I Owe You One: A Novel

by Sophie Kinsella

  Which I suppose was always the case, but Jake was only thinking big for himself before.

  “So, where are we?” I say, consulting my to-do list. (I’m not Hannah’s best friend for nothing.) “Nibbles, tick. Lamb, tick; broccoli’s nearly there; potatoes are in …” I check my phone. “Mum says forty minutes. OK, what else?”

  “Fixie.” Leila comes into the kitchen and surveys me anxiously. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment?”

  “I don’t need to sit down!”

  “How are you feeling?” she adds delicately.

  Nicole has filled in the entire family on the situation with Seb. Which means about every five minutes someone asks me if I’m OK or what I’m going to do or whether I want to “talk.” Even Jake asked last night if I wanted to “talk.” And when I said no, thanks, he proceeded to tell me, for about an hour, what a bastard Ryan was. Which didn’t particularly help me. Although it might have helped Jake.

  So, no, I don’t want to “talk” and I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Break up Seb and Briony? Put him on the spot and wait to see if he wants me? Make all sort of assumptions about him that might be wrong?

  Just thinking about it gives me an achy head and an achy heart and an achy all-over. So I’m not going to, at least not today. I’m going to make Mum’s homecoming perfect, that’s what I’m going to do.

  “The only thing is the coffee,” says Nicole, looking up from the machine. “We’re out of beans.”

  “Out?” I stare at her. “How can we be out? It was half full yesterday.”

  “Dunno.” Nicole gives one of her trademark vague shrugs. “But it’s saying Refill bean tray.”

  For God’s sake.

  I head over to the coffee machine and stare at it impatiently. I know it had beans yesterday.

  “It’s temperamental,” says Nicole, following my gaze. “You know? It’s needy. Never mind, Café Allegro is open. Someone can pop out and buy more beans?”

  “I’m in the middle of this,” says Jake, looking up from the cheesecake. “Leila’ll go.”

  “Jakey, you know I’ve hurt my toe,” says Leila, sounding hurt. “You know it’s all swollen up.”

  “Nicole, you go,” I command, but Nicole looks affronted.

  “I can’t go!” she says. “I’m talking to Drew in a moment. It’s all been arranged. God, Fixie, you could go yourself, you know. It’s only ten minutes’ walk.”

  “I thought you were supposed to have changed.” I glare at her. “Fine, I’ll go.”

  “Have a coffee!” calls Nicole mollifyingly. “There’s no rush!”

  As I head out, my bag swinging on my shoulder, I feel indignant with both my siblings. Why should I have to go? It’s so typical.

  But as I walk along, my anger abates, and I start feeling glad of the fresh air, grateful for the time out. It’s been a pretty intense couple of days, and I woke this morning with my heart hammering. I’m not nervous about Mum returning, exactly, but …

  Well. Maybe I am nervous. I so don’t want her to be disappointed in us.

  I round the corner and head toward Café Allegro and my heart starts beating hard again—but not because of Mum. I’ve been in here for coffee a few times since Seb and I broke up, and it’s always been difficult. Now I’m getting impatient with myself. Am I going to feel like this every time I go to Café Allegro? Am I going to replay every instant of our meeting? The laptop … the ceiling crashing down … the coffee sleeve …

  It’s ridiculous, I tell myself firmly as I push open the door. I’m here for coffee beans. I’m not even going to think about him. A few people are sitting around with coffees, but there’s no queue and I walk straight up to the counter. I order the beans and order myself a takeaway cappuccino, then turn to go.

  And everything seems to go wobbly.

  Am I …

  Is this real?

  He’s sitting by the window in the same seat. He’s working on his laptop. And there’s a spare seat opposite. As though he can feel my gaze on him, Seb looks up briefly, and I see everything in his eyes that I want to see.

  I don’t know what magic has brought him here. My brain can’t function well enough; I can’t make sense of it. But he’s here. And his eyes are telling me that they love me.

  Hardly able to breathe, I make my way over to the table and sit down. Seb doesn’t look up from his laptop but keeps typing, and I look out of the window as though I don’t know him.

