The Homecoming

by Rosie Howard

  She dragged herself out of bed and straight under the shower before the momentum wore off. She inched the temperature dial around by tiny degrees until it was as cold as she could bear, hoping it would refresh her energy levels a bit. Serena would be banging on the little door soon, keen for Maddy to join her and Flora for work.

  Maddy pulled on trousers, boots and a cosy sweater. Luckily her swollen ankle had gone down enough to get her trusty London boots on and she barely even limped if she put her mind to it. She looked longingly at the walking boots Ben had bought her. She had hardly taken them off since, but they were clumpy and ugly. She needed to raise her game.

  She looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror. It wasn’t great. The dark circles under her eyes were more obvious than ever and it didn’t help that all trace of a summer tan was now gone. Added to that, her smart black work trousers that fitted so neatly before were now hanging so low on her hips they trailed on the floor.

  She must have lost nearly a stone. Either that or her legs had got shorter, she thought to herself as she threaded a belt through the tops of the trousers and hoicked them back up, tightening the belt as far as it would go. She would need Jez the leather worker to make another hole in it soon.

  A quick slick of blusher and a bit of mascara was as much as she was prepared to do to her face. In a last-ditch effort she grabbed a beautiful Bespoke Consortium turquoise and green scarf. She was just knotting it neatly when Serena knocked and came in.

  ‘Morning, lovely,’ she called. ‘Blimey, do be careful with those stairs,’ she added as Maddy came down from the bed platform backwards because it felt safer. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maddy lied, to disguise having woken so late. ‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, though.’

  ‘I’ve laid out the brochure proofs on the kitchen table and popped some croissants in the oven. Flora’s there.’

  Serena and Maddy went over to the farmhouse, where Flora was singing to herself and dipping a finger into each open jam jar in turn.

  ‘Hi, Mads,’ she said. ‘Yum. I think the ginger and rhubarb’s my favourite. You know, we should sell jam too …’

  ‘I think we’ve got plenty to do already,’ said Maddy. ‘But it’s a good idea for the future … Wow, they’re beautiful,’ she said, catching sight of the proofs laid out on the sideboard. She pored over the double-page spreads of the brochure lined up on the kitchen table, trying and failing to avoid getting croissant crumbs all over them.

  ‘You don’t have any copy,’ she said guiltily, noticing the words were just the graphic designers’ standard Latin text, ‘Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet …’

  ‘True, although I rather like the Latin,’ Serena said. ‘I’ve always wondered what it meant – something absolutely filthy, one hopes … I was sort of trying to lift the copy you wrote from the website but it didn’t quite work. Would you have time to do something?’

  ‘Of course! When do we need it by?’

  ‘Erm, end of today?’ Serena said apologetically, licking a blob of cherry jam off the corner of her mouth.

  ‘No problem. When are we doing the mailing?’

  ‘In terms of orders, nineteenth of December is the last date for first class UK posting if we want things to arrive for Christmas, so we need to work back from there,’ said Flora.

  Maddy blinked with surprise. She wouldn’t bank on Flora even knowing what day of the week it was, let alone knowing Christmas posting dates.

  ‘So, if you get the copy done as soon as possible today,’ said Serena, ‘and we send it to the printers tonight, you sign off the proofs tomorrow morning, then they’ll deliver by Friday and we can mail on Saturday morning.’

  ‘Who needs sleep?’ agreed Maddy.

  ‘Flora thought we should call a meeting,’ said Serena. ‘So we can bring people up to speed.’

  ‘While we’re doing it, they can stuff envelopes,’ added Flora. ‘Perfect, yeah?’

  Serena was loading the dishwasher and Maddy was getting started on the copy when the letter box clattered.

  ‘It’ll be all Giles’s boring stuff,’ said Serena, but she went to collect it, wandering back with a small handful of envelopes which she sorted onto the kitchen table.

  ‘Giles, junk, Giles, Giles … ooh, Rural Enterprise Funding,’ she said, brightening. Dumping the rest, she quickly slit open the envelope and unfolded the single piece of paper inside.

