I Owe You One(119)

Ryan went to see Seb. But Seb never mentioned it to me. Why?

Because he thought I knew already?

But why—

Hang on. Oh God. No. No. Seb’s prickliness … Seb’s hurt, scorched eyes …

My head is churning. The pieces are slotting together, and they’re terrible, disastrous pieces. Ryan went to see Seb just before I did. He asked him for money. So did Seb think … ? My stomach heaves in horror. Did Seb think that when I came and asked him for money it was for Ryan?

No. He couldn’t have, surely?

I flash back to Seb’s tight, strained face. His expression today when he asked how the “unconditional love” was going. And now I feel almost faint. It’s obvious. Seb thinks I went back to Ryan. He thinks I love Ryan. I can hear my own blithe voice in his office: “If you really love someone, you don’t just shove cash at them. You help them become the person they’re meant to be.” Seb had no idea I meant Jake. I’d never told him Jake was in debt. So he thought—

But how could he ever believe I’d go back to Ryan? How?

“Fixie, are you OK?” Hannah is peering at me.

“I … Maybe I need a cup of tea,” I falter.

“You look shocking,” says Jake bluntly. “I’d have a whiskey.”

“OK, come on.” Hannah grasps my arm and leads me to the back room. Nicole is in there, unpacking a box of Christmas decorations, and she looks up in surprise to see us. Hannah shuts the door and flips on the kettle, then says, “Fixie, I know you’re in a state, and you don’t have to tell us everything, but—”

“The coffee sleeve,” I interrupt her in a despairing gasp, because it’s come to me, in a final, horrible burst of comprehension. That’s how.

I remember registering the coffee sleeve in Seb’s office that awful day and not quite understanding why it was there. I’d thought it was in my tote bag. It seemed a bit weird.

I brushed it away at the time; it felt like an unimportant detail. But it’s the key to everything. Ryan must have taken it. Used it. Brandished it at Seb. God alone knows what lies he told—but whatever he said, it convinced Seb that we were together again.

Blood is pulsing though my ears as I imagine Ryan, the practiced pathological liar, spinning some vile story. I recall his easy voice that morning: “Oh, I took some chewing gum out of your bag. You don’t mind, do you?” But chewing gum wasn’t the only thing he took.

He is a toxic, terrible, bad, bad man. I’m shaking all over, with rage at Ryan, rage at myself.…

“Fixie?” Hannah has knelt down before me and taken my hands. “Fixie, we’re getting worried here. What’s happened?”

I look at her kind, familiar face and I can’t be strong anymore. I know we’re busy on the shop floor. I know it’s five days till Christmas. I know I should put this aside for now. But it’s too big. It’s burning a hole in me.

So I take a deep breath and I tell her and Nicole everything. I start right from the beginning, right from that first meeting in the coffee shop, although they already know some of it. Because that way I feel like I’m in control of something, even if it’s just my own story.

It takes a while and they listen in pin-drop silence. When I get to my new theory about Ryan, they both exclaim, “No!” in simultaneous horror, and I half-smile, despite everything.

“So what do you do now?” says Hannah, who is always practical and forward-looking and has already got a pen out of her bag.

“Tell him,” says Nicole.

“You have to tell him,” agrees Hannah.

“Go and see him—”

“Explain there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“But he’s taken!” I say despairingly. “He’s with someone! I don’t take other women’s men, I just don’t. It’s the rule. It’s the sisterhood.”

There’s silence and I sip my cup of tea, which has gone lukewarm but is still comforting.

“I mean, what if the other woman is a total bitch?” says Hannah at last, casually. “Because then I think that rule doesn’t apply.”

“She’s not a bitch.” I can’t believe I’m coming to the defense of Whiny, but there you go. “At least, she’s not terrible. She’s bright and she makes him laugh and they go skiing together.…”

“Oh, well, skiing,” says Hannah sardonically. “Fixie, anyone can ski with someone! You and Seb, you have something amazing. And you can’t let it slip away.”

“I don’t know.” I try to imagine calling up Seb, broaching the subject … and I quail. What if I’m wrong? What if there’s a million other reasons he doesn’t want to be with me?

“I need to get back to work.” I change the subject. “It’s not fair on the others. Friday afternoons always get frantic.”

“OK,” says Hannah, rising to her feet. “But you have to do something.”

“Maybe.” I bite my lip. “I dunno. I need to think. Really think.”

“All right, go home tonight,” says Hannah firmly. “Have a long, peaceful bath. Really think about it.” She pauses. “And then call him.”

I put my cup down and get to my feet. As I do so, my phone bleeps with a text, and my chest stiffens in hope.