I Owe You One (Page 30)

I feel a familiar tweak of anxiety. Why does Jake always have to be so grand?

“I don’t think we’ve got the funds for that,” I say.

“How do you know?” he shoots back.

“Well, I don’t know, but—”

“You know how ridiculously cautious Mum is. I’m sure we’ve got a big cash reserve.” Jake eyes Sheila again with distaste. “She looks like a bloody tramp.”

“Well, let’s introduce a dress code, shall we?” I say with a flash of sarcasm I don’t usually dare use with Jake.

“Yes,” says Jake with emphasis. “That is actually not a bad idea. Ah, Bob!” he adds, looking over my shoulder. “Just the man.”

I turn to see Bob entering the store, in his sensible slacks and jacket, looking slightly disconcerted at Jake greeting him.

“Hi, Bob,” I say. “My brother and sister are in store today.”

“I want to talk to you about money,” says Jake without any preamble. “Can we go somewhere? The back room?”

He sweeps Bob off, and I look around the store to check that all is as it should be. Uncle Ned is still roaming the aisles, filling a basket with items. He’s got an iron, a teapot, and one of our wipe-clean tablecloths, and I feel a sudden warmth that he’s supporting us so generously.

Then, as my gaze sweeps round, I blink, disconcerted. Nicole has taken off her coat and is in tight jeans with a very revealing crop top. She’s draping herself over a rack of saucepans and instructing Greg to take photos of her with her phone, while her opened-up wheelie case blocks the entire aisle.

“I need to look sexy,” she says, playing with her hair. “Do I look sexy?”

“Yeah,” says Greg in a strangled tone. “Yeah, you do.”

“Can you see the saucepans?” I say, hurrying over. “Can you see any products in the shot?”

“It’s not about saucepans,” says Nicole, rolling her eyes. “It’s about who’s the face of Farrs?”

I’m about to reply when I see two women in jeans and cardigans coming in. I wait for Morag to greet them, but she’s sitting on a stool, frowning bewilderedly over her questionnaire. She hasn’t even noticed the customers. I’m about to go and greet them myself, when Stacey comes sidling up.

“I just asked your uncle if he wanted me to start ringing up his purchases,” she begins. “But he said he doesn’t have to pay anything because he’s a temporary director?”

“He what?” I say, before I can stop myself.

“That’s what he said.” Stacey shrugs. “Reckons it’s all a freebie. He’s having me on, right?”

I stare at her dumbly. We’ve always done a friends-and-family discount of 20 percent. We haven’t said, “Help yourself to anything in the shop.”

Family first, I’m reminding myself frantically. I can’t criticize Uncle Ned to Stacey, even though I’m secretly thinking, How dare he?

“Um … well …” I say, playing for time. “We haven’t worked out all the details.…” As I’m speaking, I watch the two women in cardigans approach the display of pans where Nicole is posing. They peer round Nicole at the pans for a few moments, then one of them says, “Excuse me? Can I have a look?”

“Sorry, I’m in the middle of a photo shoot,” replies Nicole impatiently.

“Oh,” says one of the women, looking discomfited. “Well, could we just—”

“It is quite important,” Nicole cuts her off. “Could you go and look at something else first?”

My jaw sags in horror. That’s a customer! I’m about to hurry over and say to Nicole, “What do you think you’re doing?” when I see Uncle Ned behind me.

“I’ll just take a few more bits and pieces,” he says happily, reaching for an eggcup. “Now, Fixie, do you stock such a thing as a toast rack?”

“Um, Uncle Ned, about the friends-and-family discount—” I begin, but I’m cut off by Jake striding back onto the shop floor.

“The whole place clearly needs a rethink,” he’s saying airily to Bob, who looks a bit freaked out. “I think the priority has got to be a hardwood floor, don’t you?”

A hardwood floor? A priority?

“Greg!” Nicole suddenly screeches. “Not like that. Don’t you know anything about Instagram?”

