‘Uh, Liz? We have a bit of a problem,’ I say to my friend after a night of tossing and turning due to the inn’s financial books, and praying that the balance sheets would sort themselves miraculously on their own somehow, and that I’d made a mistake. But no. Things hadn’t added up last night and still don’t this morning.
‘Yeah?’
‘There are regular withdrawals here. At least twice a month. Can you account for them your end?’
‘Not yet, but I’ll get back to you, Rosie. How’s he behaving?’
‘Oh, not too bad, really. I think I misjudged him.’
‘Then why all those bad reviews?’
‘It doesn’t make sense, Liz. The place is a gem, and yet there are a gazillion blogs warning guests not to stay here.’
‘Well, there must be some reason,’ she offers, but it isn’t enough. I need facts.
‘I’m going to do some research on him. See if he’s on social media or anything.’
She snorts. ‘A guy like him? I doubt it. Sounds anything but social.’
Liz has a point. I looked him up before I left London, and there was no mention of him anywhere. This is not turning out to be easy in the least. Still, I’m not one for giving up. ‘Any news on the IP addresses yet?’
‘Not yet. I’ll have to chase it up. Maybe with a bottle of wine this evening.’ She chuckles.
‘Thanks, Liz.’
‘Yeah, yeah. This’ll cost you a dinner when you get back.’
*
When Liz calls back less than an hour later, I pick up, jamming my mobile between my cheek and shoulder, as I can’t use speakerphone for obvious reasons.
‘What’s up, any news?’
‘Your IP addresses? They’re all the same. The author of all those blogs is actually one person writing under different names. Well done, girl.’
Just as I thought. ‘Can you ask your guy if there’s a way to access the name of the owner of the IP address?’
‘No, not precisely. IP addresses don’t work like that.’
‘Oh.’
‘Rosie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I understand what you’re doing and why, but sweetie, don’t kill yourself over it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Even if he’s the great guy that you say, no one can be worth all this trouble. And we both know you don’t need trouble. So save yourself and your job.’
I know she’s right, of course. But I can’t. These are all hard-working people who are risking their workplace closing down.
‘If I don’t get to the bottom of this, a lot of people will be jobless.’
‘This is really important to you, isn’t it, Rosie?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Someone should sack Susan instead.’
‘Now that would be the best Christmas present ever.’
She chuckles. ‘I’ll have a word with Santa for you.’
*
For my lunch break I grab Danny (or rather, the other way around) and pack a quick picnic as he wants to show me his favourite part of the South West Coastal Path that Jeremy took him on the day before. And boy, even as we’re slowly hiking over hillocks and stiles – nothing major – I swear my lungs are leaking out of my nose because I’m wheezing like an old geezer on ten packs a day. And I don’t even smoke.
If I lived here, I’d get fit in no time. If I lived here, I’d be happy in no time.
But there’s no way I could live anywhere near this gorgeous area, not after Mitchell finds out who I am and why I’m really here, because after that, I’d become, rightfully, a social pariah around here. Because I’m slowly gaining his confidence, and every time he smiles at me, I feel like a heel. When he finds out – and he will – he’ll hate me. Forever.
I have Susan the Sacker to thank for sending me down here, and as I sit here munching on a pasty, I feast on the views of Mullion Cove on this amazingly bright day. So I commit every single detail of this moment to memory. Because when we get back to London, no picture or high-gloss calendar will be able to live up to what is at my feet.
The rough-hewn cliffs jutting out of the water are majestic, and the emerald blanket of grass placed atop it is almost like a loving, protective afterthought; the sea that looks like liquid topaz today, and the sun-shot spray, a shower of tiny diamonds. Never, anywhere, not even in travel magazines, have I seen so beautiful a place. There is nowhere like Cornwall. Nowhere.
Danny is happy, prattling along, shooting his arm out to throw bits of bread to the seagulls that are giving us the beady eye, just waiting for the next offering. He is flushed and excited about just being outdoors. It takes so little to make him happy. Cornwall makes him happy.
‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ I sigh and he looks back at me and grins. He’s lost that city pallor and, in its stead, there is a rosy hue to his cheeks. Even his eyes are brighter. He looks healthier and stronger, and all in the shortest of time.
‘It is,’ he agrees. ‘We never get to do this in London.’
‘Would you rather be here than playing football?’
‘Yes,’ he says simply, coming to sit closer to me, and I kiss the top of his head. ‘I love it here, Mum. I’m just sorry that you can’t go out as much as I do.’
I shrug, but on the inside I am touched. ‘No worries, Danny. I’m happy to help around here. I’m just sorry I see so little of you. But you are enjoying yourself, aren’t you, darling?’
‘I have everything I’ve ever wanted, Mum. Horses, friends, freedom. And I can come see you at work whenever I want.’
