Babe? That’s the final straw.
Lifting up the broom like a jousting pole, I charge fiercely at him with a kind of war cry, and he gives a jump of surprise, then half-walks, half-runs, as I prod him bodily down the hall.
“Go!” I’m shouting. “Leave and never come back! You are not allowed in this house!”
“Looking good, Fixie,” he says, as I shove him out of the door. “I’ll call you.”
“Please don’t! Ever!”
I slam the door shut. Then I lean against it, panting slightly and even starting to laugh as I remember his expression when I charged at him. He was actually a bit freaked out.
At last I head back into the kitchen, take my aspirin, and sit for a bit, letting all the events of yesterday swirl round my brain. Leila, weeping into her manicure set. Uncle Ned, spluttering at me in rage. Morag, I suddenly think. Oh God. I need to sort out Morag. And Jake … and is Mum OK?
I’m still sitting there, in a bit of a trance, when the door opens and Jake strides in. I gape at him, feeling I must be in a dream. First Ryan, then Jake? He’s dressed as smartly as ever, in a well-cut suit and tie, but his face is shocking. He looks drawn and pale and there’s an angry jut about his chin, as though he wants to smash the whole world.
“Where’s Ryan?” he says.
“Gone.” I’m not going to admit I threw Ryan out, because Jake looks like he wants to lay into someone and he might take it out on me. “So, if you wanted to see him—”
“I don’t,” he cuts me off. He paces over to the window and I watch in silence. His whole body is twitchy, I notice. He pushes a trembling hand through his hair, then turns to face me and just looks at me, and I know what he means. He means: “You know.”
“I saw Leila last night,” I say, to get it out in the open.
He nods briefly. “She told me.”
“Jake—”
“It’s all fucking bollocks. It’s all—” He breaks off, breathing hard. It makes me remember him kicking the can around the street when he was a teenager, railing at everything.
“Jake …” I close my eyes briefly, trying to marshal my thoughts and get rid of my remaining headache. “How much trouble are you in?”
For a while Jake doesn’t answer. He pours himself a glass of water and drains it, his head tilted back. I watch him, mesmerized by his Adam’s apple moving up and down, wondering what on earth he’s going to say next.
“You don’t need to know,” he says finally.
“Maybe I do! Jake, maybe this is the whole problem, that you’re not sharing this stuff!” My words tumble out in my eagerness to help. “We’re your family. We’re here for you. Whatever it takes, we’ll help you. Maybe go to see a debt expert, maybe get counseling—”
“I don’t need counseling,” he lashes back, and I bite my lip. “I need money.”
“You look knackered,” I say, with a wince. “You look like what you need most is sleep.”
“Sleep!” He gives a short angry laugh, and I see a vein throbbing at his temple again. Everything I say is making him cross, but I can’t stop.
“Why don’t you go and have a nap?” I venture. “And I’ll make some soup. And then we’ll sit down and make a plan.”
Just for a split second I think he might agree. There’s a flash of some deep-down emotion in his eyes and I feel as though I’ve got somewhere. But almost at once it’s gone. His guard is back up and he’s striding around the room again.
“I don’t need soup, or a plan, or any bullshit like that. I need cash.” He turns to me again, his face alive and urgent. “So here’s what you do. You go and see your rich boyfriend and you find me some money. Or a new business contact. Something.”
“What?” I’m so shocked, I actually laugh. “I can’t do that!”
“I need it.”
“Jake, I can’t.”
“I need it,” he repeats harshly. “If I can’t get some money soon, I’ll have to go to the guys who break your legs.”
I feel a stab of terror, and the ravens start to bat their wings as hard as they ever have, but I force myself not to cave in. Tough love. That’s what Seb advised. Block him out.
“There has to be another way.”
“I’ve tried every way!” he erupts. “You know what every businessperson needs, Fixie? A bit of luck. One little nugget of luck. Well, you’re going out with this guy Seb, and that’s my nugget of luck.”
“Seb and I had a row last night,” I contradict him. “I’m not even sure if we’re going out.”
“He owes you, though, doesn’t he?” Jake comes back instantly. “You saved his life or whatever? Leila told me the whole thing,” he adds, and I curse myself for blabbing about Seb last night, while Leila was finishing off my topcoat.
