By the time the sky has turned navy my sketchbook is safely stowed away, I’m showered, fed and curled up in my bed, going through my final idea for the Springhollow Christmas fair. Every company gets a stall each year to use as they desire. Our village likes to get creative. Where I work, at The Village Gazette, my boss encourages her employees to get involved to help decide what our stall will be. We each put forth our proposal and then put it to a vote.
I’m the person who has been planning and preparing since the beginning of November, allowing the excitement of the festive season to guide me. I’m feeling confident in my vision for this year, not because I have won the last three years in a row, but because I truly think this is my best idea yet to really bring the community together. With visions of gingerbread and fondant Santas dancing in my head, I place my notebook on my bedside table, glance out of my window and say a prayer for a white Christmas. It’s been a while since we had a white Christmas and a little magic in the air.
*
My alarm clock rings out and when I sit up to hit the button, panic floods through me at the time displayed on the clock. How many times did I press snooze? I jump out of bed, make a dash for the bathroom and shower as hastily as I can, grateful that my short hair doesn’t take up much of my time and thinking it might just have to be a no makeup kind of day. When I get to my wardrobe the efficient speed at which I am moving comes to a standstill as I look over my outfits. One side of my cupboard holds a small selection of awesome flares and vintage and faded tees, while the other is all lace and frills – appropriate workwear according to my mother. My eyes dart back and forth as I graze my hand over a particularly cosy-looking tee that I had purchased online one evening after dinner with my parents. My mum had spent the evening telling me that I should sign up for dance classes to put myself out there more and meet people. The shirt had been my way of rebelling. I have yet to wear it.
‘Arrrgh.’ I let out an agitated groan as I reach for a pink pencil skirt and white daisy print blouse. Rebelling will have to wait for another day. I’m going to be late.
I make it into work with five minutes to spare and make a beeline for my office. Candles are lit, the room is already toasty, satsuma essence is wafting itself around the air and my best friend, Hope, who also happens to be my boss, is already sat behind her desk tapping away at her keyboard with unsurprising alertness at this early hour of eight-fifty-five. When I walk in, she springs up from her chair and closes the door behind me.
‘Scarlett, we have a problem,’ she announces walking over to my vintage charity shop desk that’s on the other side of the room by the window. I stop pulling out my laptop from my bag and look to her so she can elaborate, but she’s taking her time, chewing her nails. Her eyes are wide behind her giant spectacles, which finish off her signature hipster meets casual businesswoman look. Her cropped linen trousers and loosely fitted white tee look super chic but she isn’t exuding her usual girl boss demeanour.
I don’t like being kept in the dark or when people build up to bad news; I’d rather they just spit it out and get it over with before my mind runs away from me with all sorts of horrible possibilities. I immediately start thinking about Hope’s mum and dad. They were healthy and happy last time I saw them, as was Jess, my other best friend. ‘Hope, what is it?’ I ask urgently.
‘I’ve been trying to figure it out myself for some time but we’re struggling, Scarlett. The magazine is struggling. With so much information online these days people aren’t buying it. Even some of the villagers have cancelled their subscriptions and I don’t know what to do, so I need all hands on deck. I need everyone’s ideas, including yours,’ she tells me, squeezing her hands together in a prayer-like position. I visibly let out a breath.
‘Jeez, Hope, I thought something had happened to Jess,’ I say and continue with my typical routine of switching on my laptop and getting comfortable at my desk.
‘I didn’t say anything had happened to Jess,’ she says shaking her head at me, her brow furrowed. ‘Scarlett, this is just as serious. I love this place; we can’t lose it. It’s not the same reading things on your phone – people need print. I’m panicking a little, but you can’t tell anyone out there. We can keep up the positivity, but encourage new input,’ she adds, pointing towards the door and to the office floor. ‘We have some time to salvage this thing, but I’m aiming for a solid plan that can take us into the New Year.’
‘Don’t panic, of course I won’t tell anyone you’re worried. We will save it. The villagers won’t want to see it crumble; they love this place too much, even if some of them have forgotten. We’ll think of something. Why don’t you come to mine tonight and we can put our heads together?’ I suggest. It was never my dream to work at The Village Gazette but it’s Hope’s dream and she has done so much for this magazine as well as making my working here a hell of a lot better than it used to be. As far as jobs go, it isn’t bad. I’d hate to think of what my mum would make me do if this place fell through. I like my job being Hope’s assistant. I get to work with my best friend. Who wouldn’t want that? But at one point in time I was a little girl who dared to dream, and that dream didn’t include copy-editing, organising schedules and doing general assistant work.
Springhollow being such a small village, Hope and I had applied to work at the magazine right out of college at the ripe old age of eighteen. Hope had always dreamt of being a journalist and overseeing the magazine one day, whereas I loved spending time with Hope and thought maybe a job at our village’s only magazine would appease both my creative aspirations and my mother. I could focus on sophisticated pieces of writing, report the news and leave my silly dreams to professionals more suited to it than me. However, my previous boss didn’t quite take to my writing style, for some reason. I tended to add my own twist and inspiration when it came to facts and what was going on in our small village; that may have included the odd alien or magic power.
Giving me the top stories or putting me out in the field was not on his agenda. I was better suited to making coffee and seeing to it that the photocopier never ran out of toner, is what I was told. I take a deep breath and open up my emails. It’s better these days, I’ve gotten used to organising meetings, scheduling appointments and helping Hope assign writers to their suited articles.
Since landing our jobs here at The Village Gazette, Hope has worked her way up from editing other people’s articles to becoming a manager, and she is a businesswoman to be reckoned with. I on the other hand have remained the coffee runner, only now I’m getting to do it for Hope and not Alfred, an older man who always wore a grey suit to match his grey hair, and didn’t much care for my creative flair. So really, I could take that as a win, maybe even say it was somewhat of a promotion, right?
‘Thanks, Scarlett. You’re the best. We’re just like Clark and Lois working at the Daily Planet,’ Hope says as she goes to sit down. I choke on the strong scent of satsuma and feign a smile, but I’m happy to be of service and to see that she’s smiling now. That’s what best friends are for.
‘Speaking of superheroes, will you come and watch the new DC movie with me tomorrow night? Jess was going to come but he can’t make it now – he has to attend his office’s Christmas do until late,’ Hope says looking up from her screen. Usually the minute the clock strikes nine she turns into business Hope until lunchtime. She must be feeling shaken by the possibility of the magazine closing, given the fact she is still talking to me at nine-thirteen. I’m determined to help her save it. At her question, I scrunch up my nose and try to compose my words gently, so as to not let her down.