by Rosie Howard
‘Sounds great,’ said Maddy.
‘Don’t rush to decide whether you want me,’ said Zach. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come and see what I do? I’ve got a workshop up at Havenbury Manor. You’re welcome any time.’
Luckily Giles was there to sort out the IT stuff as Maddy was struggling to get her laptop to work with the projector so she could beam her presentation up onto the blank wall above the Aga.
Eventually, after an age of shuffling around and scraping chairs, the group was settled around the scrubbed kitchen table. Each participant had a cup of tea and a hunk of cake chosen from the selection in the middle of the table. Serena had excelled herself, making brownies, ginger cake and some sort of Victoria sponge with gorgeous yellowy-green home-made greengage jam in the middle.
After taking them briefly through the agreed product range, showing the fabulous photos Keith had taken, she got down to the detail and she spared them none of the harsh realities: ‘Sales will inevitably fall off a cliff in the new year. The time to get money in to fund all our fantastic plans for the future is now. Actually, all we’re really trying to do is get sufficient funds to keep ticking along,’ she admitted. ‘The grand plans need to be carefully timed,’ she added. ‘But we will get there. I think the Bespoke Consortium has a great future. Potentially.’
‘Yeah,’ came the ragged reply as with whoops and applause they showed their approval. Maddy blushed.
‘Well,’ she said, glancing at Serena for confirmation, ‘can I suggest we take a pee break, grab some more tea or whatever, and then settle ourselves down to thrash out the detail for the next few weeks. We’ve got a lot to do.’
After ten minutes or so, Maddy called the meeting back to order, but, before she could start talking, Jez held up his hand.
‘Maddy,’ he said, standing up. ‘We’ve been having thoughts and first of all, we just all want to express our appreciation to you and Serena for all you’re doing …’ What he said next was drowned in a chorus of whoops and table thumping. When it had died down, he continued: ‘We all wouldn’t have the first clue how to do what you’re doing for us and we can see it’s all really sensible stuff so, to help, we would all like to add a further thirty per cent to the twenty per cent commission you are due on each sale. Basically, if we make sure Bespoke Consortium gets a full half of all the turnover for the next four weeks then that should hopefully help get things a bit more secure.’ At this he sat down again and shyly bowed his head during a further chorus of approval.
‘Jez – all of you –’ said Serena, ‘that’s just amazing, but that basically means most of you’ll just be working for your materials with no profit at all for your time. Are you sure?’
All heads around the table nodded vociferously, other than Zach, who sat, taking in the scene calmly, with a considering expression.
‘That’s just amazing,’ said Maddy, touched to the point of tears. To hide it she had to turn her back to compose herself, clattering around with the teacups by the sink until she could face them all with a smile.
After that, the real work began. Flora piped up to report on her social media promotion. ‘I’ve got a few thousand followers on Twitter … more on Instagram – we seem to be popular on that. Nice photos, that’s the key …’
‘What do you do with them?’ asked Serena incredulously.
‘I post stuff about the process, for example,’ Flora explained. ‘When Ursula was dying her yarns the other day – goodness it stank,’ she held her nose in demonstration, ‘I did a series of posts on it. They got a really good response, actually. Obviously I was including links to the website …’
‘Last Tuesday?’ said Maddy.
Flora nodded.
‘You’re amazing,’ she said, in genuine awe. ‘The website figures show a spike; I was wondering what it was.’
‘There you go,’ said Serena, laughing. ‘I frankly have no idea what you’re both talking about, but it sounds great to me.’
‘Moving on,’ said Maddy, glancing at the clock, and knowing how much more they had to do, ‘this kitchen is campaign headquarters,’ she said, noticing Giles was looking a little alarmed, ‘so by the end of the week we are going to have a whiteboard here’ – she pointed at the wall by the door – ‘charting our sales along with the sum we absolutely have to achieve, without fail. That way, we will all know at a glance whether we are succeeding or … erm … not.’
