I Owe You One(120)

“Is that him?” says Nicole at once.

“Have a look!” says Hannah. “I bet you anything it’s him.”

“I had a psychic feeling he was going to text.” Nicole nods. “I just had this feeling.”

“I’m sure it’s not him,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket with trembling fingers. “I’m sure it’s not— There, you see, it’s from Mum.”

I click on the text—and stop dead. For a brief moment, Seb has been swept from my mind. I’m staring at the words in disbelief. I’m not sure I can take this in.

“What?” demands Nicole. “What does she say?”

In silence, I hold out the phone so everyone can see the words:

Coming home for Christmas after all! Can’t wait to see you! Arriving Sunday morning in time for lunch! All my love, Mum xxx

“The house,” whispers Nicole in horror.

“The kitchen.” I gulp.

“The shop.” And now both our eyes are widening as the full scope of the situation hits us.

“Christmas.”





Twenty-seven




By ten on Sunday morning I’ve had approximately two and a half hours’ sleep and I’m wired, but I’m on it. I’m so on it.

We got back on Friday night and tackled the house, all of us—me, Nicole, Jake, and Leila, who insisted on bringing her Dustbuster over. Jake was on bathrooms, and I take my hat off to him—he volunteered for it. I was on the kitchen. Nicole was on dusting and Hoovering and not saying, “I don’t understand the vacuum cleaner.” (She did open her mouth when I said, “Can you do the stairs with the nozzle attachment?” Then she closed it again and I saw her looking up nozzle attachment on Google.)

Saturday was a massive day in the shop, with two events and customers streaming in constantly. We didn’t shut till ten, after which I insisted we stay and go over the place, checking there weren’t any bare spots or clumsy displays or signs not looking their best.

We’ll need to be in again this afternoon, but meanwhile Morag’s opening up and we’re getting lunch ready. I’ve organized the menu, and Nicole popped to the shops yesterday, and now she’s chopping broccoli while Jake crushes biscuits for the cheesecake and Leila lays the table. We’re all in my green Farr’s Food aprons, which was Jake’s idea. We look like a team. We feel like a team.

“OK.” I put my lamb casserole back into the oven. “It’s all on track. The table looks great, Leila,” I call into the dining room through the serving hatch.

“The Cava’s cold,” says Jake, looking in the fridge, and I shoot an affectionate glance at his back, because not so long ago he wouldn’t have been seen dead drinking Cava.

It’s weird: I’m getting on with Jake better and better. I never really knew him before, but we’re both quite similar. We’re punchy when it comes to the shop. We have the same kinds of ideas. We think big.

Which I suppose was always the case, but Jake was only thinking big for himself before.

“So, where are we?” I say, consulting my to-do list. (I’m not Hannah’s best friend for nothing.) “Nibbles, tick. Lamb, tick; broccoli’s nearly there; potatoes are in …” I check my phone. “Mum says forty minutes. OK, what else?”

“Fixie.” Leila comes into the kitchen and surveys me anxiously. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment?”

“I don’t need to sit down!”

“How are you feeling?” she adds delicately.

Nicole has filled in the entire family on the situation with Seb. Which means about every five minutes someone asks me if I’m OK or what I’m going to do or whether I want to “talk.” Even Jake asked last night if I wanted to “talk.” And when I said no, thanks, he proceeded to tell me, for about an hour, what a bastard Ryan was. Which didn’t particularly help me. Although it might have helped Jake.

So, no, I don’t want to “talk” and I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Break up Seb and Briony? Put him on the spot and wait to see if he wants me? Make all sort of assumptions about him that might be wrong?

Just thinking about it gives me an achy head and an achy heart and an achy all-over. So I’m not going to, at least not today. I’m going to make Mum’s homecoming perfect, that’s what I’m going to do.

“The only thing is the coffee,” says Nicole, looking up from the machine. “We’re out of beans.”

“Out?” I stare at her. “How can we be out? It was half full yesterday.”

“Dunno.” Nicole gives one of her trademark vague shrugs. “But it’s saying Refill bean tray.”

For God’s sake.

I head over to the coffee machine and stare at it impatiently. I know it had beans yesterday.

“It’s temperamental,” says Nicole, following my gaze. “You know? It’s needy. Never mind, Café Allegro is open. Someone can pop out and buy more beans?”

“I’m in the middle of this,” says Jake, looking up from the cheesecake. “Leila’ll go.”

“Jakey, you know I’ve hurt my toe,” says Leila, sounding hurt. “You know it’s all swollen up.”