I Owe You One (Page 66)

“Fixie?” Jake’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I realize my damp eyes are giving me away.

“Right. Yes. Christmas Eve! It’ll be fun!” I say, my voice a little shrill, blinking furiously. “Although I’ve got nowhere with my Christmas shopping; is there anything you want?”

We talk for a bit more, then I head back inside to the familiar colorful buzz of the shop. Morag has just found a new source of picnicware, all printed with daffodils and perfect for summer, and we’re both oohing-and-aahing over the catalog when I hear a loud, hideously familiar voice: “Can I get some service?”

My stomach plummets to the floor. For a moment I can’t even move for horror—then, very slowly, I turn my head, knowing exactly who I’m going to see.

It’s her. Whiny.

She looks spectacular. She’s in a white cable-knit turtleneck with a faux-fur vest over the top and shiny riding boots. Her skin is glowing with fake tan and her black jeans fit her snugly and her hair is all glossy under the lights.

“Oh, hi, I’d forgotten this was your place,” she drawls, her eyes running over me with gratification.

She hadn’t forgotten. I know what this is: It’s payback for the skating.

“Welcome to Farrs,” I say, feeling like a robot. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she says carelessly. “I’ll just browse all your little things. I haven’t even thought about Christmas yet. Seb’s such a great chef and it’s the first Christmas we’re spending together, just the two of us … so the pressure’s on!” She laughs merrily. “Seb’s so sweet, though; he keeps saying he’ll cook everything. He’s an angel.” Her eyes slide to mine. “As you know.”

As I know. Is she trying to torture me? Well, yes, of course she is.

“Stacey,” I call out, my voice husky because I’m actually finding this really difficult. “Could you … This customer needs …”

But my voice doesn’t rise above the hubbub strongly enough. Stacey’s head doesn’t turn.

“So, I’m finally moving in with him,” Briony says, as though we’re having a cozy girls’ chat over coffee. “About bloody time! I said to him, ‘Seb, we’re a couple! Let’s behave like one!’ And he agreed. He was like, ‘I’ve been a bit mad these last few weeks. I don’t know what got into me.’ And we’re off to Klosters on Boxing Day, so, you know. Back to normal.”

“Right,” I manage. My head is pounding as though I’m about to vomit, but I force my lips into a smile.

“Hi, Lucia!” Briony suddenly waves at a girl I’m sure I’ve seen in here before, with glossy blond hair to match Briony’s and a navy coat. They kiss each other and Lucia brandishes a basket cheerfully at Briony.

“I’m going to go mad,” she says. “I love this place. I come in for cling film and leave with ten bags of stuff. But why did you suggest meeting here?” she adds curiously. “I know about it, but I’m local.”

“Oh, I just heard about it,” says Briony, her eyes sliding again to mine and away again.

“If I can help you with anything, please let me know,” I say, still with my stiff, pleasant smile, then turn away.

And I know I should leave—but I can’t bring myself to. I head to a nearby display, pointlessly rearranging a row of eggcups, my ears straining to hear their conversation.

“You should have brought Seb,” Lucia is saying as she looks at serving dishes. “He’s the real chef, isn’t he? You’re so lucky.”

“Oh, he’s amazing,” agrees Briony smugly. “Makes me breakfast in bed all the time. I’m going to put on twenty pounds!”

She’s speaking far more loudly than she needs to, and, again, I know I should walk away; I need to save myself from this. But my legs just won’t do it.

“Oh well, wait till you’ve got your home gym,” says Lucia easily. “You’ll both be so buff! By the way, I can come round and help clear out that room, after all. The removers are coming at ten tomorrow, aren’t they? Will they bring boxes?”

My hand freezes over an eggcup. Removers? Are they finally clearing out that second bedroom, then? Has Briony managed to get through to Seb? Is she more sensitive than I realized? Did she succeed where I failed? I can’t help feeling a twinge of envy, which is unworthy of me. If Sebastian is moving forward, then that’s good, whoever achieved it.

