I Owe You One(56)

He talks quite a bit about someone called Erica, who is apparently the oldest and most experienced person on the team. She’s a massive fan of Ryan’s. She reckons he’s much more a natural leader than Seb and could run things in a heartbeat. But Seb essentially owns the company, so there’s not much chance of things changing.

At first I found it dizzying, the way Ryan was already talking about leading. But I’ve gradually got used to him, to his huge ambition. He sees the world as a place to conquer. When he tells me how he made it through Hollywood, it’s like listening to an SAS commander talking about a campaign. And, yes, he crashed and burned—but isn’t that the same with any success story? Great leaders fail, learn, pick themselves up, start over, and reach even greater heights.

“Anyway, he’ll work it out,” I conclude. “He gets on with a lot of the team, at least. They go out together and play pool, like, three times a week. It’s nice.”

“Well, here’s to it all working out,” says Hannah, and we’re clinking glasses when in come Morag, Greg, and Stacey.

My jaw drops at the sight of them. They’re all in party clothes, but none are what I would call “glamorous and sophisticated.” Morag is in the most lurid, shiny purple dress I’ve ever seen, with shoulder pads and a peplum. As she moves, it turns blue under the lights. It’s hideous. Where did she even get it from, the Flammable Dress Shop?

Stacey is in a dress which essentially consists of a set of black lace underwear with black chiffon draped over the top. And Greg is in what he probably thinks is a “sharp” suit, with gelled hair. He’s wearing white socks and pointy shoes and looks like he’s going to a 1950s party.

“Hannah!” Morag greets her like an old friend, which in fact she is. Everyone at Farrs knows Hannah. “Lovely to see you! Although, should you be drinking?” Her eyes fall on Hannah’s glass reprovingly.

“Tim doesn’t want a baby anymore,” announces Stacey. “He’s changed his mind. Just like that.”

“Stacey!” I gasp. “That’s private!”

“Couldn’t help overhearing,” she says unrepentantly, clearly meaning: “Couldn’t help listening in on your conversation.” “Bummer,” she adds to Hannah.

“Has he found out he’s already got a kid, then?” says Greg sympathetically. “And he doesn’t want another one because, you know, child support?”

“No!” exclaims Hannah as though stung. “Of course not.”

“Happens,” says Greg with a shrug. “Happened to a mate of mine on The Jeremy Kyle Show. He got a free DNA test out of it, though. So, you know, not all bad. Funny story,” he adds, reminiscing. “They messed up on his expenses. He ended up ten quid up. Result!”

“I’m sure that’s not what’s up with Tim,” I say hurriedly, seeing Hannah’s frozen expression. “And as I say, it’s a private matter, so could we all—”

“I say divorce him,” says Stacey to Hannah, ignoring me. “And sleep with all his friends. Then, when he’s an emotional wreck, find another friend—maybe his very best friend, the one he thought would never betray him—and sleep with her.”

“Her?” Hannah’s eyes widen.

“Her.” Stacey nods without a flicker. “And you better be good.”

“Stacey, love, I don’t think that’s the way at all,” puts in Morag. “Why not bake Tim a nice cake?” she adds to Hannah. “A Victoria sponge, or a nice carrot cake … He may have a gluten allergy!” Her eyes suddenly light up. “That may explain everything.”

“Morag, I don’t think a gluten allergy makes you decide against fatherhood,” I can’t help saying. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It may be irritating his insides,” she replies, unmoved. “These allergies can wreak havoc, love.”

“I say hypnotize him,” says Greg, and we all turn to stare at him.

“Hypnotize him?” echoes Hannah.

“I’ve been doing a course.” Greg gives her a knowing look. “Specialist military techniques. Give me twenty-four hours; I can strip him down until he has no personality left and you can start again.”

“Right,” says Hannah after a pause. “Well, maybe.”

“Don’t resist it,” says Greg, his eyes bulging at her. “You’ve got to let me help you.” He gestures meaningfully with his hands. “Let me help you.”

“Is the party starting yet?” says Hannah desperately.

“Exactly!” I say. “We should get out there and greet people. Come on.”

I usher everyone out and survey the shop floor. It looks totally alien. Music is thudding through speakers, and two waitresses are taking round trays of champagne. Some people have arrived, but I don’t recognize any of them. They look like Jake’s estate-agent friends.

Near the entrance is a five-foot-long “red carpet,” with a VIP rope and a backdrop screen covered in printed stars. Nicole is on the red carpet, looking totally at home, posing for a photographer with a blond girl who must be Kitten Smith. They’re both in long dresses, and Nicole is throwing her hair around and doing lots of fake laughing with her arm around the blond girl’s waist.