Shooting me a resentful look, Nicole walks over to the coffee machine and stares at it dubiously. “It’s so complicated,” she says at last.
“Yes,” I agree. “And?”
Nicole prods at the display and jumps as it lights up. Then she turns to frown suspiciously at me.
“You’ve changed, Fixie,” she says.
“Yeah.” I nod matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I have.”
“How’s your new boyfriend?” she asks, light dawning on her face, as though this might explain everything.
“He’s not,” I say succinctly. “We broke up.”
“Oh.” Nicole’s face crumples a little in sympathy. “Shit. That didn’t last long.”
“No. Well.” I shrug.
We look at each other silently and I feel like we have more in common right now than I can ever remember. We met guys and we fell in love and everything seemed to work out. Until it didn’t.
My eyes are starting to shimmer. My throat is thick. I fiercely blink my tears away, but Nicole notices. She peers at me expressionlessly—then suddenly holds out her arms. For a moment I don’t even know what she means … then I realize and my ears turn warm and I go to her, feeling almost self-conscious.
Her arms wrap around me and my eyes leak hot tears into her shoulder and I exhale as though I’ve been holding my breath for a long time. It must be years since my big sister hugged me. She smells of some Nicole-ish perfume, and her earrings make gentle clinky sounds as she pats my back.
“Make me a coffee,” she says wheedlingly as we draw apart. “Go on.”
“No!” I can’t help erupting with outraged laughter, tears still edging my voice. “I’m not doing it! You’re going to learn!”
It takes over half an hour to teach her. God, she’s frustrating. Her brain just slides away when it sees something it doesn’t like. But at last she’s clutching a latte and looking proudly down at it.
“See?” I say. “And next you can learn how to dehumidify the toaster.”
“Dehumidify the toaster?” echoes Nicole, looking aghast, and I bite my lip, giggling. I’m about to tell her I invented “dehumidify the toaster” to freak her out, when my phone beeps with a text.
Hi. Jake’s in a real mood. What happened? Can you talk now? Leila xxx
All at once my mind is wrenched away from the coffee machine, away from Nicole, away from easy problems like how to clean the milk frother … back to Jake. I see his cold, furious eyes this morning, and my stomach flips with nerves.
Swiftly I type a reply to Leila:
I’ll call in 5 xxx
I send the text, then stare at the screen, feeling daunted. I know what I think should happen. And I want to make it happen. But I can’t do it alone.
“Nicole,” I say at last. “There’s something else.”
“Yeah?” She’s peering at the coffee machine again. “Wait, it does a macchiato?”
“There’s something else I need your help with. Something big.” I wait until she turns, then add, “It’s to do with Jake.”
—
It takes us two days to arrange everything. About half of that is spent explaining it all to Nicole, who starts off by saying, “Honestly, Fixie. Do you have to interfere in everything?”
But then she talks to Leila and sees the TV wrenched off Jake’s wall. Then we have a meeting with Bob in the back room at the shop and he shows us the withdrawals Jake has been making from the company—and even Nicole looks jolted out of her usual bubble.
“But what does he spend it on?” she says, leafing through the printouts that Bob has made for us. “It can’t all have gone on the scam,” she adds with a wince—I’ve already filled her in on that.
“You know.” I shrug. “Jake stuff. Networking. If you asked him, he’d say he was entertaining clients or softening up prospects or something. But you can’t soften up prospects forever. You have to land the deal.”
“And how come Mum let him take out that first loan, anyway?” Nicole lifts her eyes to Bob.
Bob looks around as though to check we’re not being overhead and sips his instant coffee with three sugars. (We have a filter machine, but he prefers instant.)
“Here’s the thing,” he says apologetically. “Your mother’s always had a soft spot for Jake. No one’s perfect, and that’s her foible, and she knows it. She says, ‘Oh, Bob, I shouldn’t,’ but she can’t help herself. She’s bailed him out plenty over the years. I did wonder if you girls knew,” he adds, reaching for a rich tea biscuit. “But I reckon you’re all in the business now, so to speak.”
She’s bailed him out? She’s bailed out Jake?
