I Owe You One(50)

Uncle Ned looks outraged by my interruption, but too bad. Family first is trumped by Don’t get sued.

“So, that’s it!” I conclude breathlessly. “Again, thank you, everyone! That’s all. Let’s open up.”

“You should wear lipstick,” I hear Stacey saying to Morag as they head to the main entrance to open up. “Or, like, lip gloss. Or, like, lip pencil. Or, like …”

“Uncle Ned, I’m sorry I interrupted you,” I say. “But you can’t tell the staff they have to flirt with the customers. We’ll get in trouble.”

“Oh, all this ‘health and safety’ nonsense,” says Uncle Ned impatiently. “I haven’t the time for it!”

“It isn’t health and safety,” I say, trying even harder to remain polite. “Telling a staff member they have to flirt with the customers is basically, you know, sexual harassment.”

Uncle Ned peers at me for an uncomprehending moment, then makes a harrumphing noise, turns away, and picks up a basket.

“Might as well pick up a few things while I’m here,” he says. “Now, where can I find an iron?”

Uncle Ned heads off in the direction of the laundry section, and Nicole produces a sheaf of papers from her bag.

“Here’s your psychological-profile questionnaire,” she says, handing one to Greg. “It’s scientifically based on, like, research, so …” She trails off.

“You are invited to a party,” Greg reads aloud. “Do you attend? Depends on the party,” he says after a moment’s thought. “If it’s a Dungeons and Dragons party, I’m there. If it’s a stag do, I’m there. If it’s a garden party with old ladies in fancy dresses, I’m not there. If it’s a—”

“It’s just a party,” Nicole cuts him off. “A great, fun party. The issue is, do you want to go? It’s a simple question. Party or no party?”

Morag and Stacey have returned to the group by now, and we all wait for Greg to answer. He thinks for a while longer, his brow deeply furrowed, then looks up. “Is there booze?”

“Yes!” says Nicole, clearly losing her patience. “There is. Look, don’t overthink it. Just write. I’m pretty sure you’re an Owl,” she says as she hands Morag a questionnaire. “And you’re probably a Lynx,” she adds to Greg. “Which means you need to work with a Fox.”

“D’you think I’m a Fox?” queries Stacey, taking her questionnaire.

“No,” says Nicole. “Definitely not. You’re more of an Albatross.”

“Then who’s Greg supposed to work with?” Stacey opens her eyes wide, with that faux-innocent look she has. “I’m only wondering, because it’s all so scientific and we haven’t got any Foxes,” she adds blithely. “Should we hire one?”

For a moment Nicole looks caught out, then she makes a sound of annoyance.

“Just do the questionnaires,” she says. “I’m going to do some Instagramming. Greg, you can help.”

As Nicole leads Greg down one of the aisles, Jake looks around the shop critically.

“We need to redo this place,” he says. “It needs a total refit. We should have better flooring, spotlights, some awesome artwork—” He breaks off, staring at the shop door in horror. “Give me strength,” he breathes. “Who is that repulsive wreck?”

“That’s not a repulsive wreck!” I say indignantly as I follow his gaze. “That’s Sheila!”

OK, so maybe Sheila isn’t one of the “beautiful people.” She’s overweight and shabby, with her woolen hat and ancient carrier bags. But she’s a regular. She’s one of us. She waves at me cheerfully and heads to the back, where I know she’ll spend hours examining cake liners and piping bags.

“She has to go,” says Jake firmly. “She’s not a good look.”

“She’s a customer, not a look!” I retort, but Jake’s not listening.

“We need to redo the whole place,” he says again, prodding at one of our functional shelves. “We should hire an interior designer.”

I feel a familiar tweak of anxiety. Why does Jake always have to be so grand?

“I don’t think we’ve got the funds for that,” I say.

“How do you know?” he shoots back.

“Well, I don’t know, but—”

“You know how ridiculously cautious Mum is. I’m sure we’ve got a big cash reserve.” Jake eyes Sheila again with distaste. “She looks like a bloody tramp.”

“Well, let’s introduce a dress code, shall we?” I say with a flash of sarcasm I don’t usually dare use with Jake.

“Yes,” says Jake with emphasis. “That is actually not a bad idea. Ah, Bob!” he adds, looking over my shoulder. “Just the man.”

I turn to see Bob entering the store, in his sensible slacks and jacket, looking slightly disconcerted at Jake greeting him.

“Hi, Bob,” I say. “My brother and sister are in store today.”

“I want to talk to you about money,” says Jake without any preamble. “Can we go somewhere? The back room?”

He sweeps Bob off, and I look around the store to check that all is as it should be. Uncle Ned is still roaming the aisles, filling a basket with items. He’s got an iron, a teapot, and one of our wipe-clean tablecloths, and I feel a sudden warmth that he’s supporting us so generously.