45
Holly returned to Willowbury feeling more than a little bit confused. How could it be that, while her heart was still breaking, she felt so elated by the coverage from the demonstration? Although the media attention had, at first, been unsettling, she saw it as shining a much-needed light on a very important issue, and she was pleased that, through the media, she’d been able to reach out to so many people. What Charlie had been unable to accomplish, perhaps she and the other campaigners, through more grass-roots action, could achieve.
As she let herself back into her flat that evening, she allowed herself another quick search of Twitter to see if there were any more developments on the case. Alongside the usual hashtags, and the cringe-inducing #GreenGoddess one, she noticed a couple of links to a story on one of the more sensationalist so-called news websites, AllFeed. With growing incredulity, she read the story, heart thumping faster and faster as she took in the full extent of it.
‘What the hell…?’ she murmured. She saw the same blurred photographs, obviously pinched from some tourist’s Instagram feed, and felt a rising sense of horror and outrage. How dare they say those things about her and Charlie? Damsel in distress, indeed! The thought of selling herself to Charlie in exchange for his political help was sickening and would do absolutely no good for the CF medication campaign.
Re-reading it carefully, to be absolutely sure she wasn’t misunderstanding anything, she wondered, finally, who the ‘concerned source’ had been. Could they even get away with printing something like this uncorroborated? Even in these days of so-called ‘Fake News’?
She sat down in her armchair, head spinning, and not just because she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. What should her next move be? A small voice told her to call Charlie; they needed to talk about the full implications of a story like this, for both of them. But what, reasonably, could they do? A denial would just fan the flames, and they’d split up anyway, so it wouldn’t bring them back together. But who else could she talk to? Rachel would just tell her to laugh it off, to forget about it; it was a non-news story. But it damaged her credibility, as a woman, a campaigner and a business owner. She had to find out who’d fed AllFeed the story and she needed to do something about it. But how could she?
While she was mulling all this over, her phone pinged with a message. Heart thumping, she swiped the screen. She’d deleted Charlie’s number from her phone when they’d had their last face-to-face conversation, so for a moment she didn’t realise the message was from him, but as she read it, there was no doubt.
I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but I think we need to talk. Are you at home?
She sighed. He was right, of course, but that didn’t make the prospect of it any easier. And after two full on days in London, she really couldn’t face seeing him tonight. Should she reply, or just ignore the text? With some messaging apps, it was possible to see if someone had opened a message, but, thankfully, Charlie had sent her an old-fashioned text message so he had no way of knowing if she’d read it or not. That, at least, gave her a few minutes to think about how best to respond.
But what was the point? It wasn’t as if they were going to go on record and respond to what was, essentially a Fake News story, fed to a scurrilous news website to discredit them both. Getting together to talk and agonise about that wouldn’t make a scrap of difference. And, actually, seeing Charlie would be far too painful.
Before she could think twice about it, and to make sure that he didn’t just rock up at her door, she sent him back a swift response.
Not much to say, really. Better to just ignore it and get on with things. Nothing we can do.
As she sent it, she knew she was avoiding another confrontation, but she also knew it was far better for her own mental health to put some distance between herself and Charlie. And it was definitely better for them both not to be seen together.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ she called as Arthur came strolling through his cat flap and jumped onto her lap. ‘I hope Isabella remembered to feed you before she shut up shop tonight.’ Since he didn’t seem to be complaining for his dinner, Holly assumed that was the case.
Leaning back in the armchair, she soon found herself becoming drowsy. As she drifted off, she was assailed by dreams of herself as a medieval maiden in a long, flowing yellow dress, and Charlie as some kind of Black Knight, flinging her over the rump of his horse and absconding with her. If the AllFeed news story hadn’t been so offensive, the dream would almost have been funny.
The next morning, it was a relief to open the door to her shop and get back to being the retailer she was by trade. So much of her attention had been distracted by Charlie, and the CF campaign lately, that she was losing sight of the passion that had driven her to open ComIncense in the first place. This place, and her family, were all that mattered. It was about time she focused on them. Harry seemed to be doing fine and she was looking forward to catching up with him one evening this week.
The morning was beautifully quiet and sunny, so Holly busied herself in tidying up a few of the shelves, rearranging the altar candles into a more regular pattern, instead of the slightly random configuration that had grown organically as the range in one corner of the shop had expanded. She smiled sadly as she remembered selling the beeswax ones to the hesitant new Pagan, and Charlie’s suggestively raised eyebrow as she’d wrapped them. She’d loved his slightly schoolboy sense of the naughty.
She had a look at the apothecary’s jars behind the counter, too, and made a note of which ones needed reordering. The lavender needed a top-up, and, so did the heartsease. She wasn’t sure what would ease her heart, though, no matter how busy she kept herself.
As she turned away to her notebook again to add it to the reorder list, she didn’t notice someone coming through the front door of the shop. In fact, he made it all the way to the counter before she realised. Glancing up, she blinked in shock, then composed her face into a more welcoming smile.
‘Oh hi,’ she said quickly. ‘You startled me. I was just sorting out some order notes.’
‘Sorry,’ Tom Fielding smiled tightly but apologetically. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d find you here today. Didn’t know if the demonstration was still going on.’
‘No, not until next month now,’ Holly replied. ‘And I do have a business to run.’
‘Of course.’ He paused. ‘Have you spoken to our mutual friend?’
Holly felt her cheeks start to burn as she shook her head. ‘I thought it would be better to put some distance between ourselves and that crappy news story. And, as far as anything else is concerned, there’s not really a lot to say now, is there?’
‘He really is very sorry, Holly,’ Tom said quietly. ‘He knows that, in your eyes, and the eyes of pretty much everyone else, he’s acted reprehensibly. But you must understand that he had some quite significant pressure put on him from a higher power. He might have been a researcher for most of his career, but it didn’t quite prepare him for the machinations of Westminster life as an MP.’
‘So, someone put pressure on him. What about his principles, his beliefs? He told me he would help us.’