  You can’t go back in time and do life a different way.

  Well, maybe you can.

  Seb’s phone buzzes with a call and I watch, prickling like a cat, as he answers it. I feel so taut, so wound up, I could scream. I have to get this right. We have to get this right.

  “Oh, hi, Fred. Yes, it’s me.” Seb listens for a bit to the voice at the other end, then gets to his feet.

  “Excuse me,” he says politely to me in a stranger’s voice. “I’m just stepping out to take a phone call. Could you watch my laptop?”

  “Sure,” I manage, my voice hardly working. I watch him threading his way between the tables, already back on the phone, saying, “Thanks, mate. Yup.”

  He stands outside, exactly as he did before, and I take a sip of cappuccino, but I can’t taste it. All my senses are on high alert. Now is the cue for the ceiling to collapse, but the ceiling’s been mended; I saw the workmen doing it last month. It’s different, all different.

  And now Seb’s coming back into the shop, and I’m not clutching his laptop while water drips from me; it’s there, safe on the table. But he still stops before he reaches the table and meets my eyes as though something seismic has happened.

  Or maybe is happening.

  “Hi,” he says. “I’m Sebastian.”

  “I’m Fixie,” I say.

  “Thanks for looking after my laptop.”

  And this is where he should add, “I owe you one,” and we should start down the inexorable path toward shouting and tears and splitting up—but this time the words don’t come. All that comes is his warm gaze. Loving and kind of questioning.

  “Anytime,” I say, and he nods, and I can sense us both breathing out.

  We did it. We did it differently.

  “Can I buy you a coffee?” he says, still in über-polite tones. “Or a cup of tea? A juice?”

  “Actually, I must be going,” I say, remembering my script. “I have a family party I need to get back for.” Seb’s face falls and I see doubt creep in, and just for a moment I let him suffer … before I add with a tentative smile, “Would you like to come?”

  —

  Mum looks amazing. I mean, amazing. She’s not only tanned and fit-looking, with a new red sweater and dangling pearl earrings, she has a new spring in her step. She’s energetic. As we greet her taxi, she cries out in delight and hugs us all, over and over, and then we bundle her luggage into the house while she tells us about Christmas in Spain and how Aunty Karen was planning to serve lobster.

  “I was all set to do it,” she says. “I really was. But then, do you know what it was? It was watching White Christmas one evening. Oh, it got to me! My eyes filled with tears and I looked at your Aunty Karen and she said, ‘You’re going home, aren’t you?’ And I said, ‘Oh, Karen.’ And I booked the flight the next day. I couldn’t have Christmas away from home, just couldn’t do it. I had to be here with you all—Jake, Nicole, and Fixie, and Leila, of course, and—” Her eyes fall confusedly on Seb, as though for the first time. Well, in fact, exactly for the first time, I realize.

  “Right,” I say hastily. “Er … this is Seb.”

  “Seb!” cries Mum, as though she’d known all the time, his name had just slipped her mind. “Oh, it’s wonderful to be back. You all look so well, and the house looks lovely.…”

  She’s picked up a bit of Aunty Karen’s zest for life, I decide as we troop in
to the kitchen, and that’s no bad thing.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  “Would you like some coffee?” chimes in Nicole. “I can do you a macchiato, a latte, flat white.…”

  “I’m opening the Cava,” says Jake firmly. “Red-letter day.”

  “Red-letter day,” echoes Seb, drawing me a little way into the hall. His lips brush briefly against mine and he murmurs, “I want you so much,” in my ear, and I feel an instant pang of lust.

  “Later,” I murmur back, smiling.

  For a while we just gaze silently at each other. I feel as if his woodland eyes are enveloping me and I can’t bear to tear myself away—till a sudden clatter from the kitchen makes us both start.

  “Come on,” I say, my voice a little husky. “We’d better join the others.”

  As we enter the kitchen, I see Leila nudging Nicole excitedly—and at once my lust is replaced by hope they won’t be too mortifying over lunch. Leila has already totally embarrassed me by calling out, “It’s them! They’re together! Yay!” as we approached the house.

