But what was I thinking? If I didn’t want Matt asking me awkward questions, trying to get information out of me, perhaps I shouldn’t be considering giving him the third degree about something he’d seemed reluctant to talk about. I was probably just overthinking the whole thing because I loved the cottage so much. What was so strange about him liking it too?
Although … taking photos because he just liked the place? No. No matter how much I tried to rationalise it – that was odd. I decided, reluctantly, that he must have been lying to me. The photos must be for his newspaper, and he didn’t want to tell me why. But I was the last person to complain about someone telling me lies, wasn’t I? I seemed to have become an expert in lying since I’d come to Crickleford. I just wish I knew how to stop, now I’d started.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I was in Ye Olde Tea Shoppe later, having a cheese and pickle sandwich shoved across the counter at me by Annie, when my phone pinged with an email. I waited till I’d sat back down at my corner table before looking at it; I’d learnt by now that there was no such thing as privacy, as far as Annie’s customers were concerned. As it was, I could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on me as I took my phone out of my bag and opened the email. My heart nearly missed a beat. It was from Leo, Shane’s agent. I frowned and made the text bigger, preparing myself for a lengthy read. But, in fact, it was not only short, it was also very much to the point.
I am instructed to tell you that the animal you are enquiring about has been given to a good home. Please do not contact my client again. If you persist in doing so, we may be forced to consider legal action.
I gasped out loud, causing several heads to turn in my direction and one old lady to ask if I was all right. I wasn’t. I wanted to cry. Given to a good home? Whose home? And how did he know it was a good one? How dare Shane give my lovely cat away without asking me? And as for Please do not contact my client again – anyone would think I’d been making a habit of pestering him with emails and texts. As if I’d even want to! If Leo had bloody well answered my calls or emails himself, I wouldn’t have needed to at all. I was steaming by now, too cross and upset to eat my sandwich. I emailed Leo straight back, tapping the keys of my phone so hard I broke a nail, and telling him in equally terse terms what I thought of his message, adding that I’d rather boil my head than contact his bloody client ever again, but that if I found out my cat had gone to anything other than the most loving home in America, I’d take sodding legal action myself. I felt better after I’d sent it, but only for a moment. I sipped my coffee, trying to calm down, trying not to picture Albert living with some stranger somewhere who didn’t love him the way I did.
‘All right, my lovely?’ Annie called across the café to me, looking concerned, and I realised I’d screwed up my face and both my fists.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said, getting to my feet. If I stayed here, I’d only get asked questions, and I’d probably end up in tears, as well as saying more than I should. ‘Sorry, I’ve just realised I’m late for … um … the library.’
I couldn’t even think whether it was one of the library’s days for opening, but I didn’t care. I left, leaving my sandwich untouched on the table and almost tripping up ye olde steppe on the way out. I walked home and watched children’s cartoons on the TV with Holly until I started to feel marginally better. But I was never going to forgive Shane for this – on top of everything else. That much was definite.
The next day I had an appointment with Mary to discuss putting my little business on a proper footing. I was on my way there when I bumped into Matt Sorrentino loitering outside the library.
‘I was hoping to get some background on your burglar,’ he said when I stopped to say hello. He sounded despondent. ‘He and his mate have been bailed until their case comes to court. But it seems he’s been given the push from his job here, and none of the staff are willing to talk about him.’
‘More than they dare do, I suppose,’ I said, sympathetically.
He shrugged. ‘Oh well, never mind, I guess I’ll get another stab at a big story eventually.’
‘I hope so.’ I gave him a smile. Although I was still wary of talking to Matt, I felt I had to add, ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful.’
‘Not to worry.’ Then he grinned. ‘You didn’t end up moving away, then?’
‘No. You seem to have talked me out of it,’ I said with a little laugh.
What was I doing? Flirting with him? Too late, I put a hand over my mouth as if to stop myself.
‘Well, I’m glad,’ he said. ‘You’ll love it here now spring’s finally on its way. Have you been out on the moor much, yet?’
