I Owe You One(32)

“Maybe you could finish your degree?” I suggest warily, even though I’m fairly sure that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Sod that,” Ryan says vehemently. “Either people understand what I have to offer or forget it.”

There’s such a miserable edge to his voice, I wince. It must be hard. I mean, rejection is hard whoever you are—but he’s Ryan Chalker! At school, he was the One. Maybe he wasn’t on the school council, or top at math, but he was still the One. Coolest boy. Golden boy. He had “success story” written all over him. So how can he be in this situation? Can’t these headhunters see his star quality? I feel so sorry for him. And I don’t blame him for lashing out. He’s like a wounded lion.

After we’ve finished eating, Nicole disappears upstairs to watch her Netflix show. Leila goes to get Jake’s cigarettes out of the car and I clear the plates, preoccupied. I want to solve this. A job. What job could Ryan get? I scrape the plates and stack the dishwasher, thinking: A job … a job … a job …

And then it comes to me. Oh my God! I have heard about a job recently. In Café Allegro. That conversation Sebastian was having, before the ceiling fell in.

As I close the dishwasher, I’m trying frantically to remember everything I overheard. He wanted someone bright and savvy and tough … someone with experience of the world.… He didn’t care about degrees.… Yes! It couldn’t be more perfect!

“Ryan!” I exclaim in excitement. “I’ve remembered, I heard about a job the other day. Exactly the kind of thing you want. You don’t need any qualifications, you just need some sense.…”

“What job?” says Jake with a laugh. “Flipping burgers?”

“It’s investment management,” I say, ignoring Jake. “It’s this company who are sick of clever-clever people. They want savvy people who’ve been in the real world. Well, that’s you!”

“Investment management?” Jake stares at me, flabbergasted. “How do you know anything about investment management?”

“I happened to hear about it.” I address Ryan. “What do you think?”

“You’re sweet to try,” he says without even turning his head. “But that’s, like, the most competitive field going. There’s no way an investment manager’s going to give me a job. I’ve got no degree, no experience—”

“They don’t care about that. If I find out the name of the company, we can look them up. There’ll be an application form. I’m sure you’d be in with a chance—”

“Fixie, stop!” Ryan lifts a hand, sounding almost angry. “Do you know the level of competition out there? Math graduates? Clever kids who can code and all that?”

“You don’t understand!” I say eagerly. “I overheard the guy talking. I got the inside scoop! They don’t want people with a million degrees. Look, I’ll get the name of the company and you can google them.”

I hurry into the hall and reach into my bag. The coffee-cup sleeve is still there, the business card still pinned to it with my Anna’s Accessories hair clip. I carry them both into the kitchen, reading out the name of the company.

“Ethical Sense Investment Management. ESIM. There you go.” I reach for my laptop, type the name into Google, and a moment later I’m looking at a familiar frondy-haired face. Sebastian Marlowe. Founder and CEO.

“They’re based in Farringdon.” I scan the opening paragraph. “Ethically led investment.”

“What the fuck is that?” Jake snorts.

“Don’t you want something a bit ethical, for a change?” I say to Ryan, ignoring Jake. “Anyway, look, here’s the job!” I’ve already clicked on Vacancies and found it: Trainee Researcher. “Applications are still being accepted for this post,” I read out loud. “Candidates are likely to have a business or finance degree; however, this is not necessary. An appropriate background in business will be taken into account. You see?”

“Trainee.” Ryan wrinkles his nose. “Like, intern?”

“You’ll be fine, mate.” Jake gives a short laugh. “Mine’s a flat white, and be quick about it.”

“It’s not an internship,” I say hastily. “But, I mean, you’ll have to be trained, won’t you?”

“Paying how much?” Ryan frowns at the screen.

“Does that matter?” I say. “It’s a foot in the door, isn’t it? I think it sounds really exciting!”

There’s silence for a few moments. I was hoping Ryan’s face would break into a joyful smile or he might even hug me. But he’s still reading the job description, his brow furrowed.

“Dunno,” he says at last. “I dunno. I need a proper job, not some crummy internship. I mean, in L.A. I employed interns.”

“Yes, but—” I break off awkwardly.

I don’t want to rub salt in his wounds. He doesn’t need reminding that he can’t afford to employ anyone now. I know exactly what that feels like. For about a month after my catering company failed, I’d wake up and had forgotten. Then the truth came crashing in on me again, and every time it was horrible.

“What’s this?” Ryan reaches curiously for the coffee-cup sleeve and reads the writing on it. “I owe you one. Redeemable in perpetuity.” He looks up. “What does that mean?”