‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ I say, with an apologetic nod, before trying to look busy pressing some keys in hope that she won’t try and persuade me.
‘Not one superhero movie in the ten years I’ve known you. Whatever will it take to bring you over to the dark side? Are Jess and I too nerdy for you? Can you not be seen out in public with us geeks?’ Hope says, mock pouting and wiggling her eyebrows my way. She knows this isn’t true. They are two of my favourite people and were a godsend in my life when I went to college.
I can feel a trickle of sweat on my top lip and pray that Hope hasn’t noticed that too.
‘You know how much I love you, both of you,’ I say forcing a causal laugh. ‘But Eddie has an appointment,’ I blurt out. For someone who once loved spending every day on other planets and using every bit of their imagination, I’m horrified by my lame excuse and cross my fingers under my desk hoping that Hope somehow buys it. She looks up at me over her laptop with a smirk on her face.
‘Should I be worried about you, Scarlett?’ she asks, the smirk fading slightly as a look of concern flashes across her kind features.
‘Why would you need to be worried about me?’ I ask, turning away and trying to focus on an email from Billy in horoscopes.
‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m just trying to think of all the possible reasons or events that would require a goldfish to have an appointment and I’m struggling to think of one,’ she says, waving a hand in the air casually, her lips curving into a grin again. If I wasn’t sweating under the pressure of getting out of movie night, I would probably be laughing right now too at the absurdity of what I just said, but there’s no turning back.
‘Oh, it’s OK, just a general check-up. Now, stop distracting me. We’ve got work to do if we’re going to save this magazine,’ I reply with confidence.
Hope hesitates for a moment, as if assessing me, then she gets right back to typing away at her laptop. My shoulders relax a couple of inches from my ears and inwardly I sigh with relief.
If I’m going to score the Christmas fair project and come up with a plan to save The Village Gazette I can’t lose focus and be out watching superhero movies. I love Hope and I can’t let all the work she has done here at the magazine be for nothing and see her dream fade, because leaving your best friend to go into battle alone is not something that I would ever consider doing.
2
The office is now deserted. The hum of the photocopier silent. The shuffling of paper has settled and only the odd creak of the old and rickety pipes can be heard as we walk down the stairs. It had been a super busy day, especially once Hope had informed everyone of the status of the magazine, minus the scary detail that we were on an incredibly tight schedule for a miracle to happen, but she hadn’t wanted them to fret over losing their jobs so close to the holidays. I had been answering questions with unwavering positivity and was so busy listening to people’s comments and views that I didn’t even get chance to nip out for mine and Hope’s usual lunchtime treat and afternoon coffee.
‘I’m proud of us for getting through the afternoon without our afternoon pick-me-up.’ I grin at Hope. It’s just gone five-thirty and we’re finally stepping out of the office and into the December evening. Our building sits around the edge of the village square so from my office window I can see the shops below: Mrs May’s Sweet Shop, Duncan’s Hairdressing, the post office, the library, Jenny’s Boutique, Kelly’s Pizzeria and the grocery stall. I have everything I could ever need around me.
The grass circle that stands in the centre of the square has to be my favourite part. With its gazebos and benches and decorations to match each season, I never tire from looking at it. Right now they are busy building and constructing the Christmas spectacle. It will soon be home to the most extravagant Christmas tree and lights will be strung up everywhere. I can’t help grinning as I gaze over at it while Hope locks up. It is also wonderfully convenient that my walk to and from work requires us to go past Mr and Mrs Rolph’s bakery, especially when Hope and I are having a little get-together, albeit the working kind. It certainly helps to have chocolate.
Rolphs’ Bakery has been a staple in Springhollow since 1947 when Mrs Rolph’s parents moved to the village from Italy. They bought an empty shell of a shop, very much a small hole in the wall and at first, they only served the freshest most mouth-watering bread. But as it started to grow, and they built up loyal customers, they began sharing all sorts of Italian delicacies with the village, delicacies that Mable and Jonathan still make to this day with many Springhollow originals of course, what with Mable having been born here and Jonathan’s family being born and raised here too. Jonathan became something of an honorary Italian after marrying Mable and passing the bread-making test. Despite my run-ins with Mrs Rolph when I was a kid, she’s lovely and one of a kind, as is her husband.
‘I think missing out on our treat means we can make up for it now,’ Hope says with an exaggerated wink as she links my arm and we fall into step. I’m not one for watching my weight. I take regular walks and hikes over the weekend and I don’t care for the diet fads and trends that come through via email asking about sponsorship and spots in our magazine, but I am becoming increasingly aware of getting older, mostly thanks to my mum. My body has remained lean since I was a child. Being outdoors all the time – skateboarding and running around, jumping off everything in sight – had done my body good. But my mum likes to remind me that getting older means your body has a mind of its own. Skateboarding used to be my activity of choice, but I gave it up along with most of my childhood joys many moons ago. Plus the idea of being the only twenty-six-year-old shredding makes me feel stupid, and the last hiding place my mum had hidden my skateboard sure was a doozy as I’m yet to find it.
We duck inside the bakery and are greeted with the most heavenly scent of the last few gingerbread men and chocolate-covered doughnuts that look as though they have been waiting in the display case just for us. The small square-shaped shop is simply decorated with family photos hung up on the light cream walls, an old-fashioned wooden counter where an Italian flag and a British one hang proudly from the ceiling above and to the right stands a wooden shelving structure that houses packaged goodies. It’s the cakes and bakes that take centre stage in this place. Mrs Rolph smiles when she looks up from cleaning the empty trays.
‘Evening, Mrs Rolph,’ Hope and I say in unison.
She stops what she’s doing by the big sink and walks over to the counter. ‘Evening, girls, what can I get you?’ she asks sweetly but I can’t respond. My heart feels like it has fallen out of its cage and landed with a thud on the ground and my hair feels like it’s sticking to my hot cheeks. I blink a few times and swat at my face, wondering if I’m dreaming. Behind Mrs Rolph on the bakery wall there is a poster, a poster of a man in red spandex wearing a white cape and gold boots. His brown hair is short and he’s baring a goofy bright smile.
For a ridiculous moment I think he’s the spitting image of Devon Wood, my childhood best friend. I pinch the skin on the back of my hand, fearing I’m hallucinating; it has been a long day. But my skin stings with my pinch and I snap my eyes away and shake my head.