“You fancy the guy next door …” Morag is reading aloud from her questionnaire, looking utterly perplexed. “What do you do about it? One: Look him up on Tinder.…”

Blood is thumping through my temples as I look from Morag, peering at her questionnaire, to Nicole, who’s trying to balance a saucepan on her outstretched fingers while Greg takes a photo. I turn to gaze at Uncle Ned, still contentedly filling his basket up with our stuff, and then Jake, who is now talking to Bob about the “Ralph Lauren look.”

I don’t know where to start.

I think I’m going a bit mad.

“Hey, Fixie,” comes Stacey’s sardonic voice in my ear. “I know they’re your family and all.” She pauses and leans closer. “But they’re shit.”

For a flustered moment I don’t know how to respond.

“No, they’re not!” I retort at last, trying to sound convinced. “That’s totally … They’re …” I wince as Nicole drops the saucepan with a clatter and exclaims, “Oh, it’s dented now! Greg, get another one.”

“Look at them,” says Stacey, unmoved. “They don’t know anything about Farrs. All I’m saying is … you better watch out.”

—

When I get home that evening, I’m bone-weary. It’s been exhausting trying to wrangle each member of the family in turn. Uncle Ned was “offended to the core” that I’d thought he was trying to purloin goods for free. “Naturally” he’d only meant a 40 percent discount.

So then I had to explain that our discount is 20 percent. Whereupon his mouth curled up and he put back the teapot and the tablecloth.

Greg and Morag finally completed their psychological questionnaires, then vigorously disputed the results. Morag, in particular, was highly offended to be told she was a Goat. It didn’t help that Nicole started her spiel by saying, “The Goat is what we call a negative personality, so you might want to work on your positive qualities, Morag.”

Morag went all pink and huffy, but Nicole didn’t even notice. Meanwhile, Greg had looked all the profiles up online and decided he wanted to be a Lion. But Nicole said he couldn’t be a Lion, he was the opposite of a Lion. So he answered the whole questionnaire again with different answers but he still wasn’t a Lion, he was a Pony. Whereupon he sulked for the rest of the day.

I’m sure all this personality stuff makes sense with a trained, tactful person doing it. But Nicole isn’t trained or tactful. All she’s achieved is to upset people. Only of course I couldn’t say anything negative in public, so I filled one out myself and listened while Nicole explained it to me. I can’t even remember what I was—maybe a Panda? (Stacey refused to do hers. She said, “I know which personality I am already. I’m Stroppy Bitch.”)

Then we tried to look at how Nicole’s yoga class was going to work and nearly had a massive row in public, because she all she kept saying was, “You promised me space, Fixie, you promised me space,” but didn’t seem to have any idea where the space should come from. We compromised in the end by getting rid of the leisure section, reducing the baking section, and halving the glassware, but it’s not ideal.

At least I managed to talk Jake out of booking hardwood-flooring companies to come and quote next week. But I gave in over the “relaunch.” He wants to throw a party and invite “cool people” and “influencers” and “put Farrs on the map.”

I mean, whatever. If he can get some cool people to come along to Farrs, then good luck to him.

I dump my bag and jacket in the hall, head to the kitchen, and stop in delight. Ryan is sitting at the table, drinking a beer, watching the news on our tiny TV, and scrolling down his phone. He looks so at home, I feel a bubble of joy expand inside me. He’s here! I honestly thought—

Well, I didn’t know what to think. He was so casual when we said goodbye the other night, I was afraid he might already be moving on. So somehow, these last two days, I’ve forced myself not to text him constantly but to play it cool. Wait for him to make the next move. And it’s worked!

“Hi!” I say. I’m trying to sound casual, but my voice is giddy with relief. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”

“Nicole let me in,” he says, standing up. “I thought you’d get back earlier.”

“We had a crisis over a damaged delivery,” I say apologetically. “It tied me up.”

“No biggie.” He smiles. “You’re here now.”

He pulls me into his arms and I close my eyes, almost swooning as our mouths meet. I hadn’t realized how desperate I was for him. The touch of him, the scent of him … the himness of him.

It’s been so long since I had a proper boyfriend. Not that I would admit this to him.