“Really?” Mum looks taken aback. “But if he’s Spanish—”
“Oh, he can speak English well enough when he wants to,” says Aunty Karen scoffingly. “I’ve heard him at the karaoke bar. He does Adele, Pet Shop Boys … what else?” She thinks. “Wham! Lots of Wham! …”
“Could we get back on track?” says Jake, his smile a little fixed. “Not that this isn’t fascinating.”
“Yes. We should. Because I have something to announce—no, to ask you all. It’s rather …” Mum glances at Aunty Karen, who clearly knows what she’s about to say. For an instant I feel shut out—Mum’s been talking to Aunty Karen before us? But then that thought is swept away as Mum looks round the table at us and says, “I’ve had an offer on the shop.”
What?
There’s a startled silence. Jake’s eyebrows have shot up. Nicole murmurs, “Wow.” As for me, I’m beyond shock. An offer? For Farrs? Who would buy Farrs? We’re Farrs.
“We don’t want to sell,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Do we?”
“Well,” says Mum. “That’s the question. I’m not as young as I was, and things have … changed.”
“Your mum needs a rest,” puts in Aunty Karen. “And it’s good money.”
“How much?” demands Jake, and Mum slides a piece of paper into the middle of the table.
It’s never even occurred to me to think how much Farrs might be worth. But it’s a lot. We all stare at it silently, and I can sense our brains are reconfiguring the facts of our lives.
“Your mum could retire. Put her feet up. Buy a little place in Spain near me,” says Aunty Karen.
“But this is so weird. How come you’ve had an offer now?” I stare at Mum, suddenly stricken. “Oh God, this isn’t some kind of ambulance chaser, is it?”
“No!” Mum laughs. “Love, the truth is, we’ve had offers to sell all the time over the years. Never wanted to, before. But after everything that’s happened …”
I look at the piece of paper again, my brain doing new sums. Yes, it’s a lot of money, but if that means the end of Farrs, of our incomes, of our jobs … then it doesn’t seem that much, after all.
“Do you want to sell?” I ask Mum. I’m trying my hardest to sound neutral. Pragmatic. Supportive. All those grown-up things. But even so, I can feel my eyes glistening as the idea really hits me.
Sell? Our beloved Farrs? Dad’s beloved Farrs?
I look up, and as she sees my expression, Mum’s guard drops.
“Oh, Fixie,” she says, and reaches a hand across the table to squeeze mine. “Of course I don’t want to. But I don’t want to burden you children either. If I’m going to step back, what then? Running Farrs is hard. It’s full-time. It’s got to be what you want to do. Not just for me. Or for Dad.”
She’s blinking too now, and her cheeks are rosy. I think Mum and I are the only ones in the family who feel Dad’s presence every time we step into that shop. Jake only sees money. And Nicole sees … I have no idea what Nicole sees. Unicorns, probably.
“I want to do it,” I say without hesitation. “I don’t want to give up. Mum, go to Spain and don’t worry. We’ll run the business. Won’t we?” I look at Jake and Nicole, trying to get their support.
“I agree,” says Jake, to my surprise. “I think Farrs has great potential.” He jabs the piece of paper. “I mean, this is all very well, but we could double that figure. Treble it.”
“What about you, Nicole?” says Mum, turning to her, and Nicole shrugs.
“If you wanted to sell, I’d be, like … fair enough,” she says in her drifty, absent way. “But if you don’t want to, then, like …”
We all wait for her to finish her sentence—then realize she has finished her sentence.
“Well,” says Mum, and her cheeks are even rosier. “I have to say, I’m relieved. I don’t want to sell Farrs. It’s a good outfit, though I say so myself.”
“This is a bird in the hand, though,” says Aunty Karen, picking up the paper and brandishing it. “This is solid cash. Security. If you don’t sell now, you might regret it.”
“If Mum does sell now, she might regret it,” counters Jake. “You know what I think?” He looks around the table, his face animated. “This is an opportunity to take our small family business to the next level. Turbocharge it. We’ve got the name, the premises, the online presence … I mean, the sky’s the limit. But we need to think big.” He pounds a fist into his palm. “Rebrand. Focus. Maybe we need to hire a consultant. I know some guys; I could bring them in, hear what they have to say. Shall I set that up?”