‘Only to get myself thoroughly muddy with dogs,’ I said.
‘Oh yes, of course, the dog walking! I love animals too. I’m hoping to get a dog myself one day. When I’m … in a position to have one.’
He suddenly looked so sad that I felt the need to keep talking, to try to make him smile again.
‘Me too. It’s perfect for dog walking around here. I’m a bit nervous of getting lost out on the moor though, to be honest.’
‘That’s completely understandable. The weather can turn nasty out there at the drop of a hat. You can start out on a hike in warm sunshine and suddenly the clouds come rolling in and the rain comes down in sheets, scuppering the visibility. We’ve had to send out search parties for missing grockles more often than I can count. They get disorientated in fog or rainstorms and lose their way.’
‘Must be frightening. Remind me not to go too far on my own, then.’
‘Do you drive?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘No car.’
‘Would you like me to take you out for a run across the moor one day? Just … to help you find your way around a bit more, you know. And as an animal lover, I’m sure you’d like to see the Dartmoor ponies.’
I hesitated. ‘That’s good of you, and I would like that, but … um … I’m a bit busy right now, you know, with people’s pets.’
I was making excuses, of course. The truth was that I was far more tempted than I should have been, to accept Matt’s offer. Touring Dartmoor, seeing the ponies – in the company of a friendly and good-looking man – was not only an appealing proposition, but would be a welcome distraction from my upset about Albert. But I couldn’t let go of my fears; how could I allow myself to trust him? I’d made the mistake of trusting a journalist too much, once before – a female one who’d appeared to be particularly kind and understanding when she interviewed me soon after we moved onto the New York scene. Like so many others afterwards, she’d acted like she was my friend, encouraging me to talk too intimately about my life with Shane, promising most of it was ‘off the record’ – and then published a horrendous article misrepresenting almost everything I’d said. Needless to say, Shane wasn’t pleased. In fact it was probably the first time he’d joined the rest of the world in thinking me a complete idiot.
Matt was giving me a puzzled smile now, and I realised I was scowling, as I remembered how I’d felt back then.
‘No pressure, Emma,’ he said gently. ‘Just a guided tour of the moor. I promise I won’t take you hostage in some remote shepherd’s hut and leave you there till you agree to tell me all your secrets.’
He’d meant it as a joke of course, but at the mention of my secrets, the idea of going out for a ride in his car with him completely lost its appeal.
‘I’ll let you know if I get a free afternoon,’ I said in a hurry. ‘Now, I really ought to dash.’
‘Yes, sure. Keep up the good work.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your fitness regime,’ he said, laughing. ‘And don’t forget, you can contact me anytime at the Chronicle office.’ He pointed back down Fore Street at a squat stone building next to the doctors’ surgery. ‘I hope you’ll get that free afternoon soon.’
Mary welcomed me with coffee and biscuits, and Scrap ran around me with his tongue out, giving little yaps of excitement. It was good to see them both.
>
‘Thank you for offering to explain all this stuff to me,’ I said, once we’d sat at her table together. ‘I’m so stupid, I really didn’t have any idea that I had to do anything like this.’
‘You’re not stupid at all,’ she said firmly. ‘How would you know, if you’ve never done it before? You said you were worried about invoices? Well, you don’t need to do anything special for them, just a sheet of paper with your details on, and the amount you’re charging, will be fine for now. The most important thing is to keep a copy for yourself. Have Lauren and Jon got a printer you can use?’
‘Yes, if they don’t mind.’
‘I’m sure they won’t. So that’ll be the easiest way to do it. You could print off some nice leaflets, too – I take it you’re going to advertise?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that. So far people have just approached me themselves.’
‘Well, that’s good, as long as you get enough work that way, but if not I’ll help you design a leaflet, or you could even do something online. A website, or a Facebook page.’
‘No, I don’t really want that,’ I said a bit too quickly.