It’s true that in the city, I see so little of him, and only in the evenings and on weekends. I’m ashamed to say that it’s only during the holidays that I get to know my son more. But I like what I see.
I hug myself and breathe deeply, and feel a sudden, unfamiliar rush of what I soon realise must be joy. I didn’t know happiness could have its own fragrance. But I know I won’t be here forever. Everything comes to an end, and soon I’ll be back in London in my cubicle under Susan’s vitriolic stare, with the artificial lights and the buzzing of the coffee machine and the disappearing doughnuts, not to mention the tediousness that accompanies me throughout my shift, wondering how Danny is and if he’s missing his mummy and what I can do to make his life better. I need to find a solution to save our souls. Could it be Cornwall after all?
‘And you, Mum? You look happier here, too.’
‘Oh, I am, Danny. I’m very happy to be able to pop out and come and find you whenever I can.’
‘It’s a shame we have to go back in the new year,’ he says with a heavy sigh.
I can only agree. It’s a shame to have to put an end to this bliss.
*
When we get back to the inn, Danny heads for the stables and I get busy, trying to make up for the time away from my desk, and I hardly notice Mitchell coming in.
‘Hey,’ he says as he puts his documents down on the counter without taking his eyes off me. I’m getting so used to his presence, it’s like a drug almost. A part of me is always wondering when he’ll make an appearance, where he is and what he’s doing. And it’s not only in a professional interest sort of way, either. ‘How’s it going, Rosie?’
‘Quiet for now. Everyone is out and about.’
He leans on the desk with his elbows in his usual fashion, letting me know that in this particular and rare moment, I have his undivided attention. Or rather, the business does. ‘Guests happy?’
In response, one of the girls from the hen party – the pink one, saunters by, slowing down when she sees him. ‘He-ey…’ she says, openly eyeing him from top to bottom.
‘Good afternoon,’ he replies politely.
‘You’re not with the stag party, are you? I’d have noticed you.’
He looks at me and coughs. ‘No. I’m the manager.’
She smiles up at him, putting her hand on the counter, near his, and smiles. ‘Yeah? I’m Sandy.’
‘Mitchell. Nice to meet you. And this is Rosie. My girlfriend.’
Sandy and I both stare at him, and then she shrugs. ‘Yeah? Awh, well. Worth trying. See ya.’
Mitchell gives me a sheepish grin as the girl walks off. ‘Sorry. She caught me off guard. It was the first thing that came to mind.’
Surely he can do better at keeping a woman at bay? All he has to do is treat her like he treats me – with complete indifference. Which is more than I deserve anyway.
‘Uhm, Mitchell? We need to talk.’
His smile disappears as he stands to attention. ‘Uh-oh. What is it?’
‘I’ve done some sums.’ I can’t yet tell him I know the money is missing. I want to, but I have to make absolutely sure he’s not the one skimming off the top.
‘And?’
‘Well, those scathing reviews have done you no favours.’
‘I know…’
‘And there’s not enough money coming in this season.’
‘So what’s your idea?’
‘What makes you think I have one?’
He grins. ‘Because you are all about ideas, Rosie.’
‘Well, seeing as the reviews are online, we have no control over them whatsoever. But you can drum up interest through word of mouth, meaning the family and friends of the people of Little Kettering who live elsewhere.’
He grins. ‘Good thinking.’
‘We’ll prepare some e-banners or flyers for them to send out, along with a friends and family discount brochure. I’ll leave you some notes that might come in handy in the future.’
He puts down his documents again and leans across the counter, peering into my eyes. ‘This job of yours in London…’
Oh God, so he really is sussing me out after all.
‘Is it… something you enjoy?’ he asks.
‘Oh. Uhm… not as much as I should, no. In fact, I wish I could change a lot of things about it.’
‘Like what?’
I shrug. ‘I’d like to deal more with the people than the bureaucracy, for instance. Help people out with their problems.’
His expression is unreadable. ‘Ah.’ He’s sounding me out all right. I only wonder what Ah is supposed to mean? ‘So… do you see yourself working there for long?’
I laugh off the uneasiness. I never was good under torture. ‘Why, are you thinking of offering me a job?’ I quip in the hope of throwing him off course.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. ‘If there were to be a vacancy, would you consider it?’
Is he serious? Is he seriously offering me a job? Why? If he doesn’t trust me, why is he doing it? Unless it’s all my imagination and he suspects nothing. But if that’s the case:
a) How can I ever accept, knowing why I came here in the first place?
b) Can I leave London for Cornwall, and work in this hotel? Take Danny away from his school and his friends?
And c): I don’t have a c at the moment, but I thought I’d slip it in there, just in case. You never know.
‘It depends on the position,’ I answer cautiously.
He studies me. ‘Right. How does Manager sound?’