“He’s not rich,” I say. “He’s not. He manages money, that’s all. He’s not some flash guy; he’s not like all your millionaire friends.”
“He has access to money,” says Jake. “He knows people. And I’m desperate.” He comes over and brings his face close to mine. “Family first, Fixie. Do this for me. Or do you want to break up the family?”
“What do you mean, break up the family?” I say in horror.
“If you don’t do this for me, that’s it,” he says nastily. “The family’s broken. What, you’re going to watch your own brother sink? You think we can play happy family after that?”
He swings away and I breathe out, my head spinning, close to tears. I know what Seb said: tough love. But I’m not tough enough. I can’t block out Jake’s energy, his aggression.
I have a sudden memory of Mum’s voice: “Just don’t lose the shop, Fixie. Or let the family break up.” And I promised her. I pointed at the gateleg oak table in the dining room and said, “When you get back, we’ll be sitting around that very table to celebrate. The shop will be in great shape. And we’ll be a happy family.”
A wave of despair crashes over me. I’ve failed on every front. Morag’s threatening to leave. Profits are shaky. And now Jake’s going to break up the family. He’ll turn Nicole against me. Mum will come back to split-up, warring factions and she’ll be devastated.
I can’t be tough. Not that tough. I can’t.
And, anyway, what’s Jake actually asking for? He only wants me to request some help from Seb. It’s not such a huge deal.
“Fine,” I mutter at last.
“What, you’ll do it?” Jake’s face lights up.
In answer, I reach for my phone and compose a text to Seb:
Can I come to see you? Lunchtime?
I send it and almost at once get a response:
Of course!
“OK, it’s on,” I say, putting my phone down. “I’m seeing him at lunch.”
“Yes!” says Jake, giving an energetic fist pump. “Fixie, you’re a star.”
“I can’t promise anything,” I say, wanting to make this clear. “I can’t promise anything. All I can do is ask him for help.”
“Oh, he’ll help you,” says Jake, and all his confident swagger seems to have returned. “He’ll help you, Fixie.”
—
As I walk to work, I keep looking at Seb’s text on my phone and trying to analyze it. It’s only two words—Of course!—but I think I can tell a lot from them. He sounds keen. He put an exclamation mark, which he didn’t have to. He doesn’t sound angry. Or … does he?
I try to picture him saying, “Of course!” with a furious scowl, but it doesn’t work. I think he wants to see me. I hope he does. And of course we’ll have to talk about last night, and I’ll apologize for looking in his brother’s room and it might be a bit prickly … but we’ll be OK.
Won’t we?
At last I shove my phone away. I can’t speculate anymore; it’s doing my head in. I enter the shop and at once see Morag at the other end. She’s lecturing Stacey about something—I can’t hear what exactly, but Morag’s pointing to a display—and I feel a sudden wave of love for her. She’s planning to leave, but she’s still taking the time to do that? She still cares about Farrs; I know she does.
A bleep comes from my pocket and I yank out my phone again, thinking, Seb? But it’s a text from Mum:
Sorry I missed you, Fixie, feeling a lot better today. Hope all OK. Love, Mum xxx
I glance up at Morag, who is now gesturing at a saucepan, then read Mum’s words again: Hope all OK.
I hope so too. I really do.
When Morag’s finished, I wave to get her attention, and as she approaches, I say, “Morag, could we have a chat?”
I usher her into the back room, my head a mishmash of thoughts. I don’t know what I’m going to say or where I’m going to start. But I know that I have to reach out to Morag, urgently. I have to turn things around.
“Morag …” I begin, once we’re both sitting down with the door closed and cups of tea. “Everything’s been a bit of a mess since Mum went off to Spain.”
“Yes, love,” says Morag, in her sensible, unvarnished way. “It has.”
“But I’m going to change that. We’re going to cancel all the yoga, we’re going to make Cake Club a priority, we’re going to restock the shop.…”
“Good,” says Morag. “Because it needs it.”
“I want to look at our online business again. And we need a really big push before Christmas. We need to turn things around. We can turn things around.”
“Yes,” says Morag. “I think you can.”