usual way, and I feel a shaft of impatience.

“I thought you were stressed out because you were missing your husband,” I point out. “He’s bought you a plane ticket to see him, so surely now you should be less stressed out?”

“You don’t understand.” Nicole shoots me a glare. “God, I’m dying for a coffee. Make me a coffee, Fixie.”

I count to three, then say clearly, “Make it yourself.”

“What?” Nicole blinks at me.

“We’ve got a coffee machine.” I gesture at it. “Make it yourself.”

“Oh, but you know I can’t do it,” says Nicole at once, as though proclaiming a law of nature.

“So learn,” I say. “I’ll teach you.”

“My head can’t learn that kind of stuff.” Nicole wrinkles her nose. “It’s, like, I get a mental block? Go on, you do it, Fixie. You’re so brilliant at the coffee machine.”

And there’s something about her lazy, drifty, entitled voice that suddenly makes me flip out.

“Stop telling me I’m brilliant at things you don’t want to do!” I yell, and her head jerks up in surprise. “Stop pretending to be incompetent to get out of things!”

“What?” Nicole’s staring at me as though she’s never heard me speak before and didn’t even realize I had a voice. Which maybe she didn’t.