  Then, when we got inside, it all came out. It wasn’t magic that brought Seb to Café Allegro; it was Nicole and Hannah. They contacted Seb secretly on Friday night and filled him in on a few key facts. Apparently Hannah set up a conference call to discuss it, which is so her. Apparently she also said directly to Seb, “And why did you get back together with Briony?” and Seb said, “Better the devil you know,” whereupon Hannah said, “No! Wrong!” as though he was a junior on her team.

  I mean, I wish I’d been on the call, now.

  It was Hannah’s idea to set up our meeting today, and it was Nicole who thought of emptying the coffee machine of beans. I mean, honestly. Since when did she become so practical?

  “So, is there anything I can do?” I ask, a little too briskly. “We were just …”

  “We know,” says Leila with a sudden gurgle of laughter. Then her expression changes. “Fixie, let me …” She adjusts my hair quickly, patting and tweaking it, then gives me one of her sweet smiles. “There. That’s better!”

  “How’s Drew?” says Mum as Jake hands out the Cava, and Nicole colors slightly.

  “Actually, Mum, there’s something I need to tell you. I won’t be here for Christmas. I’m off to Abu Dhabi to see Drew. I’m flying tomorrow.”

  Mum’s sharp eyes survey Nicole as though searching for trouble—but then something in her face relaxes.

  “Good idea, Nicole,” she says. “Good idea, darling.”

  “Well, here’s to you, Mum,” says Jake, lifting a glass. “Welcome back!”

  We all take a sip and then Mum says, “Here’s to you, loves. All of you. You’ve done so well, keeping the house spotless and everything running so well. The shop looks in marvelous shape! Morag sent me some pictures of you, Jake, all dressed up as a gingerbread man.” She smiles at him. “And the events for children are such a good idea.…”

  “The sales aren’t bad either,” I say eagerly. “Last week’s takings are better than last year’s.”

  I got Bob to pull some figures together for me yesterday, and as he handed them over, he smiled. He actually smiled.

  “Mum,” I add a little nervously, because I want to get it over with, “there’s something I need to tell you too. I’ve made Morag a director.”

  I’ve been plucking up courage to tell her, but first she was ill, and then I was distracted, and then I thought, Face-to-face is better. Although now I’m thinking: No, face-to-face is worse; I should have sent an email in the middle of the night.

  “I know, love.” Mum pats my hand kindly. “It was exactly the right thing to do. I should have done it myself. You’ve brought a fresh eye to the business. All of you,” she adds, looking around. “I should have gone away years ago! And was Uncle Ned helpful?” she adds innocently, and there’s such a charged silence I think I might explode.

  I’m dying to tell Mum everything. I want her to know the truth about Uncle Ned … and Bob … and all of it. Actually, I want her to become Ninja Mum and see off Uncle Ned for good.

  But not now. That’s for another day.

  “Here’s to Farrs!” exclaims Jake, lifting his glass, totally ignoring the question. We drink again, and Seb adds robustly, “Best store in Europe!”

  “And here’s to you, Jake,” says Mum, turning toward him. “Well done for being the head of the family in my place, for keeping everyone together, for stepping in when the shop needed you—” She breaks off as Jake puts a hand on her arm.

  “I’d love to take the credit,” he says, in his familiar drawl. “But I’ve got this new annoying habit of being honest. And the truth is … it was Fixie.”

  There’s silence and I stare at him, gobsmacked.

  “Fixie?” Mum looks taken aback.

  “Fixie was the head of the family while you were away,” says Jake. “A lot of stuff went on and … well … Fixie took care of it.”

  “Fixie was the head,” Nicole agrees. “She sorted us all out. She was boss.”

  “Boss-y,” amends Jake wryly, and Leila gives a nervous giggle, which she hastily quells.

  “I see.” Mum looks around at the three of us, as though reappraising things. “Well … to Fixie, then.”

  “To Fixie.” Jake raises his glass. “For everything.” He meets my eyes gravely and I nod back, unable to speak, my head hot.