As I stare at Bob, my head is whirling. I feel a bit weak. All this time, I’ve felt mortified because I was the one who used Mum’s money. I was the one who failed. Jake made me feel guilty and inferior because he’d done everything on his own, with no help, like the business star that he was.
Only he hadn’t, had he? It was all lies.
Or at least … I draw myself up short, thinking furiously, trying to remember. Did anyone ever actually lie to me? Or did I simply assume?
I’m waiting to feel a surge of fury with Mum, but it doesn’t come. I can’t blame her. It’s her money. I can’t even feel angry with Jake. I just feel kind of rueful. Because how much of my life have I spent comparing myself to Jake? And how utterly pointless was that?
“As for your uncle Ned, I reckon Jake pulled the wool over his eyes,” says Bob thoughtfully. “I should think Jake threw his big words around and they drank their gins and Ned didn’t ask any questions. But here’s the thing: If you’re responsible for someone’s money, you’ve got to be able to ask questions. Doesn’t matter if you sound stupid.” His face breaks into a rare smile. “I’m never afraid of sounding stupid. Just ask, is what I say. Can’t hurt to ask.”
“You’re never stupid, Bob,” I say warmly. “You’re a star.”
“Ah well,” says Bob, looking mortified. “That’s going a bit far. Just do the job, is what I do.”
“OK, well, Fixie, you’re right,” says Nicole, putting the printouts down. “As usual.” She shoots me a little grin, and I grin back and decide I won’t mention that she left the kitchen in a total tip this morning.
—
By the following afternoon we’re all set—and at six o’clock we’re waiting on the steps of Grosvenor Heights, all three of us: Leila, Nicole, and me. We’re standing in a row, under the lights of the smart entrance porch, and I’m shivering slightly with cold. Nerves too. Jake’s texted Leila to say he’s on his way home; he shouldn’t be long now. I glance at the others, and Nicole’s jaw is tense. Leila looks, frankly, terrified. But at least she’s going through with it. She’s tougher than she seems, Leila.
And then suddenly there he is, walking toward the building, looking at his phone, and we all stiffen. As he notices us, his face jerks with shock, and his pace speeds up.
“What’s going on?” he demands as he gets near. “Why are you all here? Is it Mum?”
“No,” says Nicole. “It’s you.”
“What?” Jake stares from face to face, his phone dangling from his hand. “What are you talking about?”
Nicole and I glance at Leila and she steps forward, her face trembling but brave. “Jakey, we’re moving out. We’re letting the flat. We can’t afford to live here anymore. We’ll get a good price.”
Jake’s eyes darken. “You have to be kidding. She’s kidding.” He looks at Nicole and me. “She’s gone nuts, right?”
“My dad and I put a new TV on the wall,” Leila presses on resolutely. “A cheap one. It looks OK. The agent’s bringing a professional couple round in an hour. Three more tomorrow. He thinks if we price it right, it’ll go quickly.”
Jake’s face has gone almost rubbery with shock. He stares blankly at Leila, then makes a visible effort to pull himself together.
“This is bollocks,” he says, pushing past her. “Excuse me, could I please get through to my own home?”
“I’ve changed the locks,” Leila calls after him, and Jake slowly wheels round.
“You’ve what?” he says ominously.
“I’ve changed the locks. Just to … to make things clear.”
“You’ve locked me out of my own home? You can’t do that!” he bellows, erupting, and Leila looks like she might collapse.
“Well, she did it,” I say, putting an arm around Leila. “Jake, you can’t go on like this.”
“What the hell are you two doing here, anyway?” He turns on us like a riled tiger.
“We’re moral support,” says Nicole. “ ‘If you want to go fast, go alone,’ ” she adds wisely, glancing at me. “ ‘If you want to go far, go together.’ ”
I’m fairly sure she got that quote off a cushion, but I nod gratefully at her. The thing about all Nicole’s quotes is that some of them are actually pretty good. Especially the wooden sign she gave me yesterday, which reads, YOU’RE STRONGER THAN YOU THINK. I’ve looked at it quite a lot—and it does make me feel stronger.
“Jakey, do you have any money coming in?” Leila says, her hands twisting anxiously. “Any actual money?”
“I have … I have a stack of potential deals,” says Jake, his face evasive. “There’s a guy in Northampton who deals in wine. I have irons in the fire—”