  Maddy and Flora watched.

  ‘I was so sure,’ said Serena quietly, as if to herself.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Maddy. Serena had caught her out too often in the past with her little jokes. ‘Nice try … give it here.’

  She quickly scanned the letter. ‘… “we regret to inform you” … “high standard of applications”… Shit.’

  ‘No money,’ said Serena again, disbelievingly, as she, Maddy and Flora comforted themselves with Serena’s home-made carrot cake, even though it was barely an hour since breakfast.

  ‘Well, not no money,’ said Maddy, trying to look on the bright side. ‘We’ve still got Giles’s money to keep us going, and there will be other grant opportunities, somewhere, I’m sure …’

  ‘True,’ said Serena, breaking off a large chunk of cake and cramming it into her mouth. ‘Shame it’s too early for a stiff drink,’ she mumbled with her mouth full. ‘I feel like I need it after that.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Maddy, in tones designed to convince herself, let alone Serena. ‘It’s a timeline issue. We just need to push back a couple of things, like the brochure mailing, perhaps …’

  ‘We can’t!’ protested Serena. ‘Not the brochure mailing. It’s a critical part of our pre-Christmas push. We won’t have a chance to shift stock like that again for months.’

  ‘Alright, not the brochure mailing,’ agreed Maddy reluctantly, ‘but definitely the trade show. I mean, if we scrap the trade show and book into that summer one instead, we’re pretty much sorted. It was going to be pretty painful doing it so close to Christmas, what with everything else that’s going on.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Serena guiltily, after she had swallowed her mouthful of carrot cake with a gulp. ‘About that …’

  ‘Go on,’ said Maddy, her heart sinking.

  ‘I might have forgotten to mention it,’ said Serena, ‘and I know you’ve been really busy with the whole pub closure campaign, so – erm – I got a call from the exhibition organisers …’

  ‘Ye-es …’

  ‘It was an amazing deal. Too good to miss. They had a little stand come up at the last minute – another company cancelled, went bust I think – and they offered it at half the rate if I said “yes” there and then.’

  ‘So you did.’

  Serena nodded guiltily. ‘Looking at it another way, we saved ourselves more than four grand.’

  ‘But we’ve also spent six grand we now don’t have,’ said Maddy in desperation. Then she relented. ‘Don’t worry. You’re right; it was the right thing to do. Probably,’ she said. ‘At least … we’ll make it work somehow.’

  It was the last thing they needed at this fragile early stage, though, she thought to herself. As Giles had said, too many brilliant new companies go under because of cashflow problems, and the funding gap raised the chances of that happening to them to stratospheric levels.

  Plodding on, they distracted themselves with one last check to make sure all the prices of the products were right before Maddy finished the copy. They couldn’t afford mistakes.

  Because the job was boring and the women were feeling disconsolate, the meeting quickly degenerated into a morose, biscuit-eating session.

  ‘I can’t believe all that stuff about Kevin stealing from Patrick,’ said Flora, talking around a large mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.

  ‘Believe it,’ said Maddy.

  ‘It’s funny, though, isn’t it?’ said Flora. ‘Cos you kind of get used to certain people just being in the background, don’t you? Part of the furniture? You sort of ignore them because y
ou don’t think they’re actually – well – doing anything.’

  ‘I can’t ignore Kevin,’ insisted Serena. ‘I don’t even know him really but, ever since Patrick first started employing him, I just can’t look at him without wanting to stamp on his toe. I don’t know what it is …’

  ‘Tell me again about what Ben did,’ said Flora excitedly. ‘Did he punch him? Was he heroic?’

  ‘He was,’ said Maddy, with a smile. ‘I don’t know what he said to him outside the pub, but I’m given to believe we won’t be seeing him again, if he knows what’s good for him.’

  Just as they had reluctantly returned to the pricing, there was a sharp rap at the back door.

