I Owe You One(118)

“You weren’t so bad,” I say easily.

“Oh, I was. I was a toe-rag. That day I laid into you about your skating? That was pretty low.” He hesitates. “But, I mean, you were about to give up anyway, weren’t you?”

I’m so stunned I can’t respond at once. I was about to give up? Is that how he’s rationalized it all this time? Does he have any idea … ? My chest is burning with all the things I could say, all the accusations I could hurl at him.

But then … why would I? It’s done. It happened. What are we going to do, start a tally of who did what when?

“Oh well,” I manage. “Think how much worse you could have been.” And Jake smiles at me in the way he often does these days—as though he’s consciously trying to get on with his family, he only needs a bit of practice. Then he turns to look down the street, where Ryan is still just about visible.

“He’s an arse,” he says matter-of-factly, and I nod.

“You got rid of him, anyway.”

There’s silence as we both watch Ryan finally disappear from view. Ryan, who blinded both of us with his dazzle, who led us both astray. I’m sure both of us are rewinding our lives and thinking how they might have been different with no Ryan Chalker in them.

But what can you do about mistakes except think, Won’t do that again, and move forward?

“I wonder what Dad would think of us,” says Jake, breaking the silence. “Now. If he could see us.”

His voice is casual, but his eyes seem to have a genuine question in them. As if it matters.

Well, of course it matters. Jake always cared desperately what Dad thought of him, even when he was yelling. We all did.

“I hope he’d realize we’re doing our best,” I say, after a moment’s thought. On a whim I look up at the sky and call out softly, “Dad, we’re doing our best, OK?”

“He says, ‘No you’re not, the stock room’s a mess, and what’s happened to the licorice allsorts?’ ” shoots back Jake, deadpan, and I burst into a giggle.

“I have to go,” I say. “The stock room is a mess.”

“Hannah’s in there, by the way,” says Jake, jerking his head toward the shop. “Christmas shopping.”

I feel a sudden swell of love for Hannah. She’s the most loyal friend in the world. All her family must be sick to death of Farrs stock, but she supports us every year. She even schedules a Farrs shopping session on her calendar.

“Thanks,” I say, and squeeze him on the arm. “Don’t get too cold out here.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” says Jake, and brandishes his stack of flyers. “Come on in!” he resumes shouting, winking at me. “Gingerbread houses at Farrs! Christmas decorations at Farrs! Ho ho ho!”

Inside the shop, I find Hannah loading up her basket with ceramic rolling pins decorated with gingerbread men.

“I’m on the waiting list for one of those mixing bowls,” she greets me without any preamble. “Morag says they’ll be in tomorrow?”

She looks radiant these days, even though she’s not pregnant yet (I’ll be first to know, after her mum and Tim). She and Tim have “started again”—her words—and they’re really blissful and she’s thrown away all her to-do lists.

Or at least put them away somewhere secret. She’s a bit cagey on that point.

“So where were you?” she asks now. “Jake said you rushed off somewhere.”

For a few moments I can’t reply. I will tell her everything, of course I will—but not in this bright bustle of Christmas cheer.

“Just … something,” I say. “I was with Seb.”

“Seb?” Her eyes light up questioningly and I shake my head.

“No. No. Not that. Tell you later. So what else do you need?” I force a bright Christmas-shopping manner. And she’s just showing me the list on her phone, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, Fixie, you dropped this.” It’s Jake in his gingerbread outfit, holding out my scarf.

“Oh, thanks,” I say as I wind it back around my neck. “I guess I was distracted by Ryan.”

“Ryan?” says Hannah, looking scandalized. “Was that him outside? I thought I saw him, but then I thought, No, that can’t be him, he wouldn’t dare … ”

“He has no shame,” I say. “None.”

“He’s an arse,” Jake repeats firmly. “You know, Fixie, I meant to tell you, and you really won’t believe this, he actually went and asked your guy for money.”

“What?” I say, frowning, not quite following.

“You know, what’s-his-name. Seb. Ryan went to his office and tried to get him to invest in some scheme or other. The guy who fired him. Can you believe it?”

“The nerve of him!” exclaims Hannah. “You know, I think he has a chip missing. It’s the only explanation.”

Something weird is buzzing in my head. This doesn’t make sense. Ryan went to see Seb? Why didn’t Seb ever mention it?

“I’m sorry,” I say, sounding brusque in my need to get this clear. “I’m sorry, explain again, what did Ryan do? When was this?”

“About three weeks ago?” says Jake, creasing his brow in thought. Then his eyes widen. “I know exactly. It was the day after he spent the night at ours. He went there first thing in the morning. He wanted me to come too, but I said not a chance. I knew Seb would throw him out.”