‘The brochures are our key marketing tool,’ went on Maddy, pleased to see they were being so closely examined and widely admired. ‘We’ve printed about five thousand of them.’ There were wolf whistles at that, but she went on. ‘It may seem a lot but it’s actually quite a small amount,’ she explained. ‘We have a mailing list and we need to get them out really soon. The rest will just be on our stalls whenever we are out and about.’
‘And that,’ said Serena, ‘is pretty much it for Christmas sales so – fingers crossed – we will be packing up an awful lot of orders on this kitchen table over the next couple of weeks.’
Giles looked even more unhappy at that, but manfully hid his dismay by putting the kettle on again and gathering up dirty crockery for the dishwasher.
For the envelope stuffing, Zach came into his own and Maddy watched, impressed at his natural air of authority, as he organised the rabble into a production line, and the finished envelopes were soon accumulating in teetering piles.
She was annoyed with herself that they had had to resort to first-class stamps rather than second class. They really would be lucky to get in enough revenue to move forward. She slumped wearily at the table, bowed down with the size of the task. The rest of them seemed quite merry, which simply meant she had failed to impress on them how tough things were looking.
‘Here,’ came a deep voice, making her jump, as a plate with a large slice of Victoria sponge and a fresh mug of tea arrived in front of her. ‘You did a good job of talking while we ate,’ said Zach. ‘Now you need to catch up. I don’t suppose you’ve had any supper.’
Nor any lunch, thought Maddy, but didn’t say.
‘Thanks,’ she said, wondering how she could disown it without him noticing. ‘I’d love to see your stuff,’ she said.
‘Wait ’til the new year,’ said Zach. ‘It looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you until then.’
Maddy felt another pang of regret. If she took up Simon’s offer, she would be gone by then. Even if she was still working for the Bespoke Consortium somehow, that sort of work would all be done by Serena.
‘I’ll see you at the Development Committee meeting,’ added Zach, and then he was gone.
One by one, predictably, people made their excuses and left.
Wearily, Serena, Flora and Maddy plodded on, with a fresh pot of tea to sustain them.
Flora was happily sticking Christmas stamps onto the envelopes, taking the time to choose a design for each one, which wasn’t ideal in terms of speed and – with discussions of the Bespoke Consortium at an end – Maddy brought up her conversation with Freddie from the printers.
‘Lovely Freddie!’ Flora exclaimed. ‘I don’t remember him being there that night, though – was he really?’
‘He was,’ said Maddy. ‘And he saw Kevin spike my drink.’
‘The little shit. I knew it …’ exclaimed Serena.
‘But we kind of all knew that, anyway,’ blurted Flora.
‘We did?’ said Maddy.
‘Why were the police not called?’ Serena went on. ‘It beggars belief. Flora, did everyone really know that’s what he did?’
Flora looked uncomfortable. ‘OK, well we didn’t “know” know … It was a rumour. The next day, people were saying that he had been bragging he’d done it that night, but no one was sure whether to believe him. He shut up quickly enough when we heard Maddy was hurt and anyway he was always saying stuff like that, wanting attention … When I put Maddy to bed,’ she explained to Serena, ‘I thought she’d just had too much to drink. I never suspected. I’d never have lef
t her if I’d known …’ Her chin crumpled as she remembered. ‘I’m so sorry, Mads,’ she said. ‘It was – like – sooo awful! I never liked that Kevin. Even though,’ she reflected, ‘actually, I pretty much like everyone. But not him. He’s a creep.’
‘Okay, so I don’t understand why the hospital didn’t call the police,’ persisted Serena.
‘They didn’t know a crime had been committed, I suppose,’ said Maddy. ‘They didn’t even test my blood, so that opportunity to gather evidence was missed. They were too busy patching me up. I do remember this doctor guy asking me at one point whether I had taken anything, but I said “no” so I suppose they just assumed I was lying and imagined they were doing me a favour by letting it drop.’
‘Your mum must have been wanting an investigation, though?’