Manager? Meaning his own job. Oh God. He knows, all right. He’s got me. Ooh, he is infinitely smarter than I could ever be. He’s smelt the rat and smoked me out, and now I – the rat – am gasping for breath. Drowning in corporate deviousness. I always knew I would never rise to the top. It’s just not where I want to be. I want to have my own, small business, just enough to tide Danny and myself over. No Susans, no performance goals, no inspection manuals, nothing.
‘M-manager…? Isn’t that your job?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to manage this place? From what I can see, you’d be perfect for the job. Much better than me, no doubt. Head Office would agree.’
He’s looking at me closely, gauging my response to see how much of a fibber I am. Is it me, or is the ground rushing up, moving to swallow me whole? I sure hope so, because I have never felt so humiliated in my whole life. And I have no alternative, but to run.
‘I-I have to… to…’ I falter, and dart out of there as fast as a bat out of hell and run up to my room. I mean Mitchell’s room.
I’m such a mess. Maybe all this trolloping (that’s my new word for this holiday season, meaning me being a lying hussy) around is for someone like Susan, but not for one the likes of me. I just don’t do subterfuge. I never have and just can’t handle the pressure. Oh, why don’t I just throw in the towel, for once in my life, confess, and take the easy way out?
For two very good reasons. One is almost eight years old. I simply can’t disappoint Danny like that and give him the complete, unabridged and illustrated version of Mummy’s A Quitter.
And the other reason? Glad you asked. It’s in its mid-thirties, has a dark mop of curls, a heart of gold under a thick crust of rust, and is presently being wronged for no apparent reason.
Someone has it in for him and I can’t leave Mitchell to his own devices. He has no idea of the pooh-storm that is about to be released if I don’t find some evidence discharging him pronto. Because if I give up and go home, Susan will only send someone else who doesn’t give a crap about the fact that Mitchell – and everyone else here – have families to support and can’t do it if thrown out onto the streets.
Later, when the coast is clear, I slink back to my desk. It’s a good thing I’m volunteering, because if I’d run out on one of my real managers like that, they’d have my ass. What’s happening to me? There’s not a day that goes by now when I don’t think of quitting and opening my own pottery shop again, which is looking more and more appealing every day.
‘Hey, y’orrite?’ Mitchell asks as I try to hide behind some files. ‘You took off like you were on fire.’
Only my conscience, I want to say, but offer him a lame smile instead. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t know after all. So why, then, is he offering me the job, if not to mock me?
‘Didn’t you like my offer at all?’
‘You… were really offering me a job?’
‘I’d be crazy not to. You’re the best I’ve ever had.’
Oh, this is so rich. And so… not. ‘No, I know that.’ I can’t help but grin at him. For many reasons. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
His tongue licks his top lip in the usual endearing fashion, his eyes smiling into mine. ‘You cheeky little thing. What, then?’
‘I… just didn’t think… I thought…’
Mitchell grins. ‘What did you think?’
I shrug helplessly, and he puts his hand on my shoulder.
‘Listen, Rosie. I know I’m a handful and I’ve got a temper and a half. But I have my good moments too, you know? I’m not always a dickhead.’
I roll my eyes as if to say, You could have fooled me.
‘Mitchell, I need— Oops!’ Laura says, her voice dying as she comes out from the back office and whirls right around upon seeing us standing there so close to each other. ‘Never mind… laters!’
Mitchell raises his eyebrow at me, that grin still there. ‘Laura, it’s all right. Rosie’s just giving me shit again, telling me off for everything I’m doing wrong.’
She comes back to lean on the doorframe, a knowing smile on her face. ‘Well then she should be quite a while…’
Mitchell leans back against the counter. ‘What’s up, Laura?’
Laura huffs. ‘You have to talk to the guys from the stag party.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong? One of the gentlemen was seen weeing down the drainpipe in the back garden.’
Mitchell sighs, running his hand through his thick, dark and, I can just tell, soft curls. But seriously. It’s good that he’s here to hear this.
Laura huffs. ‘I swear it’s like kids on an overnight school trip. Next thing you know some bloke is going to fall off one of the balconies and—’
‘Do not even go there,’ I say. ‘That’s the last thing we need right now.’
‘Right, let me go sort him out,’ Mitchell says, pushing up his sleeves. I sure hope it won’t come to anything physical, but with that kind of guest, you never know. But one thing is sure – physically, Mitchell can more than take care of himself. Job-wise, I only hope he doesn’t dig himself a deeper grave.
That evening, as Danny comes up for his cuddle, I play with his hair as he tells me about his day. And I wonder… could I accept Mitchell’s offer? I know it would benefit Danny no end. Look at how happy he is already. But a definitive move? What if he doesn’t like his new school? What if something goes wrong? I can’t broach the subject directly with Danny yet, in case Mitchell changes his mind. If he gives me his job, where will he go? Not far enough to dissipate all the hatred he’ll have for me when he finds out who I really am, in any case.