I Owe You One(89)

At peace? With a dusty room that hasn’t been touched for two years and is locked away from view?

That evening I plucked up courage and ventured, “Seb, about your brother. You said you were at peace with … what happened.”

“I am,” he said, so convincingly that he would fool anyone. Except a girl who can’t leave things alone.

“Right. Great!” I hesitated, then forced myself to press on: “I mean, maybe one day you should clear up those magazines. And … will that room stay locked forever?”

For a few moments Seb was silent, turned away from me, but when at last he glanced over his shoulder it was with a sunny smile.

“I know. I’m going to do it. It’s not a big deal, really, just haven’t got round to it. So, more important, what are we going to have with this fish?”

Not a big deal?

Part of me longed to push him even further, but a wiser part told myself to leave it for now. So I moved onto the subject of salad, and I could see Seb relaxing.

Now I know him better, I’ve realized that he gets a look when you talk about his brother. Not stressed exactly but alert, like an anxious dog on the lookout for danger. And it breaks my heart a little—but I know that if I go blundering in too roughly, I’ll ruin everything.

So, for the first time in my life, I’m not rushing in. I’m not trying to fix it all straightaway. I’m biding my time. It’s nearly killing me, but I’m doing it.

And this is the only issue that bothers me. Apart from that, I’m walking around in a bubble of dazed, wondering bliss. Every morning I wake up and it’s the opposite of realizing I have the dentist. It’s realizing I don’t have the dentist but I do have the best guy in the world sleeping next to me. Nothing else matters.

Until one morning, as I’m arriving at the shop, my electronic calendar sends me an alert—Family Meeting—and I realize with a jolt that it’s tonight. I stare at the words, blinking back into reality, looking around the shop as though for the first time. Shit. I’ve been asleep on the job. There were things I planned to do for this meeting. I’ve been so swept up, I’ve let my concentration lapse. I’ve let everything lapse.

My thoughts swoop guiltily to Mum. I missed a call from her yesterday and I meant to call back, but I never did. Hastily I dial her number, but it goes to voicemail.

“Hi, Mum!” I say. “It’s Fixie calling you back; hope everything’s good … we’re all well … I’ll try you again soon. Take care, love you.”

I’m not going to tell her about Seb yet. And certainly not on voicemail.

As I tap my code into the till, I’m cursing myself. There was so much I was going to do before this meeting. I was going to read through all Bob’s emails, for a start. He sends us regular financial summaries, and I wanted to have all that information up my sleeve. I was going to research competitors’ websites. I was going to get exact sales figures on all of Jake’s new stock.

I’m humming with frustration at myself as Morag approaches me, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear.

“Fixie,” she says. “Can I have a word before we open?”

“Oh,” I say. “Yes, of course!”

I turn toward her, but for a few moments she doesn’t speak. She’s looking over my shoulder, her cheeks turning pink.

“I’ve been interviewing for other jobs,” she says at last. “I’ve had an offer from that big homewares place in Kew. Suttons. And I’m thinking of taking it.”

For a full half minute I can’t speak.

Morag wants to leave?

“Morag …” I falter at last. I’m so shocked, I can’t even frame any words.

“It’s not what I wanted.” Her mouth is tight, as though she’s trying not to show that she’s upset. “You know I love Farrs, you know that, Fixie. But …” She trails off, and I can hear that there are about a million unsaid words in that but.

“Can you tell me what …” I rub my face, trying to keep my breath steady. But now that my initial shock has died down, panic is swooping in. I can’t lose Morag, I can’t. “Could you tell me your main issues?”

“Oh, Fixie, love, you know the issues.” She exhales unsteadily. “This place has changed. Half the displays have disappeared, I don’t know what we’re supposed to be selling, all the customers are complaining.…” She shakes her head. “The Christmas-cookie promotion day was a disaster! There simply wasn’t enough stock!”

“I know,” I say with a flash of painful remembrance. “Jake wanted to promote those neon novelty lamps.”

I don’t even want to think about the neon lamps. Jake landed them on us and we’ve only sold one—and it’s already been returned.

“Yes, well.” Morag’s expression tells me what she thinks of that. “And I’ve just had to cancel Cake Club for the third time—”

“The third time?” I stare at her. “Wait. I’ve missed this. What happened?”

“Nicole, of course! It’s always Nicole. A mindfulness session it was, this time. Well, all I’ll say is, do her ‘mindfulness’ friends ever come and buy so much as a whisk? Do they?” There are little red spots on Morag’s cheeks, and I realize how angry and offended she is and how I’ve been sleepwalking my way into a total disaster.