I can give you a job on the site,” he adds to Jake in short tones. “You’re unskilled, so it would be basic pay.”
“Thanks, Dad,” says Leila. Her eyes fix on Jake like lamps, and I can see her message: “Thank my dad.”
“Thanks, Tony,” says Jake, sounding as though the words are choking him.
“Right. Well.” Tony strides away and Leila totters after him.
“Wait, Dad. I’ll come. Give me a sec.” She turns to Jake again on her clippy-cloppy heel, her delicate face full of a strength that makes it even more beautiful than usual. “We’ll be in the van for ten minutes, OK? You can come to ours—or we can deliver your stuff somewhere else. But if you come with me, you’ve got to want to come. You’ve got to want it, Jakey. You and me …” Her voice begins to tremble. “We can be something. It’s not about you buying me stuff or being a hero or how many clubs we go to. It’s about you and me making plans and enjoying life together and … and being us. But you’ve got to want to be us, Jakey.” She points at him and then herself with her slender fingers. “You’ve got to want to be us.”
She finishes and there’s a breathless beat. Then she turns back and hurries toward her dad, who links his arm in hers and together they disappear around the corner, while I resist the urge to shout, “Go, Leila!”
I risk a look at Jake—and feel a pang of shock. He looks ill. He’s sunk onto his haunches and his head is bent and his shoulders are heaving. At last he raises his head, and he’s not crying but he looks close.
“You fucking ganged up on me,” he says, his voice muffled. “You’re family.”
“That’s why we ganged up on you,” I say. “Because we’re family. Because we care about you.”
I used to yearn so hard for the sunshine of Jake’s approval. But now I’m feeling a different kind of glow. Conviction that we’re doing the right thing.
“So, what, you think I should work on a building site?” he says with a miserable glare. “That’s what you think of me?”
“Why shouldn’t you work on a building site?” I say, in sudden fury. “Who do you think you are? Jake, stop trying to be posh. Be proud of where you came from. Leila’s right, you’ve got to want to be who you are. And you’re Jake Farr. Be proud of that.”
For a moment Jake just stares ahead as though he hasn’t heard me.
“Be proud of being Jake Farr,” he says at last, his voice empty. “Proud of what? I have nothing.”
He buries his head in his hands again, looking desolate, and I have a flashback to my own desolation when Farr’s Food went under. The grief I used to feel when I looked at my green aprons under the bed. I felt as though life would never be good again.
But maybe I was lucky, I find myself thinking. We’ve all got to have some kind of failure in life, and I had mine early. I got back on my feet. I learned that failing doesn’t mean you are a failure; it just means you’re a human being.
“You have Leila, who’s awesome,” I say robustly. “You have us. And you have Farrs. Not the ‘Notting Hill Family Deli.’ ” I can’t help adding a little dig. “Farrs.”
Jake doesn’t even move, and I hunker down beside him, trying to think how else to get through to him.
“Dad was so proud of you, Jake,” I say, more gently. “He didn’t care about being smart or having designer suits or making more money than anyone else. D’you remember what he used to say? ‘Do an honest day’s work, sleep an honest night’s sleep.’ ”
“I haven’t slept properly for weeks,” says Jake after a pause. He turns his head and I don’t know if it’s the light, but he looks more haggard than I’ve ever seen him.
“Oh, sleep is vital,” says Nicole at once. “Vital. Like, I haven’t been sleeping well either, and it’s been really bad for me? I have some essential oils I can give you,” she adds.
“There you go,” I say to Jake. “Essential oils. That’ll cure everything.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, and I think his mouth twitches a bit. Just a bit. “Will you be able to pay off your debts now?” I add more seriously.
“Yes,” says Jake, looking away. “Pretty much. Although if I clear them