‘OK.’ She smiled gently. ‘But you do still need to decide on a name for your business – unless you just want to use your own name.’ She gave me a thoughtful look. ‘Your surname is quite memorable, so—’
‘No. I don’t think so.’ She must have thought I was being a bit negative. No advertising, no Facebook, no spreading around of my memorable surname. I didn’t want people pondering my name too much. Once again, I wished I’d changed it, but everything had happened so quickly, I hadn’t really had time to think about things like that. At least using my real Christian name, rather than my assumed one, seemed to be throwing people off the scent.
‘Perhaps a pet-related name, then,’ Mary suggested. ‘Something catchy but not too corny.’
‘Yes, I think I’d prefer that,’ I said. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’
‘And don’t forget you need to keep a record of every job and what you get paid. That’s it, really.’ She smiled.
‘Apart from the taxman,’ I said, grimacing.
‘Well, don’t worry, you’ll probably find you don’t even earn enough yet to pay tax. But Jon’s right, you do still have to register as self-employed, anyway. You can do it online.’ She looked at me with her head on one side. ‘Would you like me to help you with that now, Emma?’
‘Oh. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?’ I had to admit, I’d been dreading it. ‘But can you get a decent Wi-Fi connection here, though? It’s awful at Lauren and Jon’s, goes off more often than it works.’
She laughed. ‘I know. Luckily, ours seems to be a lot better in this part of town.’ She opened her laptop and tapped something into the browser. ‘Here we go.’ She glanced at me. ‘How about you call out your details and I’ll fill in the online form for you?’
‘Thanks so much,’ I said. ‘Sorry for being so rubbish with all this stuff.’
‘Don’t keep putting yourself down,’ she remonstrated. ‘I’m just helping you get started, that’s all.’
And somehow, with her calm, patient manner, she did make me feel more capable.
‘Right, first you need to choose a password,’ Mary said. She looked up at me and I smiled.
‘Primrose,’ I said.
‘Right. But it needs to contain a number.’
‘OK. Primrose4. For Holly’s age.’
She nodded and typed it in, and I suddenly sat up, smiling again.
‘I know what I’ll call my business! Primrose Pets.’
‘Brilliant!’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s perfect, Emma – simple but catchy. I really like it.’
Primrose Pets. I repeated it to myself over and over in my head as we went through the form for HMRC. I was going to run my own business: Primrose Pets. Me, a businesswoman, an entrepreneur! How about that? Wouldn’t that make my parents proud? Would they even be able to believe it? I decided I’d send them an email later to tell them about it.
While we had the laptop out, Mary showed me how to make a spreadsheet so that I could type in my earnings for each job, and how to set out a simple invoice. I was beginning to feel more confident about managing it all.
‘I didn’t realise you had a business yourself,’ I said, as she finally closed the computer. ‘I thought you were retired.’
‘Well, yes, I retired from teaching a couple of years ago. But I didn’t feel ready to stop altogether. I’m on my own, you see, and it can be lonely if you don’t keep yourself occupied. So I just do a bit of private tutoring.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I nodded to myself. Mary seemed very clever. I could imagine her teaching something like art or music. Or maybe Spanish or Italian. ‘What do you tutor, then? Foreign languages?’
‘No – English literacy. My speciality at the school was teaching the less able children, and I’ve always found that very rewarding. So I do one-to-one tutoring for kids who’re struggling at school. And adults who don’t read or write too well. You’d be surprised how many people get right through school without ever managing to learn the most basic things most of us take for granted.’
I swallowed and looked away. I could feel my ears burning. I glanced down at the notes I’d made while Mary had been talking to me. They weren’t too bad, were they? Was she dropping hints about my spelling or my scruffy handwriting?
‘Reading is the most important skill anyone ever learns,’ she was going on. ‘It’s so sad when people miss out on that.’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ I said, still not looking at her. ‘I love reading. I read so many books, the library can hardly keep up with me.’