‘Ah, well, that was the funny thing,’ said Maddy, thinking back. ‘Mum came storming into the hospital like the wrath of God, determined to sweep me up and take me home, practically before they’d even set my leg. By the time I was making sense of things for myself, she’d been persuaded by the college principal that it was a case of least said soonest mended. Basically, I’m sure he just didn’t want the college dragged into any reputational damage.’
‘But what about when you got back to college?’ insisted Serena. ‘Even if your mum … Surely when you got back …’
‘I never did get back to college. Mum suggested I come straight home – just to recuperate, or at least that was the initial idea – but I never went back …’
‘We packed up your room for you at the end of that term,’ Flora said. ‘Your mum came down to help. She was nice. She was quite cross with Patrick,’ she added. ‘I remember that. We had to break into your room to get your stuff. We had to break the door down, literally …’ she looked awed at the memory. ‘Actually, it wasn’t us it was the caretaker guy – what’s-his-name, Andy?’
‘But why didn’t you just get a key from the warden?’
Flora sighed. ‘No, obviously we got the warden to unlock the door,’ she explained. ‘But because you had bolted it from the inside, we still couldn’t get it open.’
‘It was locked on the inside?’ said Serena sharply.
‘Yeah, course,’ said Flora. ‘Maddy did it herself. When I put her to bed that night she was going on about people getting in. She had this idea that someone wanted to get into her room and so I told her to lock it and bolt it after I’d gone. I heard her do it before I left.’
‘So,’ said Serena, looking at Maddy, ‘no one got into your room that night, did they? Not if the door was still bolted.’
Maddy stared into space. ‘True,’ she said.
‘So that revolting Kevin can shut the hell up about his nasty insinuations and suggestions,’ said Serena. ‘Whatever caused you to get up and go out of your window that night,’ she went on, ‘we now know there wasn’t anyone in your room but you after Flora saw you safely home.’
By the time they finished all the envelopes Flora had fallen asleep on the table, her head on her arms, mouth slightly open and snoring sweetly like a child. Wearily Maddy and Serena shuffled the last pile together to wedge them in yet another cardboard box. Maddy glanced at the clock as she carried the first one out to the car. It was nearly one in the morning. Maybe she would be too tired to dream, she thought as she made her way to the Grainstore, unsteady with fatigue. The night sky was clear and the stars so bright she took a moment to tip back her head and admire their clarity. It made her head spin. She would miss this in London where the skies were never truly dark.
As she arrived in Havenbury Magna the thick, purply-grey cloud rolling in from the sea threatened snow.
The ‘one hour only’ parking slots near the post office were taken by Christmas shoppers so, cursing mildly, she drove into the car park at the bottom of town. The boxes were an awkward size. It was going to take ages one box at a time, and her ankle was going to hate it. Grabbing the first and balancing it while she tried to close the boot, she cursed again.
‘What poetic language,’ came an amused male voice, as she dropped the box on the floor. ‘May I?’ Ben leant down and picked it up effortlessly, balancing it on one arm and reaching into the boot for another. ‘Need a hand?’
‘Breakfast?’ suggested Ben as they handed over the final box to a surly post office worker behind a heavy metal grille.
‘Dunno about breakfast,’ said Maddy, ‘but I could seriously do with a latte.’
‘You need to eat,’ said Ben, giving her a piercing look. ‘You’re losing weight. Quite a bit, I’d say.’
She made a non-committal noise because he was right and she didn’t want to admit it. She looked at her watch. ‘Ah, can’t do it, I’m afraid,’ she said with false regret. ‘I only put twenty minutes on the car.’
‘Easily sorted,’ said Ben. ‘Come on.’ He grabbed her arm and marched her back to the car park. ‘Hurry up. I’m starving, even if you’re not.’
Even as he was walking he was excavating his pockets for change and quickly shoved in a random handful before pressing the button for a ticket. ‘That’ll do,’ he said, handing it to her without looking at it.