I gape at him. How have we got onto hiring a consultant? How much would that cost? And what does that mean anyway, “turbocharge”?
“Don’t worry about that, Jake,” says Mum in that quiet, firm way of hers. “Just keep the place from falling down while I’m away, and we can think about all your ideas when I get back. Now, let me run through a few stock issues.”
She starts to talk about suppliers, but I can’t concentrate. I’m suddenly feeling anxious. It’s as though the situation is hitting me properly for the first time. Mum will be away. I’ll be running the shop with Nicole and Jake. How’s that going to work out?
I half-listen as Mum hands round a list of reminders which she’s handwritten and photocopied. But I’m mostly worrying about Jake. What if he makes some stupid decision and I can’t stop him? I can see Mum glancing at me as though reading my thoughts—and I hastily smile back. My top priority is not worrying her.
At last we finish, and as we get up from the table, Mum draws me aside. The others have already headed into the kitchen, so we’re alone.
“Fixie,” she says gently. “Love. I know you’re worried about …” She hesitates. “Well. Let’s say it. Jake.”
Her words feel like they’re prodding something hidden and sore.
“You know,” I say, looking away, not wanting to admit the truth. “He’s just a bit …”
“I know. He gets his exciting ideas into his head, and he can’t be put off. I do understand.” Mum squeezes my arm reassuringly. “But I’m not going to leave you in the lurch. I’ve got a solution for while I’m away which I think will help.”
“Oh!” I say in huge relief. “Wow. What is it?”
I should have known Mum would have a plan up her sleeve. Maybe we’ll have daily Skype calls with her in Spain. Or maybe she’s hired some new brilliant member of staff. Or a new computer system that Jake can’t get round.
“Uncle Ned,” says Mum with a beam.
My stomach drops like a stone. Uncle Ned? Uncle Ned is the solution?
“Right,” I manage, in a strangled voice, which Mum takes as a sign of approval.
“I’ve spoken to him and he’s promised to keep an eye on things while I’m away,” she says happily. “He’s got a good business head. We can trust him.”
I don’t even know what to say. Uncle Ned?
“He’s so good to us,” adds Mum fondly. “I know he’ll be a comfort.”
“He’s not good to me!” I want to wail. “And he won’t be a comfort!”
“It’s an idea,” I say at last, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Definitely. But I’m just wondering—is Uncle Ned the right person?”
“You know how helpful he was over the lease when Dad died,” Mum reminds me. “I’ll feel happier if he’s here to support you.”
I want to yelp with frustration. OK, maybe he did help with the lease—but that was nine years ago. What’s he done since?
“I know you don’t like some of the old-fashioned things he says,” adds Mum, pinkening. “And nor do I for that matter. But he’s family, love, and he cares about Farrs. That’s what counts.”
There’s a light in her eyes—the determined light that appears when she talks about family. She’s made up her mind. And I can’t say anything to worry her. So I smile my most cheery smile and say, “Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out. The most important thing is that you have a fantastic break. You look so glamorous already!”
I reach out to touch her dangling, sparkling earrings, incongruous against her graying workaday hair. (Aunty Karen’s hairdresser in Spain has already been booked.)
“It’s hard to go away and leave you all!” says Mum, with a little laugh, and I can see traces of anxiety appearing in her face. “Harder than I thought. Even now I’m wondering … do I actually want to do this?”
Oh God. She can’t backtrack now.
“Yes!” I say firmly. “You do! We’ll be fine.”
“Just don’t lose the shop, Fixie. Or let the family break up.” Mum gives the same odd little laugh.
I think she’s only half joking. I think she has secret deep-down worries, like I do. “You’re the glue,” she adds. “You can keep everyone together.”
I can what? I almost want to laugh, because she’s so wrong. Mum’s the glue of this family. She leads us all. She unites us all. Without her we’re just three disparate siblings.