I Owe You One

by Sophie Kinsella

  “Your mother likes to play things down,” says Uncle Ned kindly. “It’s her little affectation. But what I say is: If you mean business, then mean business.” He lifts his gin and tonic in a toasting gesture.

  “Right,” I say, after a pause, because I don’t want to start the evening off by arguing. But I don’t get it at all. Why have we come to some luxury restaurant just to talk about the shop? My motto would be: If you mean business, then spend your money on the business, not on expensive meals.

  Jake and Nicole seem happy enough, though, ordering pâté and even lobster. When we’ve all ordered, Uncle Ned clears his throat in a grandiose way and says, “Before we begin on this little joint endeavor, please be assured, I am merely here to facilitate. Facilitate, d’you see?” He looks around with slightly bloodshot eyes. “You won’t want to listen to an old buffer like me. That’s understood. I’m simply here to make sure you don’t run the ship aground. Oh, the Chablis, I think,” he adds to the wine waiter, then turns to Jake. “By the way, I take it you have a company credit card on you?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” says Jake at once. “I’ll sort it out. All on the company.”

  “Good lad,” says Uncle Ned, taking a gulp of his gin and tonic. “Good lad. Now, as I say, I’m here to help. To listen. To advise.”

  To drink gin at our expense, I think, but then immediately feel bad. Mum trusts Uncle Ned, so I should really try to as well. He negotiated the lease, I remind myself. He must have a good business head. Be open-minded.

  “Right, well, why don’t I start?” says Jake briskly. “I have a lot of ideas for the shop.”

  “I have a lot of ideas too,” chimes in Nicole at once. “Loads.”

  “I mean, it can’t stay as it is,” adds Jake.

  “Definitely not,” affirms Nicole.

  I look at them both, disconcerted. Does the shop need changing that much? It’s a healthy business. Mum left us in charge to run it, not to transform it.

  “I don’t have that many ideas,” I say. “I mean, I have a few.”

  “Well, let’s listen to your few, Fixie,” says Uncle Ned in generous tones. “Get those out of the way, as it were.”

  Out of the way? He sounds so patronizing I want to retort, “One good idea is worth a hundred bad ones!” Or at least blow him away with a really impressive speech.

  But it’s happening to me again. The sight of Jake rolling his eyes at Nicole is sapping my confidence. The ravens are flapping. My lips are trembling. As I open my mouth, my lungs seem to be working at half capacity. My voice is tiny and uncertain.

  “I think we could streamline the stock. Maybe get rid of the leisure section?” I add hesitantly. “And confectionery. We only stock licorice allsorts. It makes no sense.”

  “Dad and I were the only ones who ever liked licorice allsorts,” muses Nicole. “He always used to say…”

  I wait to see if Nicole is going to continue. Then, as it’s plain that she’s not, I take a deep breath and resume.

  “I think we could lose hardware too. I know Dad loved all those sections, but they’re looking out-of-date and they’re the poorest performers. I think we should focus on kitchenware and craft. The customers love gadgets; they love advising each other and sharing their results. And everyone knows they can trust Farrs. We could make that our message: You can trust Farrs.”

  My confidence is building as I talk; my voice is growing stronger. I’m actually enjoying sharing my thoughts.

  “You know Vanessa, the customer who wears the red mac?” I continue. “Well, she recently won some big baking competition, and all her equipment was from Farrs. She came straight round to tell Mum. It was brilliant! And baking is a growing market. I have some figures, if you want to look….” I get out the page of research I printed last night and put it on the table. “I think we can capitalize on this, but we need to stay on top of it. We need to follow all the TV cookery shows. Offer exactly the right equipment at the right time. And the stock should be refreshed more often. Some products sit on our shelves for years. We’ve got to stop that.”

  I’m hoping some of these ideas might spark comment—but no one says a word or looks at my research.

  “Anyway,” I continue, undeterred, “I think we should focus on our core business and build on the best qualities of Farrs: Trustworthiness. Value. Practical help. All the things that Dad cared about. All the things that Mum is. All the things that we are.”

