The next day I spend my lunch break in the village looking for gifts for Danny’s Christmas birthday, but I also find something for Jeremy to thank him for taking care of Danny so well. Shopping is difficult for someone you don’t know, but I suspect, as he is elderly and single, that he’ll appreciate a hamper with fresh, good old-fashioned Cornish products, like proper, homemade pasties, authentic yarg, stargazy pie, hevva cake, saffron buns, Cornish Mead, etc. All real stuff, not the tourist package.
For Sally, who works long, hard shifts directing her staff and who could use some time to self-pamper, I choose some products like lavender-oil-based shower gel, some kiwi skin scrub, beauty creams, a loofah sponge and a gorgeous bath robe. Something to start her off with.
For Laura, I get the complete set of Poldark novels (she’s obsessed) of which I’ve seen a paperback copy stashed under the front desk counter. These people have helped me out, taking care of my son, to me the most precious person in the world, so I’m hoping to get it right for them this Christmas.
And for Mitchell? What do I get him? How do you shop for a man you barely know and yet… care for? He’s not much of a fashion follower, nor does he wear cologne or ties. Having been single for most of my life, I am positively rubbish at buying gifts for men. Especially a man I’m interested in. I have no idea. I’ve checked upstairs and he’s already got the complete set of CDs of his favourite bands, and I don’t know who else he likes. I settle on a DVD of It’s a Wonderful Life for him, in memory of that night that was an almost-date. I hope he will at least get the irony of my gift.
I know I’m getting way ahead of myself, but if I could, I’d get him a brand-new life. A new job he loves, a new home, rather than a suite in an inn. And a future with me. Not that I’m saying that would be a good gift for him. It would be, for me, though.
As I’m debating this, I round the corner onto Little Kettering High Street, catching a glimpse of – you guessed it – Mitchell himself, coming straight at me. I don’t know why, but I panic and duck into a pub, hoping he hasn’t seen me.
In through the doors, the day plunges into the darkest of nights, and I blink, momentarily losing my bearings. I grope my way to a tiny table in the darkest corner, hoping he doesn’t decide to stop in for a drink. But, of course, the door swings open and in he comes, strutting across the floor, like Ross Poldark on Trenwith land, and over to a table where the woman from the other night at the movies – Abby – is waiting for him with two pints of Guinness.
I hunker down into my seat, hoping he won’t notice me as I watch him rest his elbows on the small table, studying the woman closely. She places a hand on his arm and is talking to him in dulcet tones.
Mitchell takes a sip of his beer and quietly surveys the rest of the patrons, so I sink lower into my seat and hide behind my menu, even if I know I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not that I’ve followed him in here or am spying on him. When the coast is clear and he is once again in deep conversation with her, I make my escape.
As I’m doing so, my mobile pings inside my pocket.
Rosie, I miss you. Call me. Mark. Xxx
As if. Four and a half hours away, assuming he hasn’t moved back to his beloved Manchester, and almost ten years later of this on and off communication system, and he still manages to rattle me.
*
I am loath to put the Christmas presents under the tree, even for Danny’s sake, because if any of our prized guests help themselves, Danny will be heartbroken, But I still want to give him – and the inn – some festive cheer, so I leave Laura at Reception and scout around in the supply storage room for some empty boxes – which I find in abundance. In the semi-darkness of the room, I start making mock presents with all the different kinds of wrapping paper I have left over and once I’m done, I haul them over to the tree. I stack them up neatly, the smallest ones on top. There. That looks very Christmassy.
‘Can I add my pressies to yours?’ comes a voice behind my back.
I turn, and there is Mitchell, on his haunches, with a bag full of gifts. ‘What? Oh, sorry, these are fake,’ I inform him, and his face falls. It’s like Scrooge waking up elated on Christmas morning but instead finding out he’s missed it after all.
‘Oh. Well, in that case,’ he says, retrieving his own packages, and disappears down the hall into his office.
‘Again, that one could use a kick in the right direction,’ Sally says with a smirk as she passes by.
‘What do you mean?’
She wipes her face and gives me a Be Serious look.
‘What?’ I ask innocently.
‘The whole village knows you two are going to end up together eventually. Seize the day – grab happiness by the horns. Go for it.’
‘You’re mistaken, Sally. I’ll soon be leaving.’
‘Yeah? Some great job awaiting you, too?’
I sigh. ‘I wish. Susan, my boss, calls me Rosie Miss Nobody behind my back.’
Sally’s mouth falls open. ‘And you let her?’
I shrug. ‘Calling her out would mean jeopardising someone else’s job.’
‘It would jeopardise hers. Good!’
I twist my mouth in resignation. I know Sally’s right, but I don’t want to rock the boat. Not if Danny and our livelihood is in it.
‘You have got to stand up more for yourself, missy,’ she scolds me gently.
‘I know. I know I should be more assertive. I’m working on it.’
‘You do that,’ she says. ‘And don’t let Mitchell push you around either. He’s as good as gold but sometimes he doesn’t know his own place.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘But your place, Rosie, is here.’
I look up at her.
‘Oh, come on, Rosie. Wouldn’t it be your dream to settle in a breath-taking village like this? Out of that filthy city? And think about how happy Danny would be.’
I smile at her choice of words. Sally and I are so similar, she could be the sister I never had.
She pushes off with a groan, ‘Gotta go. And remember – seize the day. I’m keeping my eye on you.’
I smile at her. She is truly lovely.
*
‘Rosie, put on your worst clothes,’ Mitchell says as he saunters up to the desk with a smile that warms not only my cockles, but my entire soul. This man is a mystery to me. One minute he’s angry and the next he manages to cheer up completely.
