Shit, shit, shit. I’ve blown it. I’ve blathered on about diversifying and flapping my feathers, whilst digging a hole.
I’m a funny copy-writer who always dreamed of becoming a vet, not a journalist. Bugger, I didn’t even mention my aspirations, my lists, my new positive attitude.
The office is deserted, apart from the receptionist and a couple of other people. Which means ‘next appointment’ didn’t even exist.
God this man is smooth.
I hardly notice Tim’s running commentary as we walk to the lift about who’s who. I don’t need to know who is who, I’m never going to meet them.
‘I’ll take the stairs, thanks.’ I force a smile onto my face and ignore the funny look he’s giving me.
‘Great! Nice to meet you, Daisy. See you soon?’
There’s that awkward moment of silence, then a strangled ‘maybe’ emerges from my mouth and I dive into the stairwell before I get a chance to clutch at him and beg him to tell Jimmy Masters they need me.
I plod down the stairs, I need to work off the eight Easter eggs and giant box of Maltesers that I intend to devour as soon as I get home. Sod waiting until Sunday!
It’s cold and damp when I step out onto the near-deserted street.
Bloody hell, we didn’t have any snow at Christmas, just ice, rain, plenty of slush and a cold wind, and today of all days, when it is nearly Easter, festive weather has arrived. But I don’t feel festive at all. I just feel sad. But I know I need to ignore this if it’s the setback it might be. I need to buck my ideas up, plough on. The new Daisy is not going to give up.
Carrie still needs me to help her walk dogs as she’s given her staff time off over the Easter break. Stanley needs me. And Frankie will have to let Tarquin move in if I can’t pay my share of the rent.
My phone beeps and I’m tempted to ignore it, but there is a big chance it is either Mum (will you be coming back home to stay, darling? I need to know, so I can make up your old room) and if I ignore her she’ll ring, then actually drive over here and demand entry to the office, or it is Frankie (please don’t tell me I’ve got to let Tarquin move in), or it could be important.
It is.
Important that is.
It is an email from Tim, who has copied in James Masters, bloody hell he’s quick off the mark.
He must have had this email already prepared, ready to whizz off as soon as I’d left the building.
Dear Daisy,
Many thanks for your application for the role of Advertising Manager.
Unfortunately, as I mentioned, (oh fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew Frankie was wrong when she insisted I aim high. I should have stuck with what I know, worked my way up later. Now I’ve screwed up and will end up with nothing. Do I run up the stairs, batter down his door and insist he reconsider? Maybe I could be chief coffee maker after all?) we are currently in the process of amalgamating the advertising and promotions teams across all our titles, we would however like to offer you the position of junior reporter here at head office, with specific responsibility for our review column. There would be a trial period of three months after which your performance would be reviewed, and if a future vacancy for a feature writer came up you would be welcome to apply. Full details are attached in the offer letter and accompanying terms and conditions.
It was lovely to meet you, I do hope we will be able to welcome you to the team.
It was lovely to meet me! Bloody hell! Tim thought it was lovely to meet me – and he’s offered me a job! I stand outside the office in a daze, blinking away the tiny snowflakes that are landing damply on my eyelashes, my heart pounding like billy-o. It’s not miserable and cold – it’s snowing!
Shit, what do I do? It’s a proper job, he’s offered me a proper job! But I’ll have to move, find a new place, and let Frankie down, or hitch to work, and I’ll have responsibilities. I’ll have to buy proper work clothes. What will I do with Stanley? Will I still have time to help Carrie out at the re-homing centre? Oh my God, a proper grown-up job, a career! My palms have gone all sweaty, my hair, damp from the drizzle is sticking to my face, my nose and ears are bloody freezing, and I can’t stand still. I think I need the loo!
‘Hey, Daisy! Daisy?’
I look round, there is nobody looking my way.
‘Daisy!’
I spin round and my feet slide from under me, so I somehow manage to end up wrapped round a lamppost, like a spiralised strand of cucumber, hanging on tight. It’s the laugh that does it though. Helps me pinpoint where the voice is coming from. I glance up, my feet slip-sliding away so that I pirouette round and end up on my bum, gazing upwards.