  I look around the table, hoping I’ll see the warmth I feel mirrored in my siblings’ faces. Maybe we could even lift a glass to our parents. But Jake is frowning and Nicole looks lost in a daydream.

  “Finished?” says Jake, as soon as I come to a halt.

  “Well…yes,” I say. “What do you think?”

  “Honestly?” says Jake.

  “Yes, honestly.”

  “I think, jeez, this is exactly the problem.” He slaps a hand onto the table. “Could you think any smaller? Could you be any more parochial? Vanessa in her bloody red mac, for fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head incredulously. “We need aspiration. High-end. Strategic partnerships with big brands.”

  “We already stock big brands,” I point out.

  “What, ‘Cake-tins-for-old-biddies-dot-com’?” says Jake scornfully. “I’m talking lifestyle. I’m talking luxury. The whole place needs a bloody reboot. Now, I met a guy at Ascot last year, works for Hannay watches. I got his card. He’s someone we could do business with. I mean, we’d have to pull out all the stops to get the deal….”

  “Hannay watches?” I say disbelievingly. “Are you joking? Don’t they cost like a thousand pounds?”

  “We sell clocks,” retorts Jake. “It’s a natural extension.” He turns to Uncle Ned. “You wouldn’t believe the margins.”

  “Jake, we sell kitchen clocks,” I try to point out. “None of them is above the thirty-pound price point.”

  But Jake isn’t listening; he’s pulling a brochure out of his briefcase.

  “Here’s another guy I’ve been sweet-talking recently,” he says. “Comes from Prague. We’ve had a few dinners, went to the casino the other night.”

  “Work hard, play hard, eh?” puts in Uncle Ned with a chuckle.

  My mouth has fallen open a little. The casino? When Mum and I source new suppliers, it’s at trade fairs or over coffee in the back room. Not at casinos.

  “Anyway, he owns a stationery company,” says Jake importantly. “High-end. Gilt-edged. Wonderful. I think if we did the right deal, we could become his exclusive West London stockist.”

  “Good work!” applauds Uncle Ned. “It’s all about networking, eh, Jake?”

  I flip through the brochure, trying not to flinch. This is the weirdest stationery I’ve ever seen. There’s a lot of gilt and bizarre colors and cards decorated with malevolent-looking mermaids. I can’t see a single one of our customers wanting to buy this stuff.

  “Jake,” I say. “Our customers like jolly cards with jokes on them. Or Cath Kidston notecards. They’re practical, sensible—”

  “Exactly!” he erupts in frustration. “That’s the problem!”

  “Our customers are the problem?” I stare at him.

  “London is full of glamorous, rich, international spenders,” Jake says, almost fiercely. “Financiers. Lawyers. Hedgies. Why aren’t they in Farrs?”

  “Actually, Vanessa’s a High Court judge,” I tell him—but he’s not listening.

  “We need to move with the times,” he says tetchily. “London is the city of the international playboy. That’s who we need to attract.”

  International playboys?

  I don’t know what to say. I have a sudden vision of a line of international playboys in Dolce & Gabbana suits browsing our saucepans, and I bite my lip.

  “We need to be forward-thinking,” Jake is declaiming. “We need to turn
ourselves around.”

  “I agree,” says Nicole surprisingly, and we all turn to look at her. “Like my yoga. We’re going to start a mind-body-spirit area,” she tells Uncle Ned. “Evening classes. And maybe like herbal…you know…” She breaks off and we all wait politely, before realizing this is another drifty unfinished Nicole sentence.

  “Nicole,” I say quickly, “I know you mentioned this before, but I don’t think it’s practical.” I turn to Jake. “Nicole wants to get rid of lots of stock so there’s room for yoga classes. But we need that stock, so I don’t think—”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Jake cuts across me. “Yoga will attract the right crowd. Pilates, yummy mummies, all that.”

  “A good idea?” I stare at him in horror. I was counting on him to nix it. “But we don’t have the floor space!”

  “We can get rid of some of the displays,” Jake says. “All those plastic boxes, for a start.” He shudders. “They’re fucking depressing.”

  “We could sell yoga mats,” says Nicole. “And yoga blocks. And yoga…” She waves her hands around as though words are superfluous.

