I Owe You One (Page 57)

“He talks as though he’s still doing it,” I say. “Mum thinks he’s still doing it. Everyone does.”

“I know.” Leila bites her lip. “I’ve said to him, ‘Jakey, you should tell your family.’ ”

He dropped out of his MBA but he didn’t volunteer to do any more work at the shop, I silently register. Yet he’s taken all these loans from it.

“So what does he do all day?” I persist. “How does he make all his money?”

“He made a lot out of those nude knickers,” says Leila, her brows winged anxiously. “That was a good deal. They were a good product. I wear them myself!” she adds, with a brief show of brightness. “But ever since then …” She trails into silence.

“But that was two years ago.” I stare at her. “Hasn’t he done any more deals since then? I thought …”

Jake talks as though he’s made a million deals, each more profitable than the last. He drops constant references to “export” and “my latest venture” and deals which are “on the horizon.” We’ve never questioned him, we’ve only listened, awed.

Leila still hasn’t replied. She’s busying herself with bottles of topcoat.

“Leila?” I say more urgently. “Has he?”

“I don’t think so,” she whispers at last. “He just has lunch with people. That’s what I don’t get. How does having lunch earn you money?” she says in sudden bewilderment. “I like a job I can see.” She pats her manicure case. “I like work. So, if you give me your right hand again …” she adds, in her manicurist’s voice.

I watch silently as she starts filing my nails. The rhythmic action of her file is kind of mesmerizing and soothing. It’s reassuring. For both of us, I suspect.

“I knew he was stressed out,” I say after a while. “But I had no idea …”

“He’s secretive,” says Leila. “He doesn’t even tell me everything. He wants everyone to think he’s …” She pauses as though thinking how to put it. “Winning. Master of the universe.”

“I thought maybe he was burned out from too many deals.”

“It’s the opposite!” Leila replies, her voice wavering between a sob and a laugh. “It’s not enough deals! It’s no income! Nothing to pay the mortgage!”

“But you’re still with him?” I blurt out the question before I can stop myself. For a moment Leila stops filing my nails and I worry that I’ve offended her. But when she looks up, her gaze is nothing but wistful.

“Jake’s been good to me. I’m not going to abandon him, just because …” She hesitates, her eyes dimming slightly. “I know some people find him a bit … much. But he’s got a softer side, you know.”

“I know.” I nod.

“Jakey talks about life. He has interesting ideas. He’s fun. He wants to do things, you know? Some men, they don’t want to do anything or go anywhere.”

“Jake’s never had that problem,” I say in wry tones, and Leila smiles, then wipes her wet eyes and resumes filing.

When both my hands are done, she pats them dry and starts to apply a base coat.

“Did you choose a color yet?” she asks, and I point randomly to the lilac nail polish.

“Lovely choice!” says Leila, and she starts to unscrew the pot. And we’re both so calm and peaceful now, I almost don’t want to ruin the atmosphere, but I have to ask one more question.

“So what’s Jake going to do now?”

Leila exhales in a shuddery breath and stares down at the nail-polish pot, blinking hard.

“Get some money from somewhere,” she says at last. “I said to him, ‘Jakey, get a job! A job!’ But you know what he’s like.…”

“Where will he get more money?” I say bluntly.

Slowly, Leila’s skinny arms and shoulders rise up in the most hopeless shrug I’ve ever seen. For a few moments we’re both silent, because what is there to say? Then Leila’s eyes brighten.

“I could put a shimmer on top of the lilac,” she says. “I’ve got a lovely new product, shall I show you?”

I know displacement when I see it. Her hands are trembling as she reaches for the pot and her eyes are shadowy and I decide we’ve talked enough about Jake.

“That sounds amazing,” I say, as warmly as I can. “Leila, you’re brilliant.”

 And she is brilliant. As I’m heading to Seb’s later, I keep staring at my immaculate shimmery lilac nails and thinking, I should get Leila to do this every week.