‘What do you think?’ Tim is leaning out of the office window, a broad grin on his face. Those fabulous forearms on display, even though it’s frigging freezing out here. At his age he should know better.
‘Better point out you’d have to put up with me if you say yes, you’d be working here in Stavington.’
I laugh, not sure what to say.
‘I know it would mean moving, and you’ll only be on a junior’s salary. It’s lousy pay.’
‘How lousy?’
‘Not as lousy as you’re on now! And it could be worth the risk?’ There’s a definite question at the end of that sentence. I swear his eyes are twinkling, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in such a cute way I can’t stop staring. ‘I’m not that bad a boss.’
‘You’d be my boss?’
‘Guiding the way?’
This isn’t sounding bad at all. Better by the second. He would be a tons better boss than David. He’s actually quite nice. And a tiny bit sexy.
‘Not expecting an answer now, think about it, I’ve emailed over a job description and terms and conditions for you to look at.’
‘Thanks!’
He gives me the thumbs up, then rubs his arms. ‘Bloody freezing out here! Happy Easter!’And he ducks back inside, slams the window shut, then re-opens it. ‘Don’t want to be forward and all that, but you wouldn’t fancy seeing me sometime next week for a drink even if you don’t want the job?’
‘I might be.’ I’ve come over all coy, I think I’m hugging myself.
‘Great! Text you, your numbers on file, is that okay? Don’t want to break any employment laws!’
‘It’s okay.’ I nod. More than okay.
‘Happy Easter!’ He backs out of sight and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hear my ‘Happy Easter’ back.
I am grinning. And I have wet knickers. From sitting under the lamppost, not because I wanted a wee.
Who’d have thought that doggie obituaries could be witty enough to get me the promotion that might solve all my problems – apart of course from the housing one.
I also appear to have a date.
Which is cool. Yeah, definitely cool.
A snowflake lands on my nose, dissolves as quickly as it appeared. I am still musing over cats and dogs when I realise my phone is ringing. I answer automatically without looking at who it is.
‘My darling girl, come for a hot drink, hot cross bun and a chin wag! I have a proposition.’
‘Sorry?’The word proposition immediately makes me think of Tim. But it isn’t him. ‘Uncle Terence?’
‘That’s me!’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not at home, I’m—’
‘In Stavington! Vera told me you’d be here.’
‘Vera?’
‘We had lunch.’
‘But how did …’
‘Your mother told her. I’m looking right at you – tiny coffee shop across the road. Hurry up before you catch your death. I’ve got hot chocolate with extra marshmallows at the ready and a pile of hot cross buns. Rather yummy if I say so myself!’
He rings off before I get chance to ask the where, how, why questions that are on the tip of my tongue.
12.30 p.m., 6 April
The warm air hits me as I step into the coffee shop, and I spot Uncle T immediately. It’s hard not to. The word that springs to mind is dapper. Uncle Terence is the only perso
n I know who thinks wearing a waistcoat and bowtie at this time of day in a village coffee shop is normal. He has a waistcoat for every occasion, tweed ones, linen ones, and in this case a rather dazzling brocade version, which it’s hard not to stare at. He wraps me in a hug and kisses my cheeks, and a waft of very fine aftershave catches the back of my throat. ‘Well, isn’t this splendid? Just the three of us! Happy holidays, dear girl!’ He holds me at arm’s length, and I blink.
Then it hits me. ‘The three of us?’ I still can’t drag my gaze from his waistcoat.
‘Teal!’ He taps his chest and grins, ignoring my comment but noticing my admiring look. ‘Bought it when I married Emma because it matched her eyes. Seems a shame not to wear it again. Ah, here’s our number three!’
I turn, half expecting to see his latest girlfriend (Emma was two wives ago, and since then he’s had more girlfriends than I’ve had hot cross buns). But it isn’t. It’s a man, in a very expensive looking well-fitted black coat. He’s dusted it down, taken it off, put it on the back of a chair, shook hands with Terence, brushed the snow out of his thick hair, and I’m still doing an impression of a goldfish.
