Ryan, this is the beginning of something amazing. A whole new life. You and me. I’ll stand by you as you forge your new career. I’ll help you any way I can. You can bring all your stuff over any time and we’ll celebrate properly!!
I send the text, then I can’t resist adding a P.S.:
I’m so happy!!!!
Finally I compose another text, with no words but lots of emojis of champagne glasses clinking and little houses and love hearts.
I love emojis. They just, like, say it.
At last I put my phone away and head toward the entrance, beaming at the most intimidating doorman. No one can cast me down. No one can puncture my bubble of joy. Ryan wants to move in with me! He wants intimacy. He wants stability. He wants it soon. He actually typed that word: Soon!
As I enter the bar, I breathe a contented sigh and wave at Leila, who is looking ravishing in a silk cream dress and Louis Vuitton logo pumps. I’m in the same old black dress I always wear, but I’ve cracked open the satin knickers I got in my stocking at Christmas. So that’s something.
I head over to where she’s sitting with Jake, marveling anew at how amazing this place is. The carpet has a luxury softness. The chairs are heavy and stylish and sleek. The lighting glows and sparkles all around the place. The bar is made of copper. And the drinks are about fifteen quid each. Which slightly makes me want to faint—fifteen quid for one glassful of something?—except that Jake’s already said he’s paying tonight. I mean, fair enough. It’s his choice to come here. But I’d be as happy with a bottle of pinot grigio at home. (And I think Leila would too.)
As I kiss them both, I see there’s a bottle of champagne on the table already, and Jake pours me a glass. We clink glasses, then Jake and Leila resume their conversation about some sofa that Jake saw in the Conran Shop.
“I’m ordering it,” he says. “That leather is like butter. You can go and look at it if you like, but I’m ordering it.”
“We could look online for a more reasonable one,” Leila ventures, but Jake scowls.
“I’m not buying some knockoff. We’re having the real thing.”
I’ve never even been into the Conran Shop, so I can’t comment. Instead, I lean back and soak up the atmosphere. Music is pulsing through the air—and even that sounds bespoke and special, as if there’s some band that only plays for millionaires in private members’ clubs. Everything here is designed to make you feel relaxed and happy.
I’d be relaxed and happy wherever I was, to be honest. I’m more than happy—I’m euphoric. I can’t stop looking down at the string of messages on my phone. Ryan wants to live with me, Ryan wants to live with me …
And then, suddenly, there he is, threading his way between the tables. I try to stay cool, but my heart has seized up. Every single woman in the place is turning to look at the blond guy with the easy stride and the tan and the Hollywood teeth, and he’s walking toward me.
Plus he’s holding flowers. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine flowers.
He hands me the bouquet—stylish lilies in green waxed paper—says, “Fixie, you’re a star,” and kisses me.
“You’re the star,” I say, lifting a careless hand to cradle his head and murmur something soft in his ear, like intimate lovers do, although it doesn’t quite work because he’s already moving away to greet the others.
“Ryan!” Leila squeaks. “Yay!”
“Well done, mate.” Jake high-fives Ryan, then glances disparagingly at the champagne bottle already open. “I think we need something a bit special to celebrate this.” He clicks his fingers to summon a waiter, which makes me wince, because why would you do that? It’s so rude. But clicking fingers is very Jake.
“A bottle of Cristal,” he says grandly, and I tell myself not even to glance down at how much it costs, because I really will have a seizure.
“Remember when we were in the sixth form?” Jake says to Ryan. “The day we finished our exams and you blew two hundred quid on a bottle of Krug and we drank it in your garden? Well, here’s my thank-you.”
I remember that day too, although I don’t mention it. Jake had promised me he’d tell me where they were celebrating, so I could go along too, but he never did. Then he got home all red-faced and slurry, and for the rest of the summer he talked about how he’d drunk a two-hundred-quid bottle of Krug. He even used it as a chat-up line. And it actually worked on some girls.
The waiter pours the Cristal into fresh glasses and we toast Ryan. As I sip, questions silently rack up in my mind, one by one. Does Jake really like posh champagne? Can he actually tell the difference? Can anyone? Doesn’t he see the price of this and feel faint?
I don’t know anything about Jake’s finances, only that he’s doing “well.” Sometimes I think maybe he’s a millionaire, he’s just never told us.
“So,” I say softly to Ryan as he sits next to me. “Big day. You were brilliant.”