‘Shouldn’t you be saying “Put on your best”?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nope – the absolute worst you’ve got. My surprise is ready.’
I’ve had all night to wonder about it, and still I have no idea what to expect. And I’m still wondering what he was doing with Abby in that pub.
‘What is it?’ I ask again, warily, still not convinced he’s not found me out. With him, you never know.
He grins. ‘Not telling you. Be ready in ten minutes.’
‘But the desk… Danny…’
‘Laura can mind the desk, and Danny is coming with us, of course.’
Meaning it’s child-friendly inasmuch that he isn’t about to throw me off the cliff in front of Danny. Which is much more than I deserve, at the moment, so, good enough for me.
The surprise, I surmise as we are winding through the High Street in Little Kettering, is on the other side of town, and I’m not allowed to ask any questions, but Danny is tittering, holding his little hands in front of his mouth to stop from blurting out answers to my questions. I’m so not used to getting surprises that I can hardly contain myself.
‘No clues, Danny,’ Mitchell says with a grin. ‘You promised, remember?’
Danny nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. What on earth are these two plotting?
And then, at the end of the road, right before an iffy-looking garage, he brakes and they both slide out. I swear I feel like one of those guys in the mafia movies, just before they’re sent to sleep with the fishes.
‘Come on, Rosie,’ he says gently, taking my hand, and I follow them through a tiny door.
The interior is dark and gloomy, but then Mitchell flicks a switch, and I gasp.
There are tables everywhere, and each and every one of them has red chunks or slabs on them. Fresh clay. There is a pottery wheel and… a kiln!
‘How…?’
‘Danny told me about your passion for throwing pottery.’
‘Oh, my God…’
‘You can come here whenever you want. I met with the owner today who let it to me for a few months with a renewable contract. You can have it for as long as you want.’
For as long as I want? What does this mean? Is his job offer independent of everything else? Of course it is. I saw the way he and Abby were looking at each other in the pub. If he feels nothing for me, as I now understand, how will I be able to stay on here?
I look between Mitchell and Danny, who are beside themselves with glee. Despite myself and my doubts and worries, I finger the clay, my hands already itching to get dirty.
‘There’s a makeshift kitchen with a kettle through here, and a fire while you wait for your goods to be…’ he grins at his own joke ‘… fired.’
Fired. I wish he’d not use that word. He’s being adorable and my conscience is killing me.
I look up to the neon lights hanging from the ceiling, in the hope that my tears will stay inside my eyes where they belong.
‘Danny…?’ Mitchell says. ‘Why don’t you go and switch the kettle on in the kitchen, mate? Be right there.’
Danny eyes us both, understands that something is up, and obeys.
At the sound of the door closing, Mitchell takes a step forward and weaves his fingers through mine.
‘Thank you… for this…’ I manage. ‘It means so much to me. But I really don’t deserve it, Mitchell…’
‘Are you finally going to tell me your secret?’ he whispers. ‘I know it’s eating you alive.’
It is, and I can’t stand it any longer. And I burst into sudden, stupid tears.
He sighs. ‘Why don’t you just talk to me, Rosie? I promise you you’ll feel much better afterwards.’
‘Oh, I doubt that,’ I hiccup, trying to suppress my sobs.
‘Is it about Danny?’ he prompts.
Is it? Sort of, if you consider that I won’t be able to put any food in my baby’s belly, unless I ruin Mitchell’s life.
‘Is he unwell?’
‘No, he’s perfectly healthy…’
‘Are you unwell?’
I shake my head.
He pulls me in closer. ‘Do you need money? I can help you, Rosie. Let me help.’
He has money to give. And he’d give it to me. All this makes the situation even worse. One, because he shouldn’t be having any spare money anywhere, according to my calculations, and two, he shouldn’t be so kindly offering it to me, the woman commissioned to destroy him.
‘No, it’s not that, Mitchell,’ I moan. ‘But thanks anyway, for offering…’
He’s ducking to look into my eyes, his thumbs gently wiping my tears away. Oh, God, could he be any sweeter? Can I feel any more unworthy of his trust? How can I possibly accept his offer of a job, and of this place, knowing what’s looming up ahead?
‘Then how can I help you?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t need anything. I just need a break, that’s all.’
‘A break from work?’
‘A break… from my life.’
‘You don’t have to help out during your own holidays, Rosie. As a matter of fact, why don’t you stop worrying about the place? It’ll be fine. And you can stay as long as you want.’
Oh, could he be any kinder? Could I deserve him any less?
‘No,’ I sniff, ‘I’m fine. I want to help.’
‘All right, then. Now how about putting this baby in motion? I’ll go make a cuppa and bring Danny out to see his mum working miracles.’
‘More like monsters.’ I titter nervously. ‘I haven’t done anything in years.’
‘So? It’s like riding a bicycle, isn’t it?’
I shrug. ‘More like practice makes perfect.’
‘Well, you sit yourself down here and start mucking around.’
‘Okay,’ I concede.
A moment later when they come back, I’ve already cut a small slab of clay off and am slowly adding water to it, hesitant and actually quite horrified seeing the trouble Mitchell has gone to just to organise this.
It’s a good thing Danny is here, or I’d actually be daydreaming a Ghost scene repeat, Patrick Swayze’s slippery fingers intertwining with Demi Moore’s in one of the hottest Hollywood scenes ever. But Danny and Mitchell are in the clay guck up to their elbows, disregarding each and every one of my suggestions and laughing. Mitchell has his head thrown back while Danny is actually shrieking with delight as the table turns and the clay collapses onto itself. And I just know I am way luckier than Demi.