  “Fixie.” Nicole nods, her glass rising too. “Well done.”

  “You know me,” I say, finally finding my voice. “I just have to fix stuff. It’s always been my flaw—” I break off as I see Seb shaking his head, his eyes warm and loving.

  “It’s your strength,” he says. “It’s what makes you. Don’t ever stop fixing stuff.”

  “We need you to fix stuff!” agrees Nicole. “Except the coffee machine,” she adds as an afterthought. “I’m totally on that.”

  “To Fixie,” says Leila eagerly, and Seb lifts his glass, his hand tight in mine.

  “To Fixie,” he says. “To Fixie Farr.”

  “Well,” I say, still flustered. “Thanks very much and … and … let’s have lunch.”

  Mum goes off to freshen up, and the rest of us crack into catering-team mode, and in a few minutes we’re serving up lamb casserole with baked potatoes and broccoli, along with Mum’s favorite crusty bread.

  “Wait,” I say, as she sits down and Jake starts pouring wine. “Wait. We haven’t got enough seats. I don’t understand …” I look around the table, confused, then realize it’s because Seb’s here. There’s an extra person.

  “Use that chair?” Seb suggests, pointing at Dad’s empty carver, and I stiffen automatically.

  “No, we don’t ever use that. It was Dad’s. But it’s fine—we can bring one in from the kitchen.…”

  “You sit in it, Fixie,” says Nicole suddenly, and I gape at her, stunned that she would even suggest it. “Why not? You wouldn’t mind, would you, Mum?”

  We’re all looking at Dad’s chair, and back at Mum, and I can see her thinking hard, looking at us again, her unfamiliar earrings dangling. I can almost read her mind: Everything’s changed.

  “Yes,” she says slowly. “I think it’s time to use it again. Fixie, love, you sit in it.”

  “But …” I flounder. Dad’s chair? The chair at the head of the table? Me?

  “Go on,” says Jake, nodding at the chair. “Sit down, or I’ll take it. Seriously, you deserve it,” he adds in a nicer voice.

  “I’ll lay an extra place,” says Leila quickly. “It’ll only take a second.”

  As Nicole passes broccoli around the table and Seb pours out the wine, I venture toward the big heavy chair. As I pull it out, I’m remembering Dad in this chair. His authority. And just for an instant I think, I can’t sit here, I’m not worthy—but then I glance up and catch Seb’s eye. He gives me a tiny, infinitesi
mal nod, and I suddenly remember those words he hurled at me in fury: You need to start thinking less about what you owe other people and more about what you owe yourself.

  He might have been angry, but he was right.

  I owe this to myself. I do. I owe it to myself.

  I sit down in my place, pull the chair in with more confidence, and shake out the napkin that Leila’s set for me, with a smile of thanks. And as I survey the faces that I love so dearly, I feel a kind of contentment. So we’re not flash. So we’re not moneyed. So we don’t have all the answers or know exactly where we’re going. We’ll still be all right, our family. We’ll be all right.

  To my reader

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I owe one to many, many people.

  Francesca at Transworld, Kara and Susan at Penguin Random House NYC, and all my woderful publishers around the world.

  Julia and Becky, Debbie, Jess and Sharon and the whole amazing Team Kinsella, with a special thank-you to Richard Ogle.

  My tireless agents, Araminta, Marina, Kim, Nicki, and Sam and all at LAW and ILA.

  My writerly friends for cocktails and wise counsel—especially Jojo, Lisa, Jenny, Kristy, Linda, Joanna, Tom, and the Board.

  The very helpful owners and staff of Harts of Stur—a fabulous family store!

  My family—I owe you about eleventy billion.

  And finally: the nameless American man who asked me to mind his laptop in a Starbucks one time, and instantly triggered my imagination...

  I definitely owe you one.

  By Sophie Kinsella

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  Shopaholic Takes Manhattan

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  Remember Me?

  Twenties Girl

  Mini Shopaholic

  I’ve Got Your Number

  Wedding Night