Ollie is wearing a soft looking sweater. Cashmere, I reckon, or something expensive. He looks all soft and stroke-able. And he also looks suave. It’s not a word I’d normally use, but it suits him. As does the sweater, and the rather close-fitting jeans. And the slightly tentative smile.
I suddenly feel all hot and bothered, so I sink down onto a chair.
‘Oh, my dear girl. Are you alright?’ Terence places his hand over mine and looks concerned. It’s so touching tears well up in my eyes. ‘You look pale. You’re not telling me they’ve not offered you your job back?’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’ I sniff and try to get a grip. ‘I’m happy.’ I sniff again. ‘It’s just the heat in here, and everything.’ God knows why I’ve suddenly come over all emotional. It must be the shock of good news after all the shit. Although I do wish Ollie would stop looking at me in the way I imagine he looks at a patient who he can’t find a diagnosis for. I fan myself with a hand madly. ‘I don’t want to be rude, and it’s so lovely to see you, but what are you doing in Stavington?’
Uncle T chuckles. ‘I’ve got a little place here, didn’t you know?’
I shake my head, and spoon marshmallows off the top of my drink. ‘Oh, Mum said she was sure somebody she knew lived here!’
‘Well not exactly live, but more of that later.’ He winks, and Ollie shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and frowns.
‘Not keeping you, are we?’ I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t help it.
Ollie ignores me and pours his tea.
‘Now, tell me, how did it go? Though from the look on your face when you were staring up at that chap from under that lamppost, I’d say things are on the up!’
Ollie makes a funny spluttering noise, which I ignore.
‘Definitely.’ I grin, I can’t help it. ‘Definitely on the up. Tim interviewed me and he was so lovely!’
‘Your mother will be so pleased. That’s why we’re here, to celebrate!’
‘But what if I hadn’t got offered a job?’
‘Oh nonsense, your mother was convinced and so was I, she has total faith in you, you know. We all do.’ He pats my hand, ‘more than you know. That’s why she asked Vera to mention it, to sort things out!’
My mother’s vote of confidence makes me feel all warm and cosy inside. I think my grin has got even bigger. I am so happy that finally I am starting to prove that her faith has not been misplaced. It’s a bloody good job she was right though, or this would have been ‘totes embarrassing’ as a friend of Frankie’s always says after four vodkas. Especially in front of Ollie. But it’s not, it’s brill!
I laugh self-consciously. My mother has taken bragging to a whole new level.
Uncle T taps the side of his nose. ‘But more of that later. So, you’re advertising manager!’
‘Er, no.’
‘Oh. In charge of the small ads?’ Uncle T smiles encouragingly, managing to inject the anticipated demotion with positivity.
‘No.’ I pause and take a deep breath, then carry on quickly before he has chance to move even further down the career ladder. ‘They’ve offered me a better job.’
‘Splendid! I knew it!’
‘Junior reporter, I’ll be writing reviews, books, films, art.’ I wave a hand airily.
‘Wonderful.’ I’m not sure if Ollie is being genuine or not, but he looks sincere when I dare look over my hot chocolate at him.
But his sincere look suddenly gives me the collywobbles. Shit, I haven’t actually got a clue about art or how to review. This is real. I’ve been offered a job I know nothing about.
‘What do I do?’ I look from him to Uncle T, and back again. ‘I don’t know anything about it!’
‘What do you mean, what do you do?’ Ollie’s frown is back. He frowns too much, his forehead will be thoroughly furrowed by the time he’s forty – like a potato field.
‘I’ve only ever had articles about dogs and cats printed, and I don’t like all art, I told him I don’t, I hate all the pretentious stuff and all the deep meaning, and …’ I think this is why I felt emotional when I came into the café. It had begun to dawn on me that I might not be able to do this. ‘All I can do is write normal.’ I blink at Ollie. The corner of his mouth lifts.
‘That’s why they offered you the job, you twallop.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ He nods. ‘And you can spell, can’t you? Honestly Daisy, no way is this beyond your capabilities, you could do it in your sleep! It’s just saying what you think.’
My cheeks are starting to burn, and I’m squirming about a bit in my seat. Nobody has said such nice things for years! Ollie really does still believe in me, it’s not just Mum.