In no time at all, she was ensconced in one of the window seats in the trattoria while Ben sorted out some food. She was soon glowing and drowsy with the warmth and with the soothing hum of chatter, interspersed with the whoosh and crackle of the coffee machine. He plonked a huge latte in front of her and sat next to her, his long, muscular thigh pressed up against hers on the cramped bench, athough she noticed, depressed, that he did his best to edge away as far as he could.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen you for days; what gives?’
‘Quite a bit, as it happens,’ she replied. By the time she had brought Ben up to speed with the latest revelations from Freddie and then from Flora, his light mood had completely passed.
‘This is huge,’ he said.
‘It is?’ asked Maddy. ‘I mean, yes, it is.’
‘Of course it is,’ he said, running his hands through his hair, in a gesture she was getting to know so well. He thought intensely for a moment. ‘It’s significant, Maddy. Not least because – even three years on – surely Freddie’s and Flora’s testimonies now fill in the gaps in your memory almost completely? Where before you had these emotional memories – the abstract terror and pain – now you have facts to tie them to, don’t you?’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, here’s the narrative, I suggest; you went out drinking, your drink was spiked with God knows what – LSD you say? – I think, on some level, you must have known that Kevin had done something to harm you, which explains why being around him makes you so nervous. Anyhow, you went back to college that night, Flora put you to bed, critically you locked your door from the inside. That means you know that when you woke up and decided to jump out of the window, you must have been alone. Your fear and paranoia, your sense that you were being pursued? Totally explainable by the drink spiking. Monsters under the bed, and all that …’
He looked at her, waiting for her to register her acceptance.
‘Okay.’
‘So,’ he said, ‘you broke your leg, you probably knocked yourself out, you came round, crawled about a bit and then you were found and – well – you know what happened from there, don’t you?’
‘It’s horrible,’ said Maddy.
‘Yeah, it is. It really is,’ he squeezed her arm reassuringly, ‘but it’s a “known” now. No more gaps, no more nameless terrors.’
She thought. He was right.
‘So, now it’s all out there, will my nightmares and panic attacks stop?’
His face clouded. ‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘Not without help because your fear response is so entrenched now. Here’s a thought,’ he said at last, swivelling to face her. ‘If you can bear me playing the psychologist again.’
‘Go on.’
‘Given that we now know, objectively, that Kevin is a sad, sorry, inadequate little runt who is angry
at the world because he is ignored by those he seeks to impress,’ he said, pausing for agreement, which Maddy gave with another nod. ‘You can challenge your thinking. Why – actually – is it that Kevin frightens you so?’
She shrugged.
‘Is it worth considering that your fear, which is undoubtedly terrifying but is without form, and without – perhaps – literal reason,’ he paused, raising his eyebrows, ‘has somehow been attached to the really not terribly impressive Kevin as a way for your mind to give it a hook to hang itself on.’
‘He did spike my drink, though,’ said Maddy. ‘We know that now.’
‘Yeah, but overwhelming, ongoing, paralysing terror? The drink spiking was the random act of a pathetic little creep, who, realistically, you could pick up and tuck under your arm, should you so wish …’ said Ben. He paused. ‘Just a thought.’
‘Is that – like – a psychology trick?’ hazarded Maddy.
‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘A little bit.’ He paused, gauging her reactions. ‘I want to speak to Duncan about it,’ he said. ‘Will you let me?’
‘Yeees …’ said Maddy. ‘Why?’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘basically, you’re going to need some more help and I’m just not able to do it. There are ethical issues. But Duncan has agreed to take you on. It’s legit. He’ll write to your GP and everything.’
‘But,’ Maddy’s chin wobbled, and she pressed her hands to her face, furious with herself. She loathed how just thinking about all this made her break down and cry. ‘I don’t think I can bear to talk to anyone else about it. I just want you …’ She wiped away a tear and hung her head. ‘God, I hate all this,’ she muttered.
‘How’s your sleep?’ he asked gently. ‘Rubbish,’ he answered for himself, looking at the deep, dark circles under her eyes. ‘And your anxiety levels?’ he added, noting the trembling in her hands.