I Owe You One(108)

“For what it’s worth, I think Drew’s a great guy,” I say. “But that’s kind of irrelevant. The point is if he’s the right guy. For you.”

“Well, you know, either we stay married or we divorce,” replies Nicole, with a rare flash of comedy. “Win-win.” She pulls such a wry face I can’t help smiling. And now this connection has been made between us, I feel like I want to say everything I have to, very quickly.

“Nicole, there’s something else I need to say,” I blurt out. “It’s on a different topic, but it’s important. I was serious last night. You have to stop your yoga classes. We need to get back on track. Otherwise Morag will leave and Farrs will go bust and we’ll lose the house and Mum will never speak to us again.”

“You always exaggerate, Fixie.” Nicole gives me one of her dismissive eye rolls.

“I’m not exaggerating! We’re really in trouble! Bob said so,” I add for good measure. “Yesterday.”

This is a slight lie: Bob didn’t actually say we were in trouble. But everyone respects Bob. Sure enough, Nicole looks alarmed.

“Bob said we’re in trouble?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“He said …” I cross my fingers behind my back. “He said, ‘You’re in trouble.’ And it’s true!” I try to impress the facts on her. “Basically, we’ve messed up the shop while Mum’s been away and we need to put it right.”

“I haven’t messed up anything,” counters Nicole in her customary lordly manner. “Have you seen the Instagram page?” She tosses her hair back and glances at her reflection in a glass-fronted cupboard. “It’s transformed. Everyone agrees. The images are amazing.”

“Yes, but it’s only pictures of you!” I retort in exasperation. “And the only comments are people asking you for dates!”

“It’s increased our profile,” says Nicole at once, but she sounds defensive and I can tell I’m getting through.

“We need a big Christmas push,” I say. “I have a ton of ideas but you need to help me. Proper practical help in the store.”

“Oh, I can’t,” she says at once. “I’m not available. I’m going to Abu Dhabi.”

Is she for real?

“You’re not going until the twenty-third.” I give her a flinty look. “You’re free till then. And you’re helping. And you’re doing it my way. OK? You owe it to Farrs,” I add, as she draws breath. “You owe it to Mum. You owe it to me.”

Nicole is silent for a while, her eyes narrowing. I stare at her, unblinking, realizing that this is probably the first time I’ve ever asserted myself against her.

“Fine,” she says finally, huffing loudly. “Only I’m not lugging stock about. My yoga teacher says I shouldn’t be lifting heavy items. My arms are exceptionally slender.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I say, lifting my eyes skyward. “And now, welcome to the coffee machine, your new best friend.”

Shooting me a resentful look, Nicole walks over to the coffee machine and stares at it dubiously. “It’s so complicated,” she says at last.

“Yes,” I agree. “And?”

Nicole prods at the display and jumps as it lights up. Then she turns to frown suspiciously at me.

“You’ve changed, Fixie,” she says.

“Yeah.” I nod matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I have.”

“How’s your new boyfriend?” she asks, light dawning on her face, as though this might explain everything.

“He’s not,” I say succinctly. “We broke up.”

“Oh.” Nicole’s face crumples a little in sympathy. “Shit. That didn’t last long.”

“No. Well.” I shrug.

We look at each other silently and I feel like we have more in common right now than I can ever remember. We met guys and we fell in love and everything seemed to work out. Until it didn’t.

My eyes are starting to shimmer. My throat is thick. I fiercely blink my tears away, but Nicole notices. She peers at me expressionlessly—then suddenly holds out her arms. For a moment I don’t even know what she means … then I realize and my ears turn warm and I go to her, feeling almost self-conscious.

Her arms wrap around me and my eyes leak hot tears into her shoulder and I exhale as though I’ve been holding my breath for a long time. It must be years since my big sister hugged me. She smells of some Nicole-ish perfume, and her earrings make gentle clinky sounds as she pats my back.

“Make me a coffee,” she says wheedlingly as we draw apart. “Go on.”

“No!” I can’t help erupting with outraged laughter, tears still edging my voice. “I’m not doing it! You’re going to learn!”

It takes over half an hour to teach her. God, she’s frustrating. Her brain just slides away when it sees something it doesn’t like. But at last she’s clutching a latte and looking proudly down at it.

“See?” I say. “And next you can learn how to dehumidify the toaster.”

“Dehumidify the toaster?” echoes Nicole, looking aghast, and I bite my lip, giggling. I’m about to tell her I invented “dehumidify the toaster” to freak her out, when my phone beeps with a text.