  ‘Who actually knocks around here?’ muttered Serena, but before she had a chance to shout ‘Come in!’, the door opened and the doorway was filled with a sturdy, serious-looking man with an irreproachable short back and sides, a baggy grey suit and an extremely cross expression on his face.

  ‘Ah,’ said Maddy, in a voice filled with guilt, regret and a certain acceptance born of inevitability. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘How nice.’

  ‘Not sure “nice” is the word,’ he replied, as he came, uninvited, into the kitchen and stood towering over them all. ‘I’ve been all over the shop looking for you,’ he went on. ‘Spoke to your mother – not an entirely positive experience – she didn’t seem pleased to see me, but at least,’ he conceded, ‘she had the grace to tell me you might be here. What the hell have you done with your phone?’

  ‘Ah, you’ve got me there,’ said Maddy, bobbing down in her chair. ‘I kept meaning to look for it. The battery’s flat so I can’t call it. I think it might be down the back of the seat in the car.’

  ‘When you finally find it I suggest you might not want to bother with all my messages and texts,’ said Simon. ‘Especially the more recent ones. I haven’t been best pleased.’

  Serena stood, charmingly introducing herself and Flora to Simon and – in the same interaction – made it clear that she and Flora would be making themselves scarce.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Maddy, standing too. ‘We’ll go to the Grainstore,’ she insisted, grabbing Simon’s arm and propelling him firmly out of the room.

  ‘So that’s Simon,’ she could hear Flora saying as she left. ‘I don’t think I like him, do you?’

  To Maddy’s relief, Serena’s reply was inaudible.

  She quickly got the two of them settled on the little verandah with a couple of bottles of beer. It was cold, but the sun was out.

  ‘Nice view,’ he acknowledged. ‘Decent place you’ve got here.’

  ‘I’m lucky.’ She stole a sideways glance. Poor Simon had jettisoned his suit jacket and undone the top button of his pressed, stripy shirt, but he clutched the beer bottle awkwardly in his fist. She couldn’t help but imagine Ben sitting in the same seat, his bottle of beer doubtless hanging from his fingers with casual ease.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been in touch,’ said Maddy. ‘There’s been a lot going on.’

  ‘There’s been a lot going on in London. I’ve been working my arse off covering for your absence.’ He stopped himself with visible effort. ‘I’m sorry, Maddy,’ he said. ‘I’m not here for that. In truth, even without the lost phone, it’s about time we talked properly, face-to-face.’

  ‘About us?’

  ‘Um, yeah. Yeah of course … and work too, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ she replied dryly.

  ‘So,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I’ve been thinking about taking the company forward. And I’d like you to come on board.’

  ‘Gosh,’ she said with heavy irony. ‘Would you?’ She was wondering when exactly she hadn’t been ‘on board’.

  ‘Yeah, so, I’ve been thinking we incorporate and … despite your poor performance in the last few weeks – although obviously that would have to be addressed – I’m prepared to offer you a seventy–thirty split. Partners. You and me. What do you think, eh?’

  ‘Wow. That’s a generous offer, but I’m just wondering whether you would truly be happy with just thirty per cent of the business.’

  ‘Wha—? No, darling,’ he went on, ‘but I hear where you’re coming from.’ He gave her a heavy wink, waggling his finger at her. ‘How about I say sixty–forty and that’s my final offer. You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty attractive. Forty per cent of a dynamic communications company developing quite a reputation. There are no limits, baby …’ He toasted her with his beer and took an awkward swig, dribbling it down his chin slightly.

  She gave him a considering stare. ‘I’m entitled to fifty–fifty.’

  ‘You’re not even there.’

  ‘It’s my business as much as yours.’

  ‘Do some bloody work, then.’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘What do you need?’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ he said. ‘I’ve got us a chance to present to Clifford and Hayes in a fortnight. It’s the annual strategy meeting of the board and they’re looking for fresh ideas. If we impress them, it’s a two-year contract with a fee to blow your brain. We could afford offices, staff, decent salaries …’

  ‘And us?’ said Maddy quietly.

  Simon looked awkward. ‘We’re alright, aren’t we?’