“Oh, right,” says Briony, sounding a bit discomfited. “Yeah. Shall we look around?” She seems to be trying to move away, but Lucia doesn’t notice.

“Definitely,” she replies vaguely, examining a serving dish. “So, are you having a treadmill or a cross-trainer in the end? Because apparently there’s this new kind of cross-trainer …”

As Lucia babbles on, my head is churning with thoughts and questions. How did Seb come to terms with clearing out the room? Is he all right? I have to know, even if it means going through Briony to find out.

“Sorry,” I hear myself blurting out, swiveling round to face Briony. “Sorry. But I couldn’t help overhearing. Is Seb OK, then? Has he come to terms with … everything?”

The look on Lucia’s face is priceless.

“Do you two know each other?” she exclaims.

“I know Seb,” I say shortly, then address Briony again. “So he’s … he’s OK? About clearing his brother’s room?”

“He has no idea it’s happening, does he?” says Lucia, sounding surprised. “Isn’t that the whole point? He’ll arrive back and it’ll be done?”

“He has no idea?” I echo, shocked. Briony’s cheeks have the slightest tinge of pink, but her jaw is defiant.

“What else am I supposed to do?” she says. “That place is a hazard!”

“He’ll never do it for himself,” chimes in Lucia knowledgeably. “Briony’s doing him a favor. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, you know. I had to smuggle three pairs of my husband’s manky old trousers out of the house once,” she adds gaily. “Three pairs! I literally hid them in a black bin bag. He would never have got rid of them otherwise!”

I can’t find an answer. I’m quivering with distress. I want to yell, “You think this has any resemblance to three pairs of manky old trousers? Has Briony told you the actual truth about this?”

“He’ll thank me for it in the end,” says Briony, still with that edge of defiance. “Short, sharp shock. It’s the only way.”

I’m dazed by her callousness. I think of Seb arriving back to find his brother’s room cleared, with no warning. I think of him standing there, his honest warm face draining of blood … and I can’t bear it. I feel as though I’m getting a short, sharp shock myself. Except it’s not short and sharp; it’s deep and damaging and can never be undone.

And now, as I survey Briony’s beautiful, selfish face, my fingers are drumming like they’ve never drummed before. My feet are itching. There’s a weird buzzing in my head. A tension rising through me. I know it’s not my life. I know he’s not with me. I know it’s their business. But I can’t stand by. I can’t.

“Right,” I manage at last, trying to sound unconcerned. “Fair enough. Good for you. Actually … I need to go. Sorry, I’ve just remembered I have a … meeting. Enjoy the shop. Stacey!” I call, so piercingly that she turns round this time.

“Hi,” she says, sauntering over, looking Briony and Lucia up and down.

“Please show these customers around. They want to see the whole shop. The whole shop,” I add for emphasis, and I see Stacey’s sharp eyes receive the message.

“Sure thing. Let’s start with glassware; that’s at the back of the shop.…” she says, leading them away.

I grab my coat from behind the cash desk, pick up my bag, and hurry outside into the wintry street, almost bumping into Gingerbread Jake.

“Jake,” I say breathlessly. “I have to go. Take over. Please?”

“Fine,” he says, looking taken aback. “Go. Do what you have to do.” He hesitates, then adds, “You OK?”

“Of course I’m OK, why shouldn’t I be?” I retort, and Jake gives me an odd look.

“Well, you’re crying.”

I’m crying? I reach up in shock and feel the streams of tears, wet on my cheeks.

“Busted.” I manage to grin, rubbing at my face. “I’m not really OK. But I just have to … I have to do this thing.”

Jake lifts a hand in its gingerbread glove and squeezes my shoulder, tight.

“Go for it,” he says. And I nod gratefully, before turning and breaking into a run.

—

The journey is at once too long and too short. As I arrive at Seb’s office, I feel almost sick with nerves. But the thought of Briony crashing into the most sensitive part of Seb’s life makes me feel even sicker, so I steel myself and march in.

“Hi,” I say to the receptionist without preamble. “I need to see Seb. It’s urgent.”