I Owe You One(31)

I have a couple of replies at the tip of my tongue: “It wouldn’t have been intruding.” Or: “You could at least have texted.” I suddenly recall Sebastian’s instant kind response: “Is there anything I can do?” And he doesn’t even know me.

But then … everyone’s different. People don’t know how to react to things. Especially medical emergencies. Hannah came along to the hospital and sat with me in the ward and googled everything the doctor said … but that’s her.

I must be giving away some of what I’m thinking, because Ryan is scanning my face closely.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, looking stricken. “I guess I panicked. I drew away. But that was wrong, wasn’t it? You think I’m a total shit now.”

“No!” I say quickly. “Of course not! It’s been fine, really. And Mum’s gone off on holiday, so … all good.” I smile to reassure him—but he still looks despairing.

“Everything’s so messed up right now,” he says. “So messed up.”

He drains his glass, leans against the wall, and heaves a huge, heavy sigh.

“Oh, Ryan,” says Leila sympathetically. “It’ll all work out.”

“What’s up?” I say anxiously.

“Headhunters.” Ryan shakes his head.

The spaghetti suddenly boils over and I hastily grab the pan. I want to hear more about this, but I also want the spaghetti to be al dente.

“Sit down, everyone,” I say. “I’ll dole this out. Jake, can you get Nicole?”

“I’ll help,” says Leila, reaching for the plates.

We serve out the food and Jake fills everyone’s wineglass, and Nicole slides into her chair, and as I look around the table, I feel a small tweak of pride. Here we are, anyway, eating together as a family. We will be OK with Mum away, we will.

“So what happened with the headhunters?” I say warily to Ryan, and Leila winces.

“Five years’ experience in the film industry,” says Ryan blankly. “I mean, you’d think …” He forks spaghetti into his mouth. “No, I don’t have any experience in fucking … widgets. No, I don’t have any professional qualifications. No, I’m not … what is it, digitally literate.” He gulps his wine. “But I have experience. I know about deals. I know about people. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Haven’t they found anything at all for you?” I venture.

“Oh, they talk the talk. They say, ‘Yeah, we can place you straightaway, a talented guy like you, no problem!’ But you know where they want to place me?”

“Um … no.”

“A call center.”

“A call center?” I echo, aghast.

“It’s a bloody insult,” chimes in Jake hotly, and I feel a kind of warmth that for once we’re agreeing on something.

“What kind of call center?” I ask, because I can’t get my head round this at all.

“Selling …” He pauses, his spaghetti quivering on his fork. “I don’t even know what it was. Some weird insurance. No salary, just commission. I didn’t stay to find out. So then at the next headhunter I go, ‘Look, no call centers,’ and they say, ‘No problem. We’ll find you something.’ It’s bollocks. They’ve got nothing.”

“It’s tough.” Jake grimaces. “Most companies are shedding people at the moment, not taking them on.”

“So what are you going to do?” I say anxiously.

“Who knows?” He’s silent awhile, absently chewing. “At least in L.A.… I get L.A. I know I’ve messed up there, but at least … You get to know a place, for better or for worse. You understand how it works. Whereas starting again in London … I dunno. London’s changed. It’s brutal.”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying.

“You can’t go back to L.A.!” I say in dismay. “You said you never wanted to see the place again!”

“I can’t carry on like this, though, can I? I can’t keep on camping at Jake’s.”

“It’s no sweat!” says Jake, but Ryan shakes his head.

“What about your mum?” says Nicole. “Could you stay with her?”

“Not really.” He looks even more bleak. “Not with my stepdad there. We don’t get on. It’s hard. Mum and I used to be so close, you know?”

I feel a huge wash of sympathy for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like if Mum married someone we didn’t get on with. I’m also longing to say, “Move in here! There’s plenty of room!” But that might be too pushy.

“You’ll find something!” I say encouragingly. “There are other headhunters … there must be loads of opportunities. You said you were willing to start at a more junior level—”

“Yeah, I told them that. I said, ‘What about fast-track schemes, whatever?’ And they go, ‘Well, are you a graduate?’ ”

There’s a prickly silence around the table, broken by Nicole saying with vague interest, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you dropped out of uni, Ryan.”

Typical Nicole to spell out what we’re all thinking. Although, actually, I’d forgotten that Ryan dropped out too. It’s so long ago now, and it didn’t seem to matter, once he was in Hollywood, being the big success. But I guess it matters if you want to join a graduate scheme.