me. “Always.” He holds out the sleeve and I see that he’s written on it:
I owe you one.
Redeemable in perpetuity.
As I watch, he signs it underneath—a scribbly signature I can’t quite make out—and puts the date.
“If you ever want a favor,” he says, looking up. “Something I can do for you. Anything at all.” He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a business card, and then looks around, frowning. “I need a paper clip…or any kind of clip….”
“Here.” I put down my cup, reach into my Anna’s Accessories bag, and pull out a diamanté hair grip.
“Perfect.” He affixes the business card to the coffee sleeve with the hair grip. “This is me. Sebastian Marlowe.”
“I’m Fixie Farr,” I reply.
“Fixie.” He nods gravely and extends a hand. “How do you do?” We shake hands, then Sebastian proffers the coffee-sleeve IOU.
“Please take it. I’m serious.”
“I can see.” My mouth can’t help twitching. “Well, if I need any ‘forward-looking investment opportunities,’ I’ll let you know.”
My tone is a little mocking, but he doesn’t pick up on it—in fact, his green eyes light up.
“Yes! Please do! If that’s the case, we can set up a meeting; I’d be delighted to give you some advice—”
“It’s not the case,” I cut him off. “Far from it. But I appreciate the offer.”
Belatedly, he seems to realize I was teasing him, and his face flickers with a smile.
“Something you actually need, then.” He’s still holding the coffee sleeve out to me, and at last I take it.
“OK. Thank you.”
To humor him, I put the coffee sleeve into my bag and pat it. “There we are. Safe and sound. And now I really must be going. I have a family party I need to get back for.”
“You think I’m joking,” he says, watching as I pick up my cup. “But I’m not. I owe you one, Fixie Farr. Remember that.”
“Oh, I will!” I say, and flash him a last, cheerful smile, not meaning a word of it. “Absolutely. I really will.”
Four
Ryan isn’t at the house yet. Nor Jake.
As soon as I get inside, I sidle to the sitting room and glance through the door crack, ready to dart away. If they were anywhere they’d be there, sitting on the sofa, swigging beers. But they’re not. I’m safe.
I head toward the kitchen at the back, passing Nicole en route. She’s photographing a paper garland hanging from the wall. I guess it’s a party decoration, although our house barely needs any more embellishment. Over the years, Mum has covered every wall with family photos, collages, and box frames full of mementos. She’s really artistic, Mum, and so is Nicole, but that gene totally missed me out, just like the supermodel-looks gene. Both Jake and I inherited Dad’s dark-hair dark-eyes combo, which I guess you could call “striking.” But Nicole is heart-stoppingly beautiful, even if she never did quite make it as a model. The line of her jaw, the turquoise of her eyes, her slanty eyebrows…it all adds up to something magical. Even I want to stare at her all day, and I’m her sister.
“Hi, Nicole,” I greet her, and Nicole nods, squinting at her phone. Although she’s married, she’s living here for a few months, because her husband, Drew, has gone to work in Abu Dhabi for six months, setting up a computer system for some multinational, and Nicole refused to go.
“Abu Dhabi?” she said, as though that was all the reason she needed. “Abu Dhabi?” Then she added, as the clincher: “What about my yoga?”
So Drew left for Abu Dhabi and they’ve sublet their flat and Nicole is back in the family house for a bit. The fridge is full of probiotic yogurt, and her strandy ethnic necklaces are all over the place where she leaves them, and every morning I hear her podcast telling her soothingly not to judge herself, while pipe music plays.
I know Nicole’s finding it tougher than she thought, Drew being away, because she sighs a lot and peers at her phone and tells everyone she meets how she’s got separation anxiety. I feel sorry for Drew too. He phones us on the landline whenever he can’t reach Nicole on her mobile and often ends up talking to Mum or me. I’ve heard all about the vicious heat and his insomnia and the in-office battles he’s having with someone called Baz. The last time he phoned he sounded quite poorly, so Mum and I ended up googling illnesses and sending him links.