I grin back self-consciously as it hits me just how important it is to me that Ollie thinks I can do it. He’s been helping me out because he thinks I can do it, not because he feels sorry for me. Which would have been the absolute pits.
‘And you know exactly what you think about books!’ Says Uncle Terence. Which is true and makes me feel even more positive.
‘Definitely. I do. But’ – this is the bit that’s starting to worry me – ‘I’ll have to move, and I don’t have any money, my place is really cheap. Frankie hardly asks for anything.’ I wish I hadn’t said this bit, Ollie will be totally unimpressed that I can’t even afford a room in a flat. Although I will be getting paid more. Slightly.
‘Well, that’s why I’m here darling Daisy.’ Uncle T is beaming. ‘I have the answer!’
‘You do?’ Ollie and I say in unison.
‘As your mother rightly said, I have a place here.’ Yippee, my homelessness problem is solved! ‘Ollie uses it when he’s in town at the private hospital, don’t you dear boy?’
Bugger, no way am I sharing a place with Ollie. He’d hate it. He’d have a spreadsheet for the bathroom and tut at my untidiness. ‘He’s not there much these days, are you?’
‘Well no, but …’ He looks a bit shocked, which is probably more or less how I look.
‘So, you’d be more than happy to share with Daisy, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, I …’
‘She’s excellent company.’
Ollie nods. ‘Excellent.’ His voice is tight. He’s probably thinking about the other excellent female company he usually keeps.
‘You know each other so well!’
‘Yes, but …’ Oh. My. God. I can’t live with Ollie. What if I get an uncontrollable urge to snog him over his cornflakes?
‘Well, there you are!’Terence sits back, looking pleased with himself, and I hate to burst his bubble. ‘Problem solved then!’ He claps his hands together, thrilled that he has provided an answer.
‘Well, I’m not sure it …’ Frankie will never believe this, in fact she’ll probably want to move in with me so she can keep an eye on Ollie. Once she’s stopped laughing about th
e fact that I’m living with the ‘pompous prick’ who has been helping me ruin my self-esteem for the past few years. Though, to be fair, it was unknowingly. It’s not his fault. Most of it is of my own making.
‘Nonsense, it will work perfectly! Won’t it, Ollie?’ Ollie doesn’t comment. ‘You can live there for now Daisy, and Ollie can slot in when he needs a place to crash.’ He chuckles. ‘Don’t look so alarmed, there are three bedrooms!’
‘One for me and one for Stanley then!’ I say, jokingly.
Ollie doesn’t seem to see the joke. He frowns. Again.
‘Don’t you like dogs?’ I’ve heard the ‘me or the dog’ line before, and I’m prepared to stand up for Stanley again.
‘Oh, Stanley. Dog. Yes. No, no that’s fine.’
‘Wonderful! To new beginnings then!’ Uncle T raises his hot chocolate.
‘Right, er, new beginnings!’ It’s a bit weird sitting in a café toasting my future with Uncle Terence, Ollie and hot chocolate. But then, what about my life hasn’t been a bit weird lately? ‘And,’ I say, smiling, ‘maybe a new boyfriend!’
Uncle T gives me quite an old-fashioned look, which is not what I expect from him at all. ‘Not that I’d let him stay over or anything. It’s just a date. A maybe.’
He smiles. ‘Wonderful.’ He fishes in his waistcoat and doesn’t bring out the fob watch I am half-expecting, he brings out a key. ‘Ollie can show you round, and if it’s not to your taste let me know!’
‘Oh, I’m sure it will be perfect.’ I’m still not sure about the Ollie angle, but it will be fine. At least short term. ‘Thank you.’ As long as he doesn’t have a shagathon in the next room every time he’s there.
‘You’re very welcome my darling girl. Oh, this is totally splendid, I do believe you might have found your niche, my dear.’
‘Niche?’
‘Books! I have never known a child devour books like you did when you were little, and now you get to read them for work! You have made your vacation your vocation, as they say! How splendid is that?’
‘I have.’
‘Right little bookworm you were.’ Ollie grins and I grin back. It’s good to be friends again with the boy who knows me better than any other man in the world (except Dad). Swapping emails over the last few weeks have made me realise how much I’ve missed him.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 10
