I Owe You One(92)

Bob puffs out air, as though considering what to say, and I feel a sudden pang of dread.

“We’re OK,” he says at last. “Not bad. It’s not a disaster.”

It’s not a disaster?

I stare at him, trying not to look as stricken I feel. I was hoping for better than “It’s not a disaster.”

“Sales aren’t as good as last year, no one can deny that, but there’s a while before Christmas, so it’s still all to play for. I’m sure you’ve got lots up your sleeve,” Bob adds encouragingly, and his optimism makes me feel warm with shame. “What we really need,” he adds, as though getting to the nub of the issue, “is a bit of an upswing.”

We need a bit of an upswing. How are we going to get an upswing?

“Thanks, Bob.” I try to sound breezy, as though getting worrying news is something I deal with in my stride. “Great. Good to know. So. We’ll … work on that.”

“One thing I was wondering about, though …” Bob takes a few steps toward me, with an odd expression I can’t quite read. “These loans we’ve been making. Will this be a regular thing?”

“What loans?”

“These loans to Jake.”

The world seems to slide beneath my feet.

“What … loans to Jake?” I manage to say lightly. “I don’t … I don’t know about those, I don’t think.”

“Ah,” says Bob after a pause. “I wondered. Three bank transfers I’ve made to him since your mum left. Quite big sums.” Bob gives an awkward laugh, but his eyes are troubled. “I know your mum okayed the first one, but the last two have just been on Jake’s say-so.”

“Jake’s say-so?” I echo incredulously.

“Well, your uncle Ned confirmed it and told me not to bother your mum about it. He was quite firm on that. And obviously it’s none of my beeswax, it’s a family thing, it’s not for me to …” He takes a step backward, his eyes raised to the ceiling as though emphasizing his position, not in the family. “But like I say, it’s quite a lot of money, so I’d have thought you’d be in the loop, Fixie.”

I can’t reply. My head feels like it’s imploding. Jake’s been borrowing money from Farrs without even telling Mum? I suddenly remember him coming into the shop that time. Asking where Bob was but not telling me why. Obsessed by his phone. I remember thinking that he’s always been about more, Jake. I wondered how he was paying for it all. Well, now I know.

“Only there hasn’t been any talk of repayment, so to speak,” Bob adds distantly. “If this happens every month, it’ll make quite a hole in the books. And if your mum was looking to sell, then … Well. It’s not the best time to be losing all this cash. Although as I say, none of my beeswax.”

Finally he lowers his gaze to meet mine. I’ve known Bob a long time and I know what his kindly eyes are saying. They’re saying, “This isn’t right.” They’re saying, “Do something.”

“Right,” I manage. “Well … thanks, Bob. Thanks.” I start to walk away, then come back as a thought hits me. “Why didn’t Uncle Ned want to bother Mum?”

“Oh …” Bob’s eyes slide away again to the ceiling. “Your uncle likes feeling he’s got the power, I think. Some people are like that.”

This is so daring and disloyal a thing for Bob to say that I stare at him.

“He helped out with the lease,” I say automatically, because that’s what we always say about Uncle Ned. “He got us good terms.”

There’s a long silence. I can see a kind of ripple effect on Bob’s face. As if he’s trying to hold something back. Oh my God.

“Didn’t he?” I whisper.

“Your mum was touched that your uncle stepped in,” says Bob at last. “She kept saying, ‘Oh, Bob, he’s such a rock.’ I wasn’t going to mess that up.” His gentle eyes meet mine in a smile. “I’m fond of your mum.”

I feel like everything’s shifting in my brain.

“Bob,” I say bluntly. “Tell me the truth. Who really negotiated the lease?”

“Your uncle made a call or two,” says Bob after a pause. “Didn’t really help things along.” He gives a gentle, reminiscent laugh. “He put his foot in it, to tell you the truth. Insulted the lady at the property company.”

“So it was you who got us that great deal.”

“They were good terms, yes,” says Bob, with the barest hint of pride. “It was the least I could do for your dad.”

I rub my head, feeling suddenly almost tearful. “Bob … I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing to say,” Bob replies in his mild way. “I was pleased to do it. If you do speak to your mum,” he adds, “give her my regards.”

I watch as he makes his way out of the shop, his shoes squeaking on the floor. I half want to run after him and beg for more advice—but he’s done more than enough. He’s gone the extra mile. Now it’s my turn to go the extra mile. But in which direction?

My brain is boiling over with new information. With worry. With indecision. At last I start dialing Mum’s number, then stop, then start again. Not because I’m going to rat on Jake, but because I need to know, I need facts. What’s going on?