‘We don’t normally do things anonymously,’ I say.
‘I know,’ he replies. ‘But, with this affecting a member of the panel, we need to make sure people feel free to vote for what they want.’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply.
Pieces of paper and pens are handed out, for each of us to write down whether we are for or against Seb’s proposal, but as I write my objection down, I can feel that this isn’t going to go my way.
George collects the pieces of paper, then takes them back to his seat to count them.
‘Based on these votes, the majority would like to support Seb in his business venture,’ George announces.
‘How many people were against?’ I ask curiously.
‘Now, Ivy, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be an anonymous vote, would it?’ he replies, which can only lead me to believe that I was the only person to vote against it.
I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will convince people my shop is worth saving, so I’m just going to have to do it myself. How, I’m not exactly sure.
To the best of my memory, I’ve only really been in trouble once in my life – nearly 20 years ago.
Holly and I were in different ability groups for every subject, apart from art class. This not only meant that we got to sit together for something, but I also got to see my sister in all her rebellious glory.
My mum was always getting letters about my sister, then phone calls, before she was finally was called in for a meeting. In Holly’s defence, she wasn’t bad, she was just…disruptive, and while the rest of the class found her cheeky antics funny, things had got to a point where Holly was on her last warning – one more major disruption, and she would be excluded.
On this particular day, my sister was more preoccupied with flirting with Lee Blake than she was with the silhouettes we were supposed to be painting.
I never liked Lee. I always found him to be really smug and entitled. Like he thought just because he was the ‘coolest’ boy in our year then everyone else should bow down to him. My sister was not only willing to take the knee, but she wanted to be his queen.
I was just sitting and rolling my eyes as they flirted, ignoring the task at hand, until their playful flirting escalated into flicking black paint at each other, which also escalated into black paint being flung across the table, with yours truly being caught in the crossfire.
Ms Evergreen caught wind and came charging over, ready to reprimand the suspects. She had seen Lee throwing paint so he was banged to rights, but his opponent was still unknown.
‘Holly Jones, aren’t you on your final warning?’ she asked angrily.
‘It wasn’t me, Miss,’ Holly insisted, unsuccessfully trying to hide her grin.
‘No? Then who was it?’
I didn’t actually think about what I said, before I said it. It just felt right. ‘It was me, Miss,’ I confessed.
‘You, Ivy?’ she gasped in disbelief. I remember her glancing down at the painting of a willow tree I’d been working so hard on, and looking back up at me. Now that I think about it, it was obvious I’d been working hard all lesson and that Holly, whose paper was suspiciously blank, apart from a few abstract splashes, had not.
‘It was me,’ I said again confidently. This was my first taste of trouble, and while it didn’t feel good, it did feel right, to help out my sister. We’re two halves of the same thing. Her problems are my problems.
I don’t think Ms Evergreen believed me, but she had no choice but to send Lee and me to Isolation (a room where kids were put for extended periods of time to keep them from disrupting lessons). There, we chatted and I guess taking the fall for my sister went a long way to impressing him because from that day on, he thought I was OK. Predictably, being on the receiving end of attention from a cool, good-looking guy resulted in me developing a silly, schoolgirl crush on him. My sister went on to marry him, so all is well that ends well. I’d be mortified if either of them knew that, and it’s safe to say that, post GCSEs, my crush soon died.
The point is, other than that occasion, I’ve never really been in trouble because I’ve never really done anything wrong. I’m just not very good at it – even a harmless little white lie fills me with guilt. That’s why I’ve been staring at my phone for half an hour now, thinking about whether I should do what I’m planning on doing. It feels wrong, but…when Seb first came into the shop, I felt just like I did at school – flattered that someone out of my league was giving me attention, and I don’t ever want to feel like that again. Being so easily flattered doesn’t make for a very good feminist, does it?
Speaking of good feminists, I pick up the phone and dial and, after a few seconds, I am connected with Prue Honeywell, our local MP.
Prue is exactly the kind of person you want speaking for your town, because she really cares about everyone – especially women. And, look, my plan isn’t to lie to her, it’s just to tell her about the kind of man Seb Stone really is.
‘Hello, Ivy,’ she says brightly. ‘How are you?’
Prue and I have spoken on many occasions. I’m one of the first people to help out when it comes to all of her charitable causes for the town.
‘I’m not too bad, thank you. How are you?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she says. ‘Stressed but blessed. What can I do for you today?’
‘It’s about Seb Stone, the man who is hoping to buy the land my shop stands on, to build holiday homes,’ I start. ‘I just…I don’t think he’s right for the town, and I know you have a meeting with him today.’
‘Tell me more,’ she says curiously.
‘Well, he’s been quite underhanded about it all. He came in to scope the place out, without telling me why – and now he’s buying it from under me. He’s obviously a big, important businessman—’ it’s hard to hide the sarcasm from my tone ‘—and it just seems like he has no respect for the place. He’s going to build these modern-looking homes and he thinks he can just do whatever he wants, so long as he smiles and winks while he’s doing it.’
‘He sounds dreadful, based on that character reference,’ Prue agrees. ‘Ivy, if you know one thing about me, it’s that I want what’s best for this town, and I take care of us without taking any stick from men. Let me meet with him this afternoon and, if he’s not right, I’ll make sure he knows it, and I’ll put a stop to this, OK?’
‘OK, great,’ I reply, a wave of relief washing over me.
‘Why don’t you meet me in the deli afterwards, say 3 p.m.? And we can discuss any concerns you still have.’
‘Thank you so much,’ I say, emotion prickling my throat. It’s just nice to feel like someone has my back.
After the call, I shut up shop for the day, which is fine because, until I figure out how I’m going to draw in more customers, it’s not like people will be beating the door down to buy baubles.
With Holly resisting all things festive more defiantly than usual this year, I am trying extra hard to make things special for Chloe and Harry. They don’t have school today because, thanks to a dusting of snow last night, someone skidded off the road and crashed into one of those green boxes that are something to do with the phone lines.
Holly sounded especially stressed to be entertaining the kids today, so I have offered to take them to see Santa Claus – the only Santa in town, at Wilson’s garden centre.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ Holly says,