  ‘Can you honestly say we would have got together if we hadn’t been setting up the business and both needing somewhere to live at the same time?’ she asked. ‘It almost literally came down to deciding on a one-bed flat rather than a two-bed, to save money and get your leg over in one convenient package.’

  ‘Well,’ he huffed, ‘I think that’s a bit harsh.’

  ‘I’m not getting at you. It was both of us.’

  There was a silence while they both sipped their beers reflectively, gazing at the view. It was almost peaceful.

  ‘Have you found someone else?’ he asked.

  She glanced at him. There was no sign of distress.

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means I think I may have fallen in love with someone else,’ she elucidated. ‘It means I am beginning to understand better what it’s supposed to feel like when you meet someone who’s truly important …’

  ‘And does he feel the same way?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ she replied, with a tiny tremor, which she clamped down tight. ‘I think – I know – he cares about me,’ she went on. ‘But he’s made it pretty clear, one way and another, that that’s as far as it goes.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Simon.

  Maddy looked at him and he turned to meet her gaze, his face as open and honest as she had ever seen it. ‘I am sorry. Truly. I have to admit, you’re right about us. It’s a rubbish relationship. We’re not right for each other – not personally, anyway – and life’s just too short, isn’t it? I hope you can convince this guy or I hope you can maybe find someone who feels the same as you do …’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maddy, touched.

  ‘But – notwithstanding all that bollocks,’ he went on, ‘business-wise we’re a winning team. Let’s do that presentation. Let’s win that contract. I’ll email the details and, when it’s done, we can sit down and sign the papers. I don’t mind where you work and where you live – I can see you’ve got something good going here,’ he gestured around him.

  ‘We can do this,’ he said, jutting out his chin like he did in sales pitches. ‘You and me,’ he declared, holding out his hand to shake hers.

  Patrick was in high spirits. He had turned the little flat’s sitting room into an operations centre. The dining table had been cleared and was filled with stacks of paper, including the ‘SAVE THE PUB’ campaign flyers Maddy had had printed. There was a whiteboard fixed to the wall, with writing in several different colours, marking out the plan of action.

  ‘So … what’s happening?’ asked Maddy, giving him a hug.

  ‘Cup of tea first,’ he replied, marching to the kitchen and shouting over thi
s shoulder. ‘I’m glad you’ve turned up. I’ve been needing to brief you …’

  ‘“Brief me”, eh?’ she said quizzically to the empty air.

  He soon returned with two steaming mugs and Maddy took hers gratefully.

  ‘So,’ he said, retrieving a whiteboard marker pen from behind his ear. ‘The key issue is this,’ he said, rapping the whiteboard with his pen. ‘We need to prove the Havenbury Arms is a community asset. I’ve been taking advice and it’s a legitimate planning argument that the pub should be retained as making a valuable contribution to the community …’ He paused. ‘Actually, I’ve just thought … we need to bring in the support of the market stallholders. Lucky the market is this Saturday. We can lobby them then …’ He made another scribble on the whiteboard and then drew another line from this to another part of the board with a confident scythe of the arm.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Maddy. ‘Let battle commence, eh?’

  ‘Darned right,’ he said, his eyes blazing. ‘I’m not going down without a fight … Now,’ he went on, ‘the other issue is funding. I’ve been having long discussions with other pubs who’ve faced closure. The one in Edenford is community-owned now. Have you been there recently?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Me neither,’ he admitted, ‘but it’s brilliant, apparently. Two hundred community members put in a minimum of a grand each and now they are all directors, running the pub as a community enterprise. There’s a post office in there, they have a doctors’ surgery in there once a week too …’

  ‘But we’ve already got a post office in Havenbury,’ she argued, ‘and a doctors’ surgery.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, ‘but still … I like the idea of the community raising funds in return for shared ownership, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure I can see you handing over your pub to a random bunch of locals,’ she admitted. ‘But I think community ownership sounds a darned sight better than Top Taverns owning it … The question is: will they sell?’