‘Thanks, Mrs Rolph,’ Hope says cheerfully as the old lady places our box on the counter. Hope must have ordered while I was busy having an internal panic attack. I nod my head and pretend to tip my non-existent hat and mutter a thank you when Mrs Rolph narrows her eyes at me. Then a warm smile spreads across her face as she turns around to look at the poster and then back to me.
‘Have you not seen it yet, Scarlett dear?’ Mrs Rolph says.
‘Seen what?’ I retort. ‘Let me help you with that box, Hope. I’ve got it,’ I add, fumbling to take the box out of Hope’s more stable and secure grip, while taking a few steps back.
‘Our village has its very own superhero,’ Mrs Rolph answers, causing Hope to squeal with glee and me to hiccup in horror at her confirmation that the man on the poster was not just an uncanny lookalike but Devon himself. Shoot, so he did it, he really did it; he became an actor. Well good for him. I try to get my face to display a cool, relaxed, unbothered look but can’t be sure I’m nailing it because my eyebrows feel very close to my hairline and my cheeks are heating by the second.
‘Oh, Mrs Rolph, that movie looks amazing. I can’t believe I live in the same village where Devon Wood grew up. Did you know that this movie is his big break? He’s been relatively unknown until now. How lovely is that; to get your big break in a comic book franchise? Did you know him, Mrs Rolph? I’m going to see it on Wednesday night. I’ve been trying to get Scarlett to come with me but she’s no fun,’ Hope tells Mrs Rolph with all the excitement of my twelve-year-old self, but I have no time to get lost in what once was. We need to get out of here quick. Hope knows nothing of my vigilante days or of my childhood with Devon and I’d very much like to keep it that way.
‘Know him, the whole town knew him. Mind you I do hope he has grown up a touch and stayed out of trouble. He was always up to no good with this—’ Mrs Rolph starts to regale us with a mix of pride and distain.
‘Would you look at the time. Phew, it’s getting late and we have so much to think about and plan, what with the Christmas fair and saving the magazine,’ I blurt out while shooting Mrs Rolph an offended look. Devon and I were not always getting into trouble, getting into casts and hospital beds was more like it while trying to hone our skills in order to save the people of Springhollow from impending danger. With my words Mrs Rolph’s face softens and her wrinkles deepen.
‘What did you say about saving the magazine? Is it in trouble? Johnathan and I are happy subscribers; we’d hate to see it struggling, Hope,’ she says and I realise in my freaked-out state I just put my foot in it and let slip about the magazine’s possible demise, though my words have effectively distracted her from memory lane. I continue backing towards the door bowing with the box, needing to escape before I do further damage. Hope is looking at me with a befuddled look on her face.
‘No, don’t be silly. It’s in no trouble. How can it be in trouble with Hope at the helm? But be sure to keep subscribing. Please pass on our love to Mr Rolph and thank you for the treats,’ I say and push open the door, allowing the cool wind to chill my heated cheeks.
‘Thank you, Mrs Rolph, and please don’t worry about us. It’s just been a long day,’ Hope shouts after me as she walks through the door. She links my arm again in hers and doesn’t speak for a moment. We really do have so much to think about tonight. I wasn’t lying when I said we have tons to plan. With only two weeks until the Christmas fair, I need to bring my idea to Hope. I don’t want to think about the poster and what it means but it seems Hope has other ideas.
‘I truly can’t believe I’m friends with someone who hates superheroes and can’t keep a secret.’ Hope chuckles and tugs at my elbow as we turn onto my street. I shiver with a mixture of guilt and the frosty air. ‘Can you believe Mrs Rolph knew that guy? Did you know him growing up?’ Hope adds. I think I may have left my heart on the floor in the bakery, for where there should be a rhythm of healthy beats there is only a hollow feeling and a complete sense of dread about lying again to my best friend.
‘I can keep a secret just fine and she’s none the wiser about the magazine. I recovered,’ I say, crossing my toes and hoping that’s true, and that Mrs Rolph will not spread any rumours about the magazine, which would only put more pressure on Hope. ‘And err, nope, no, no not really. Our paths never crossed; he was one of the popular kids at school.’ My eye twitches. I try a casual shrug to loosen my shoulders. Devon was far from popular; he was a nerd just like I had been.
‘You know I was thinking,’ I start as I open my gate and walk up my path, really wanting to enjoy the evening with my best friend and not talk about village heroes, ‘that we should use this year’s Christmas fair as a way of raising money for the magazine. Maybe we split the sales of a raffle or think of a fun way of enticing people to subscribe again. We could maybe even get some ideas going in the build-up, have some festive activities going on before it. I haven’t quite sussed it all out in my head yet, but things are brewing and that way if we keep things fun the villagers don’t necessarily need to know about us struggling,’ I say with a smile, genuinely getting excited. Tying the fair and saving the magazine together might alleviate some of the pressure. Christmas is my favourite time of year. I love the Christmas fair because it is the one time of year when my creativity is actually needed, and I can indulge in all the crafts my heart desires away from my cramped and secret spare room.
For the past three years Hope has let me oversee our stall at the Springhollow fair and once the paint, glitter, sweets, and fondant come out, I’m a different person, like a fire has been lit in my belly. I can make this work.
‘That sounds great,’ Hope says matching my excitement as we enter the warmth of my house and shiver out of our boots and jackets. ‘I can’t wait. You always come up with the most crafty, bespoke and festive ideas. Sometimes I feel your talent is wasted being my personal assistant. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer being an artist, craftsperson, or something?’ Hope’s face suddenly goes from cheerful to sombre as she thinks about my career choices. She says this every Christmas and every year it makes me blink nervously.
‘Don’t be silly. This year will be the best year yet and the most important,’ I say chirpily and hurriedly changing the subject from where my talents lie. I don’t enjoy conversations about careers. While I appreciate that Hope sees and likes my crafts when it comes to the holidays, the “what do you want to be when you grow up” discussions only bring back hurtful memories, as I heard it enough from my mum when I was younger. Apparently, girls don’t write comic books or spend their time drawing aliens and otherworldly creatures. They needed proper jobs.
My plans of leaving school at sixteen and becoming an illustrator had been well and truly flattened when I broke my arm, fractured my hand and Devon had left. I was angry. I boxed up every toy, every pencil, every remnant from our childhood and spent the Christmas moping around in my pyjamas, going to hospital appointments and rowing with my mum. I didn’t want to do anything and totally failed my GCSEs as a result. I had no plans to go to college, not without Devon by my side, but my mother had other ideas. If I didn’t go to college and retake my Maths and English, I would be required to work with my mum at the hair salon. I went to college.