“I knew it!” says Leila, patting Ryan on the knee. “I said to Jakey, ‘I know Ryan will get this.’ ”
“It just shows,” I say eagerly. “You can turn your life around, however hard it seems, if you’re willing to be flexible and humble and put in the hard work.”
“Hard work!” Jake guffaws. “Hear that, Ryan? Hey,” he adds, spotting some well-dressed guy at the bar. “That’s Ed. You should meet Ed,” he adds to Ryan, getting to his feet. “Come and say hello.”
He doesn’t suggest that Leila or I come to say hello, and to be fair I’m quite happy not to. So I sit, sipping my drink, watching Ryan charm Jake’s friends.
“Yeah,” I can hear him saying. “I’ve moved from producing into investment; seemed like a good idea. Yeah, follow the money!” He gives an easy laugh, his face glowing, and lifts his glass in a toast.
I can’t believe the transformation in him. He’s radiant. Ebullient. Confident. If he was like a wounded lion a few days ago, that’s all forgotten. Now he’s the king of the jungle. The golden boy again.
And I brought it about. Me, Fixie.
“Yeah, well, they loved me at the interview.…” he’s saying. “And of course I slipped them a tenner.…”
Jake’s friends laugh, and I smile into my drink. I’m about to suggest to Leila that we go up and join the boys, when my phone buzzes. I get it out of my bag, planning to turn it off—but it’s Mum calling. Mum!
“Hey, Mum!” I say into my phone. “Hang on a minute, I can’t talk in here.…” As I rise to my feet, I gesture to Leila that I’m popping outside, and she nods easily.
I haven’t spoken to Mum once since she left. She texted when she arrived, to let us know she was safe, but I haven’t actually heard her voice. And as I hurry through the bar to the lobby, I realize I’m longing to talk to her.
“Mum!” I exclaim, as soon as I can talk. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, Fixie.” Her familiar tones flow into my ear. “It’s lovely! I wish you were here!”
She says it with no irony at all. She’s never done holidays, Mum. She probably doesn’t even know that that’s the clichéd phrase.
“Are you having a good time, then?” I say, smiling, wishing I could see her face.
“It’s so warm!” she exclaims in astonishment, as though she was expecting the south of Spain to be a bit nippy. “We’re right by the beach. I’ve been swimming every day. Good thing I bought that swimsuit. And the food’s lovely—we’re eating lots of seafood, although Karen does always order too much sangria.…”
As she talks on, I lean against a wall, imagining her plunging into the Mediterranean and soaking up the sun and drinking sangria with her sister. I’m thinking, This is what she should have done years ago.
“… and how’s the shop going?”
Mum’s words bring me back to the present with a guilty twinge. I haven’t really been focusing on the shop. I’ve been focusing on Ryan.
“It’s fine!” I say automatically. “All good!”
“Ned sent me an email. He said you’re having your first meeting tomorrow?”
“That’s right.”
“And everything’s going OK with Jake and Nicole?”
It crosses my mind to tell her about Nicole’s yoga plans—but no. It would worry her. I’ll sort it myself.
“Everything’s fine,” I say reassuringly. “Couldn’t be better!”
We talk for a bit longer, then Mum says she’d better go and I head back to the bar, biting my lip. Now that Ryan’s future is sorted, I need to give some attention to the shop.
Ryan’s still holding court at the bar and doesn’t notice me at first. I wait until there’s a lull in the conversation and then tap him on the arm.
“Oh, hi!” he exclaims, turning toward me. “Come and meet these guys.”
“No, actually, if you don’t mind, I’m going to slip away,” I add apologetically. “It’s the first big family meeting about the shop tomorrow. I want to prepare some stuff.”
“Oh, OK,” says Ryan, nodding. “Fair enough.”
“See you later, then.” I squeeze his arm. “Have fun!”
“Later?” He stares at me blankly. “What do you mean, later?”
“Well … I thought you’d be coming back to mine?” I say, equally blankly.
“Fixie.” Ryan exhales with an astonished laugh. “Fixie, Fixie. What are you saying, that we should move in together?”
For a moment I can’t speak. His words won’t compute in my brain. Is he joking? Of course I think we should move in together. We were just talking about moving in together. But now he’s sounding incredulous.
As I stare at him dumbly, wondering if I misheard, Ryan sighs and pulls me aside, away from the group.