‘Really? That’s wonderful, Emma, it’s nice to hear that. So many young people nowadays spend all their time online and never think to pick up a book. Who is your favourite author?’
‘Um …’ Dammit. I’d done it again, hadn’t I – dropped myself into another big fat lie. Favourite authors? I couldn’t think of a single one. Could I count Holly’s favourite, Julia Donaldson? I actually really did like those books – I loved hearing Holly giggling and joining in with the words, as Lauren read the stories to her. But perhaps Julia Donaldson only wrote children’s books? Hang on: who was the one Jon was always going on about? The one I was supposed to study at school, but never did? Ah yes: ‘Shakespeare,’ I said.
‘A girl after my own heart.’ She beamed. ‘So which is your favourite of Shakespeare’s works?’
I was wishing like mad now, of course, that I’d never opened my stupid mouth. And then I suddenly remembered: the Atkinsons’ cats!
‘Romeo and Juliet,’ I said, crossing my fingers.
‘Ah! You like the tragedies, then.’
‘Yes.’ I smiled back at her now, relieved. ‘And his thrillers are pretty good too.’
Fortunately, at that point Mary’s phone started ringing in the kitchen, and by the time she’d taken the call and come back, no more was said about Shakespeare or reading until I was getting up to leave.
‘Don’t rush off, Emma,’ Mary said. ‘Come and choose some books to borrow.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—’ I said, but she took me by the hand and led me to her bookshelves, which I already knew were so high we needed a chair to reach the top ones, and were stuffed full of books of every size and description.
‘I know our little library isn’t always open, and it can be maddening if you’ve run out of reading material,’ she said. ‘So please, help yourself to a couple for now, and you can come back for more any time.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ I stared at the rows of spines. The lettering on some was tiny. I felt panic-struck just looking at them. ‘But honestly, I don’t think …’
‘Would you like me to choose for you?’ she suggested. ‘How about another Shakespeare? Othello? Or did you do that at school? No? Take that, then, and … have you read King Lear? Ah, well, you’ll enjoy this.’ She handed me the two slim hardbacks, and I passed them awkwardly from one h
and to the other.
‘Thanks so much,’ I said.
‘You’re very welcome. I’ve enjoyed our chat today. Come and see me again soon, won’t you. And I’ll be needing you again in the summer to look after Scrappy, if that’s OK. I’ll check the dates with my sister and let you know.’
‘That’ll be great. Thanks again, Mary.’
I walked home, cursing myself for my stupidity. Just as I’d been feeling relieved that Mary hadn’t once today, thank God, mentioned my house fire or my sainted parents who looked after refugee children, I’d had to go and tell her another whopper of a lie and get myself into this situation of being her one-woman bloody book club. Reading Shakespeare? Me, of all people? How the hell was I going to get out of this one?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next day I spent a long time with my laptop, starting my spreadsheet for my pet-sitting earnings and setting up a template for my invoices. I wanted to do it before I forgot everything Mary had taught me. I was beaming with pride as I typed the words PRIMROSE PETS at the top of the page, and felt so pleased with myself when I’d finished, I wrote an email to my parents, copying in my sister, telling them that I was now an entrepreneur, having single-handedly set up my own successful business.
‘It’s doing very well. Loads of customers. I have to turn people away every day. I’m earning lots of money and I’m thinking about buying a cottage here.’
In my desperation to impress my family, I’d clicked ‘SEND’ before I could change my mind about the exaggerations. I didn’t want to think of them as more lies. Normally, emails from Primrose Cottage didn’t go straight away because of the terrible internet connection, but typically, on this occasion it whizzed off immediately, leaving me wishing I’d taken more time and been more truthful. It wasn’t until a reply from my sister pinged on my phone a little later –That’s great, Emma, but what kind of business? – that I realised I’d also left out some vital details. I tried to respond, but of course, the internet had now gone down completely so, realising I’d just have to reply another time, I set off to get some shopping before Lauren and Holly came home.
The Pets at Primrose Cottage Page 11