  “Jake, people come to us for food storage,” I say desperately. “They know we have a good range.” I feel like I’m going a bit mad here. Do Jake and Nicole actually know our business? “Uncle Ned, what do you think?” I say. I can’t believe I’m actually appealing to Uncle Ned, but I don’t have much choice.

  “I think leisure is a growth area,” says Uncle Ned sagely. “Yoga is very much of the times, not that I would know much about it!” He gives a hearty laugh. “What I would add is, if you’re going to consider leisure pursuits, then consider fishing.”

  “Fishing?” My mouth drops open. What is he on about?

  “There’s money to be made in fishing.” He eyes us all significantly. “Fishing equipment. Very popular. On the rise. Just my tuppennyworth.”

  I’m speechless. Is that Uncle Ned’s “good business head” talking?

  “Fishing,” chimes in Jake thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s the right image. The royal family fish.”

  The royal family?

  “Jake,” I say, trying to stay calm. “What have the royal family got to do with us?”

  “I’m trying to be fucking aspirational,” Jake snaps. “I’m trying to turn our brand around. Look at Burberry. Look at…”

  Two waiters are approaching our table with plates, and Jake breaks off. He shakes out his napkin and scowls at me and I feel my confidence ebbing away.

  “How’s your own business going?” Uncle Ned asks Jake as the waiters put down our plates, and Jake gives a secretive grin.

  “I’m about to make a killing on manufactured diamonds. Earrings, necklaces, all that. It’s the next big thing.”

  “Manufactured diamonds!” Uncle Ned looks impressed. “Now, that sounds like the future.”

  Oh my God. Please don’t suggest that Farrs should start stocking diamond jewelry.

  I must be strong, I tell myself firmly. I mustn’t be unnerved. I must say what I think. So when all the food has been served and wine poured out, I look around the table, screwing up courage to speak.

  “I think maybe the problem is, we’re not all on the same page,” I say. “It’s like we all think Farrs is a different thing. Maybe we need, I don’t know, a mission statement?”

  “Yes,” says Jake firmly. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.”

  “I’ve got some paper,” says Nicole, hauling a notebook from her bag, with Dream Believe Do on the cover. “Let’s all write down our ideas and, you know…”

  She hands each of us a torn-out page and Jake summons a waiter, who gets us some pens.

  “No, no!” says Uncle Ned with a laugh as Nicole tries to pass him one. “I’m simply here to facilitate.” He spreads potted shrimp onto toast and takes a huge bite. “But you go ahead!” he adds, his mouth full. “Very good idea. Very good idea.”

  There’s silence as we all eat and write. Jake finishes in about thirty seconds, Nicole seems to be writing an essay, and I keep crossing out words and starting again. But at last I’m done and I look up to see everyone staring at me.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just wanted to…” I glance anxiously down at my page. “It’s quite hard, isn’t it?”

  “No it’s not,” says Jake at once. “It’s easy. It’s obvious.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling inadequate. “Well, it wasn’t obvious to me. I mean, I know what I think, but trying to express it…”

  “You’re not really a writer,” says Nicole pityingly. “I’ve always loved creative writing.”

  “Well, let’s go round the table,” says Uncle Ned, like a headmaster at assembly. “Fixie, you start.”

  “OK,” I say nervously. “The mission of Farrs is to sell sensible products at sensible prices, in a community of warmth and helpfulness.”

  I raise my eyes to see Jake peering at me incredulously.

  “Sensible?” he echoes. “Sensible?”

  “It’s a bit boring,” says Nicole kindly.

  “It’s fucking mind-numbing!” exclaims Jake. “ ‘Sensible products,’ ” he says mockingly, making a hideous face. “ ‘I’d like to buy some sensible products, please.’ How is that sexy?”

  “I wasn’t trying to be sexy,” I say defensively. “I was trying to represent our values—”

  “Our values?” Jake cuts me off. “Our values are, one, make money, and, two, make money. You want to hear my mission statement?” He pauses for effect, then declaims, “Power. Profit. Potential.”

  “Ah, now, that’s punchy,” says Uncle Ned admiringly. “Say it again?”

