I Owe You One(28)

“Right,” I manage, in a strangled voice, which Mum takes as a sign of approval.

“I’ve spoken to him and he’s promised to keep an eye on things while I’m away,” she says happily. “He’s got a good business head. We can trust him.”

I don’t even know what to say. Uncle Ned?

“He’s so good to us,” adds Mum fondly. “I know he’ll be a comfort.”

“He’s not good to me!” I want to wail. “And he won’t be a comfort!”

“It’s an idea,” I say at last, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Definitely. But I’m just wondering—is Uncle Ned the right person?”

“You know how helpful he was over the lease when Dad died,” Mum reminds me. “I’ll feel happier if he’s here to support you.”

I want to yelp with frustration. OK, maybe he did help with the lease—but that was nine years ago. What’s he done since?

“I know you don’t like some of the old-fashioned things he says,” adds Mum, pinkening. “And nor do I for that matter. But he’s family, love, and he cares about Farrs. That’s what counts.”

There’s a light in her eyes—the determined light that appears when she talks about family. She’s made up her mind. And I can’t say anything to worry her. So I smile my most cheery smile and say, “Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out. The most important thing is that you have a fantastic break. You look so glamorous already!”

I reach out to touch her dangling, sparkling earrings, incongruous against her graying workaday hair. (Aunty Karen’s hairdresser in Spain has already been booked.)

“It’s hard to go away and leave you all!” says Mum, with a little laugh, and I can see traces of anxiety appearing in her face. “Harder than I thought. Even now I’m wondering … do I actually want to do this?”

Oh God. She can’t backtrack now.

“Yes!” I say firmly. “You do! We’ll be fine.”

“Just don’t lose the shop, Fixie. Or let the family break up.” Mum gives the same odd little laugh.

I think she’s only half joking. I think she has secret deep-down worries, like I do. “You’re the glue,” she adds. “You can keep everyone together.”

I can what? I almost want to laugh, because she’s so wrong. Mum’s the glue of this family. She leads us all. She unites us all. Without her we’re just three disparate siblings.

But I don’t give away my real thoughts for a nanosecond. I need to bolster up Mum before she decides not to go away after all and do a sixteen-hour shift at the shop instead.

“Mum, listen,” I say, with as much confidence as I can muster. “When you get back, we’ll be sitting around that very table to celebrate.” I gesture at the gateleg oak table. “The shop will be in great shape. And we’ll be a happy family. I promise.”





Eight




After Mum and Aunty Karen have left the next afternoon, everything feels flat. Jake and Leila disappear off to the pub and I decide to make a Bolognese for supper, because that’s what Mum would do. But even as I’m cooking, it isn’t the same. I’m not filling the house with the same magical, Mum-like atmosphere. I don’t feel warm or cozy or reassured.

To be honest, it’s not just because Mum’s gone that I feel so flat. It’s that I haven’t heard from or seen Ryan since the party. Not a visit, not a phone call, just a single text: Sorry about your mum.

The day after the party, he went to Sonning to visit his family, and then it was as if he’d disappeared into a black hole. He didn’t reply to any of my texts. A couple of times Jake said, “Ryan says hi,” and that was the sum total of our communication. To be honest, I didn’t mind too much. He wasn’t the priority; Mum was. But now I can’t help thinking: What happened?

I stare at the pan dispiritedly and give it a stir—then turn it off. I’ll pop out for some ice cream. You can’t go wrong with Ben & Jerry’s when you need a pick-me-up.

As I’m hurrying along the High Street, I see a guy with frondy hair walking ahead of me, with a brisk determined stride. At once I think, Is that the guy from the coffee shop? Followed by, No, don’t be silly, it can’t be.

Odd that my mind has instantly gone there, though. And even odder that I’m faintly blushing. What’s that about? I haven’t even thought about him since that day.

Well, OK, maybe I have, once or twice. Just his eyes. There was something about his eyes. I’ve found myself picturing them now and then—that flecked, leafy green-brown color.

The man ahead of me stops to consult his phone and I catch sight of his face—and it is him! It’s Sebastian … whatever he’s called. He glances up and sees me approaching—and at once his face creases into a smile of recognition.

“Oh, hello!” he says.

“Hi!” I come to a halt. “How are you?” I meet his woodlandy gaze—then quickly look away again before I overdo the eye contact.

“Good! Just waiting for a cab.” He gestures at his phone, and I see the map of a cab-company app.

“Back in Acton!” I say. “Or are you local?”

“No. I’ve been here for …” He hesitates. “A thing.”