‘Hey, Willow, no erm no, I’m just here to drop this off for Devon and see if you could give it to him for me,’ I say, rummaging through my backpack to retrieve the soft brown bag.
Willow stops fluttering around her desk plants and eyes me curiously. ‘Do you not want to give it to him yourself?’ she asks before her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink and she hastily adds, ‘I mean of course I can pass it on to him, Scarlett, but it sounds important. I just thought he’d prefer it coming from you.’ There’s a nervous flicker behind Willow’s eyes that suggests she’s worried that she just offended me by being rude, but Willow couldn’t sound rude if she tried. And I’m not offended by her question, just a tad inconvenienced by it; meaning I really don’t want to answer it.
I chuckle and wave my hands to make light of the conversation, to show that it isn’t that important and to put Willow at ease over her anxiety at possibly speaking out of turn. She is a sweetheart and really hadn’t offended me. ‘Erm, no, no. It’s fine. I’ve got to get off to work, so I’d be truly grateful if you could just give it to him, please,’ I say handing her the bag.
‘OK, no problem. I can give it to him when he gets back,’ she says, her worry lines vanishing, a bright smile in place as she takes the bag from me.
‘Oh, he’s not here?’ I ask, unable to hide the curiosity in my tone. Willow is so busy placing the bag safely under the desk that she doesn’t notice or think anything untoward of my query.
‘No, he didn’t check back in over the weekend. I thought he was with you,’ she says standing upright and waving at customers coming down the stairs and into the breakfast room. They have to follow the peg boards to the dining area, which isn’t in use by the documentary crew.
‘Why would you think that?’ I ask. How could the village just expect Devon and I to pick up where we left off when they saw the aftermath of what I became when he left?
‘Because you were always glued together at the hip when we were kids and I know you missed him. I thought you had a lot of catching up to do and you’d just gravitate to each other like you’re supposed to do,’ Willow informs me with her airy grace and a gentle smile as she goes back to fussing over her potted desk daisies.
OK, so I guess some of them did think that, but they are wrong. It can’t be like that for Devon and me anymore. I shake my head. I’m just here to make peace, to say sorry and that’s it. Before I can respond to Willow a lady with her phone hovering between her lips and ear, so I can’t tell if she’s talking to someone or not, appears at my side.
‘Excuse me, did she just say that you and Devon Wood spent the night together?’ The lady is nowhere near as innocent as Willow, as in she’s not innocent at all, her pencilled-on eyebrows move up and down. Willow giggles and sees to helping a customer who is asking about breakfast and I take a step back from the front desk.
‘That would be a no, nope, no way. I have no idea where he is. Nice to meet you.’ I nod and take another step towards the door. The lady follows.
‘But she just said you were glued together? Childhood sweethearts, I take it. Did you do everything together? What do you make of Devon’s shoot to stardom? Do you think he still remembers you?’ With the lady’s barrage of questions, I can feel a dull throb developing under my beanie. She’s adamant about what she overheard and determined to get an answer. I feel like I’m suffocating with my many layers on under her hawk-eyed gaze.
‘No, no I’m not answering your questions. Sorry, not the girl you are looking for,’ I tell her boldly trying to allude to confidence but trip up over the rug as I walk backwards, only stopping when the doorknob digs into my back. I wiggle it to open it but it’s stiff and won’t budge. The lady is closing in on me.
‘We’re doing a documentary on Mr Wood. It would be fascinating to interview his childhood sweetheart; the media will eat that up,’ she says tapping her mobile against her lips, dollar signs in her eyes. What is wrong with this bloody door? I can’t seem to twist it and I feel like the woman is about to gobble me whole. I am having no luck navigating the simple invention of a doorknob behind my back so I whip around, ignoring the lady and make one desperate attempt to pull the knob when a shadow through the frosted glass chooses the exact moment to give the door an almighty push.
The clipboard lady takes a comedic step to the side, like that time I got paired with Ruby when we were doing trust exercises in school and Ruby did the same, allowing me to hit the floor with a hard whack; in fact it’s exactly like that as my elbow greets the wood sending a sharp pain through my arm and I hear a smattering of laughter.
‘Careful now, Scarlett. You always were such a bull in a china shop.’ Ruby looks down at me as she makes her way over to the desk, a smirk on her red lips. ‘Willow, Willow,’ she shouts, ringing the bell. Willow is stood less than a metre away with another customer. I pick myself up off the floor and straighten my beanie. Clipboard lady is looking from me to Ruby and back again, but I can’t quite tell what she’s thinking – her face is neutral. ‘Willow, what room is Devon in? I have some clothes for him.’ I don’t miss Ruby’s quirked eyebrow, sly grin, the fact that her words were aimed more in my direction or the feeling that my stomach has just been put in a dryer on fast spin.
‘Oh, so you’re the one Devon was with last night.’ Clipboard lady doesn’t miss a beat and is next to Ruby in one giant stride. ‘So, are you his childhood sweetheart?’ I can’t help the snort that escapes my lips. Even Willow scoffs and Willow never scoffs. Ruby hesitates for a second at the lady’s assumption and stares at the small case of clothes. I can see her brain ticking over before she puffs out her bosom, flicks her hair back and flashes me a wild grin, more than happy to play along.
‘Ruby – a pleasure to meet you.’ Ruby sticks out her hand, which clipboard lady happily takes; she’s found her golden ticket. I stand on the spot dumbfounded. Ruby just said she had clothes for Devon. That doesn’t mean she spent the night with him, does it?
‘Tell me, miss, have you always been the apple of Mr Wood’s eye or has he got two women after his heart? Is there competition in these parts for Devon?’ the lady asks, almost salivating at the gossip she is about to receive from a clearly willing-to-impart Ruby.
My coffee threatens to make a reappearance as Ruby cackles. ‘Oh, honey, there’s no competition. Men like Devon need a real lady.’
Since when did Ruby think Devon was a real man? In school she thought he was a snotty nerd and didn’t give him the time of day. What had changed her mind now? Oh yeah, Devon’s money, fame and camera crew – that would do it. My supervillain alarm goes off. I don’t care for this lady and I’ve never been Ruby’s number-one fan; together I am fearful of what damage they can do to Devon’s reputation. Ruby just proved that she’s game to whip up lies to get her fifteen minutes of fame, but how far will she take it? And why am I bothered? For all I know Devon spent the night with Ruby. They seemed pretty cosy in the pub on Saturday night. She’s here now with clothes for him and looks like she belongs in his new world. I need to leave and forget about it, all of it.
I send a small smile Willow’s way, ignore Ruby’s comment and step out of the front door. The last thing I hear is ‘Ooh, do we have ourselves a man in demand? Where did the other woman go?’ as I close the door behind me. A shiver runs through me as the frosty air nips at my nose. I haven’t the first clue about social media – I only hear snippets from Hope – but I know celebrity gossip is a big money machine. Is that what is going on here? Did Devon need a juicy headline to help sell his movie? Is that what clipboard lady is trying to find? Is Devon OK with that?