“Hi, Mum!” I say. “It’s Fixie calling you back; hope everything’s good…we’re all well…I’ll try you again soon. Take care, love you.”
I’m not going to tell her about Seb yet. And certainly not on voicemail.
As I tap my code into the till, I’m cursing myself. There was so much I was going to do before this meeting. I was going to read through all Bob’s emails, for a start. He sends us regular financial summaries, and I wanted to have all that information up my sleeve. I was going to research competitors’ websites. I was going to get exact sales figures on all of Jake’s new stock.
I’m humming with frustration at myself as Morag approaches me, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear.
“Fixie,” she says. “Can I have a word before we open?”
“Oh,” I say. “Yes, of course!”
I turn toward her, but for a few moments she doesn’t speak. She’s looking over my shoulder, her cheeks turning pink.
“I’ve been interviewing for other jobs,” she says at last. “I’ve had an offer from that big homewares place in Kew. Suttons. And I’m thinking of taking it.”
For a full half minute I can’t speak.
Morag wants to leave?
“Morag…” I falter at last. I’m so shocked, I can’t even frame any words.
“It’s not what I wanted.” Her mouth is tight, as though she’s trying not to show that she’s upset. “You know I love Farrs, you know that, Fixie. But…” She trails off, and I can hear that there are about a million unsaid words in that but.
“Can you tell me what…” I rub my face, trying to keep my breath steady. But now that my initial shock has died down, panic is swooping in. I can’t lose Morag, I can’t. “Could you tell me your main issues?”
“Oh, Fixie, love, you know the issues.” She exhales unsteadily. “This place has changed. Half the displays have disappeared, I don’t know what we’re supposed to be selling, all the customers are complaining….” She shakes her head. “The Christmas-cookie promotion day was a disaster! There simply wasn’t enough stock!”
“I know,” I say with a flash of painful remembrance. “Jake wanted to promote those neon novelty lamps.”
I don’t even want to think about the neon lamps. Jake landed them on us and we’ve only sold one—and it’s already been returned.
“Yes, well.” Morag’s expression tells me what she thinks of that. “And I’ve just had to cancel Cake Club for the third time—”
“The third time?” I stare at her. “Wait. I’ve missed this. What happened?”
“Nicole, of course! It’s always Nicole. A mindfulness session it was, this time. Well, all I’ll say is, do her ‘mindfulness’ friends ever come and buy so much as a whisk? Do they?” There are little red spots on Morag’s cheeks, and I realize how angry and offended she is and how I’ve been sleepwalking my way into a total disaster.
Mum, I suddenly think. What’s Mum going to say? And my stomach spasms with fresh terror, mixed with fury at myself.
“Morag,” I say desperately. “We love you. Please don’t go.”
“Suttons have said they’ll give me a regular space for the Cake Club,” says Morag, not meeting my eye. “They want to make it bigger, serve drinks, do live Internet events, whatever that is….I don’t want to leave,” she says, her voice sharpening with distress. “None of us do. But—”
“None of us?” I echo stupidly. “What—”
“All the Cake Club members have said they’ll come with me. They’ll come to events at Suttons. It’s not too far.”
There’s a prickling silence. The subtext is obvious: They’ll do all their shopping at Suttons too.
Fear is knotting round my throat. Mum trusted us with the shop and we’ve lost our best member of staff, plus our core customers. And I know Mum put us all in charge, but I can’t help feeling responsible. I swallow hard a few times, trying to get my thoughts straight.
“You haven’t accepted Suttons yet?”
“I’ve told them I need to think.” She finally meets my gaze, her eyes sorrowful yet resolute. “But, Fixie, there’s not much to think about.”
“Morag, let me fix this.” My words come tumbling out. “Please. Let me at least come to you with a proposal. Give me forty-eight hours to…to sort it out.”
“All right,” says Morag, and she pats my arm before she walks away. But I can see she hasn’t changed her mind.
For the rest of the morning I’m in a kind of internal frenzy. I deal with customers pleasantly—but inside I’m churning. I keep thinking, How