But that’s only about 5 percent of my brain. The rest is remembering Jake’s angry bravado. And Leila’s shadowy eyes. And that bare wall with wires hanging out of it. All my adrenaline from earlier on has seeped away, leaving me flatter than I’ve been for ages. I feel pale and washed out and strained.

Seb buzzes me in and I travel up in the lift to his flat. He’s waiting there, the front door flung open.

“So, did you do it?” he asks at once, his face bright and expectant. “Were you Ninja Fixie?”

I stare at him for a moment, rewinding to the restaurant. Yes, I was assertive. I said what I thought. I was Ninja Fixie. But that all seems dwarfed now by my discoveries about Jake.

“Yes!” I say. “Kind of. Uncle Ned was offended. He stormed out.”

“Excellent!” Seb grins. “Every good shareholders’ meeting needs someone storming out in dudgeon. Come on, sit down and relax. You look knackered.” He kisses me and ushers me in, and I follow, my head still trying to make sense of the evening.

“Oh, you’ll never guess what,” I say, suddenly remembering. “I saw Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Seb echoes, his face instantly tightening, and I immediately regret mentioning him.

“Only for, like, a nanosecond,” I say quickly. “I definitely put him straight.”

“Good,” says Seb, after a pause. “Glad to hear it. So, a good evening?”

I sink down at his little kitchen table, feeling my last vestiges of energy slip away. “Actually, no. It was awful.”

I fight an urge to burst into tears. I think a kind of delayed shock is hitting me. Shock at Jake’s aggression toward me. Shock at the truth behind it.

“Awful?” Seb hands me a glass of wine. “Why?”

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s … well, it’s Jake.”

“What about Jake?”

I hesitate, sipping the wine, trying to work out what to say. I can’t blurt out that Jake’s in debt. Leila told me in confidence and he’s family and it might not be as bad as she thinks and … I just can’t, not even to Seb.

“He’s got some issues,” I say at last. “Work issues. It’s all quite worrying.”

“Right,” says Seb carefully. “But that’s his problem, isn’t it? Not yours?”

“But it involves Mum,” I say despairingly. “I have to do something, but I don’t know what.…” I rub my face. “Everything’s got worse than I thought.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Seb peers at me anxiously for a moment, then reaches for a plate on the counter. “Have some fudge.”

I stare incredulously at the crumbly, delicious-looking cubes. “Is that homemade fudge?”

“I thought you might like a treat when you got back. I like making fudge,” Seb adds with a shrug. “It’s easy. I’ve been making it since I was seven.”

I take a piece and put it in my mouth and it’s like a burst of comfort. Sweet, rich, total indulgence.

“Thank you,” I say, after a few moments of chewing. “Thank you for making me fudge.”

“Well, you did save my life,” says Seb, glancing at the coffee sleeve, which is just visible in my tote bag. “Fudge is the very least I owe you.” He shoots me a teasing grin, but this time I don’t smile back. I don’t know why, but his words have flicked me on the raw. I can’t smile. I can’t joke. I don’t find the coffee sleeve charming or amusing anymore; I find it grating.

I finish my piece of fudge, then say, without looking at him, “Are we going to do this forever?”

“Do what?” Seb sounds confused.

“Tit for tat. I owe you. You owe me. Would you have made me fudge if I hadn’t saved your life?”

“Of course!” Seb gives a shocked laugh. “It’s only a joke!”

“Well, maybe I’m tired of the joke,” I say, still staring down at the table. “Is it never going to end? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours? Backward and forward, totting up what we owe each other, and we’d better settle up or else?”

I’m speaking faster and faster, and my face is getting hot. I don’t feel totally in control of myself.

“Fixie,” says Seb. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know exactly,” I say miserably. “But I wish you’d just said, ‘I’ve made you some fudge.’ The end.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” says Seb, a hint of impatience in his voice. “All friends do favors for each other.”