I Owe You One(42)

As I enter the bar, I breathe a contented sigh and wave at Leila, who is looking ravishing in a silk cream dress and Louis Vuitton logo pumps. I’m in the same old black dress I always wear, but I’ve cracked open the satin knickers I got in my stocking at Christmas. So that’s something.

I head over to where she’s sitting with Jake, marveling anew at how amazing this place is. The carpet has a luxury softness. The chairs are heavy and stylish and sleek. The lighting glows and sparkles all around the place. The bar is made of copper. And the drinks are about fifteen quid each. Which slightly makes me want to faint—fifteen quid for one glassful of something?—except that Jake’s already said he’s paying tonight. I mean, fair enough. It’s his choice to come here. But I’d be as happy with a bottle of pinot grigio at home. (And I think Leila would too.)

As I kiss them both, I see there’s a bottle of champagne on the table already, and Jake pours me a glass. We clink glasses, then Jake and Leila resume their conversation about some sofa that Jake saw in the Conran Shop.

“I’m ordering it,” he says. “That leather is like butter. You can go and look at it if you like, but I’m ordering it.”

“We could look online for a more reasonable one,” Leila ventures, but Jake scowls.

“I’m not buying some knockoff. We’re having the real thing.”

I’ve never even been into the Conran Shop, so I can’t comment. Instead, I lean back and soak up the atmosphere. Music is pulsing through the air—and even that sounds bespoke and special, as if there’s some band that only plays for millionaires in private members’ clubs. Everything here is designed to make you feel relaxed and happy.

I’d be relaxed and happy wherever I was, to be honest. I’m more than happy—I’m euphoric. I can’t stop looking down at the string of messages on my phone. Ryan wants to live with me, Ryan wants to live with me …

And then, suddenly, there he is, threading his way between the tables. I try to stay cool, but my heart has seized up. Every single woman in the place is turning to look at the blond guy with the easy stride and the tan and the Hollywood teeth, and he’s walking toward me.

Plus he’s holding flowers. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine flowers.

He hands me the bouquet—stylish lilies in green waxed paper—says, “Fixie, you’re a star,” and kisses me.

“You’re the star,” I say, lifting a careless hand to cradle his head and murmur something soft in his ear, like intimate lovers do, although it doesn’t quite work because he’s already moving away to greet the others.

“Ryan!” Leila squeaks. “Yay!”

“Well done, mate.” Jake high-fives Ryan, then glances disparagingly at the champagne bottle already open. “I think we need something a bit special to celebrate this.” He clicks his fingers to summon a waiter, which makes me wince, because why would you do that? It’s so rude. But clicking fingers is very Jake.

“A bottle of Cristal,” he says grandly, and I tell myself not even to glance down at how much it costs, because I really will have a seizure.

“Remember when we were in the sixth form?” Jake says to Ryan. “The day we finished our exams and you blew two hundred quid on a bottle of Krug and we drank it in your garden? Well, here’s my thank-you.”

I remember that day too, although I don’t mention it. Jake had promised me he’d tell me where they were celebrating, so I could go along too, but he never did. Then he got home all red-faced and slurry, and for the rest of the summer he talked about how he’d drunk a two-hundred-quid bottle of Krug. He even used it as a chat-up line. And it actually worked on some girls.

The waiter pours the Cristal into fresh glasses and we toast Ryan. As I sip, questions silently rack up in my mind, one by one. Does Jake really like posh champagne? Can he actually tell the difference? Can anyone? Doesn’t he see the price of this and feel faint?

I don’t know anything about Jake’s finances, only that he’s doing “well.” Sometimes I think maybe he’s a millionaire, he’s just never told us.

“So,” I say softly to Ryan as he sits next to me. “Big day. You were brilliant.”

“I knew it!” says Leila, patting Ryan on the knee. “I said to Jakey, ‘I know Ryan will get this.’ ”

“It just shows,” I say eagerly. “You can turn your life around, however hard it seems, if you’re willing to be flexible and humble and put in the hard work.”

“Hard work!” Jake guffaws. “Hear that, Ryan? Hey,” he adds, spotting some well-dressed guy at the bar. “That’s Ed. You should meet Ed,” he adds to Ryan, getting to his feet. “Come and say hello.”

He doesn’t suggest that Leila or I come to say hello, and to be fair I’m quite happy not to. So I sit, sipping my drink, watching Ryan charm Jake’s friends.

“Yeah,” I can hear him saying. “I’ve moved from producing into investment; seemed like a good idea. Yeah, follow the money!” He gives an easy laugh, his face glowing, and lifts his glass in a toast.

I can’t believe the transformation in him. He’s radiant. Ebullient. Confident. If he was like a wounded lion a few days ago, that’s all forgotten. Now he’s the king of the jungle. The golden boy again.