  “Power. Profit. Potential,” repeats Jake, looking delighted with himself. “Says what it needs to say.”

  “I don’t agree,” says Nicole, shaking her head. “It’s not all about power and profit. It’s about atmosphere.”

  “Exactly!” I say in relief.

  “It’s about vibe,” carries on Nicole. “It’s about…who are we? I’ll read you what I wrote, shall I?” She lifts up her page and clears her throat. “Welcome to Farrs, your gateway to serenity. As you walk in through our portals, your shoulders drop. You feel yourself relax. You’re on a journey. But where? Look around. See the possibilities. See a new you. See the dreams that you can achieve. Don’t sell yourself short…but know that you can be that person!” She’s speaking with more and more emphasis. “You can have it all. You can find peace. With the help of Farrs, you can break those barriers and climb those mountains. So near…so Farrs.”

  There’s silence, broken by Jake giving a sudden snort of laughter.

  “Sorry, Nicole,” he says. “But that is gibberish.”

  “It’s not gibberish!” says Nicole hotly. “It’s inspirational! What do you think, Fixie?”

  “I think it’s got a really good message,” I say carefully. “Only, is it a mission statement? It sounds more like, you know, the brochure to a spa.”

  “You’re so narrow,” says Nicole, eyeing me with disapproval. “Both of you. That’s your trouble. You have such tricky personality types. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re an Adder,” she says to Jake. “And that’s not good, by the way.”

  “Bring it on,” says Jake unrepentantly. He hisses at her across the table, and I can’t help smiling.

  “That’s one of my other ideas,” adds Nicole, looking offended. “I want to profile everyone in the company. Then we can use people’s skills better. It’ll add real value. And I want to major on Instagram,” she adds. “We don’t do enough.”

  “OK, that makes sense,” says Jake with grudging approval.

  “Yes!” I say, relieved to find a point of agreement at last. “We could do far more with baking tips, we could share photos of customers’ cakes….”

  “Always with the bloody home
spun, aren’t you, Fixie?” says Jake impatiently. “Instagram isn’t about a few old ladies’ Swiss rolls.”

  “It is!” I say. “It’s about community and connection! What do you think, Nicole?” I lean toward Nicole, trying to engage her, but her eyes are absent.

  “I think we need a face of Farrs,” she says. “It was you mentioning Burberry made me think of it, Jake. Remember when Emma Watson was the face of Burberry? She was everywhere.”

  “Burberry,” echoes Jake with a loving sigh. “Awesome brand.”

  “And the face of Farrs should definitely be me,” Nicole adds. “Because I have been a model.” She looks around as though daring any of us to point out that she only ever did one shoot, for the local paper. “We could take photos of me in store. In fact, I’m happy to take over social media. That can be my area.”

  “I’ll focus on partnerships,” Jake chimes in at once. “Build up connections with some aspirational names.” He drains his glass and looks around. “Shall we get some more wine?”

  “And you, Fixie?” says Uncle Ned. “What will you focus on?”

  I stare at him, thoughts swirling furiously round my head. I want to say, “None of you get it! You don’t understand what Farrs is!”

  But who will listen to me? No one except Mum. And I’m not bothering her with this; I’m not.

  “Fixie, you’re so good in store,” says Nicole kindly. “You’re great with customers. You should focus on, like, sales and stock and running the staff and all that.”

  “OK,” I say. “OK. But, listen, why don’t you two come into the shop? Actually come in and see the customers and, you know, remind yourselves of what it’s like?”

  “Yeah,” says Jake thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. What about tomorrow morning first thing?”

  “I could do that.” Nicole nods.

  “The only thing is, Bob’s coming in for a meeting,” I say, consulting my phone.

  Bob is a rock. He runs all the payroll, collates sales figures, discusses big financial decisions with Mum, deals with the accountant, and basically helps with everything to do with money. Their partnership works well for Mum, because when she’s being asked to spend money she doesn’t want to, she says, “That’s a good idea, but I’ll have to ask Bob.” And everyone knows that Bob is as adventurous as a pair of elasticated beige trousers. (Which also happens to be what he wears.)