‘Oh, you rescue rhino’s, do you? That’s so brave, so, so visionary!’
‘Dogs.’
‘Dogs?’
‘I foster rescued dogs, street dogs, well I don’t actually go and rescue them myself, I help rehabilitate them and foster. I do have an actual job as well you know, I can’t just go racing off round the world.’ Although right now, that might be an idea. In fact it could be quite a good idea. I must make a mental note to think about this one later.
‘Oh. Like woof-woof dogs?’ She looks at me blankly, as though a rhino is every day, but a dog is harder to comprehend.
‘Like Stanley!’ I point to Stanley, whose sleeping on his back routine was a ruse so that I wouldn’t notice him sneak off. He is now skulking under a table with what looks like a turkey leg in his mouth.
‘What is it?’
‘Erm, a dog.’ Surely, she’s not so fixated on safari animals that she can’t recognise a dog?
‘What type?’
‘Stanley is a street dog.’ I say proudly. ‘From Spain. I think. He had fleas, ticks, mange and worms!’
‘Oh.’ She stares, then wrinkles her nose. ‘Have you thought about having him groomed? My mother takes her dog every week.’ She looks at me, horror dawning and takes a step back. ‘You don’t have fleas, do you? I’m allergic.’
‘No! He was sorted when I met him. But I have helped rehabilitate him!’
‘Maybe not a very good example.’ Says Ollie, with a twitch of smile.
‘Part rehabilitated. He’s a work in progress.’
‘So, no rhino’s then? Tigers?’ Juliet says hopefully.
‘They wouldn’t fit in my flat.’ I point out.
‘No garden I suppose.’ Says Ollie, and I’m not sure if he’s taking the piss out of me, or Juliet, or being serious.
‘Very small balcony. There would be health and safety issues. Ha-ha!’ I wish I could stop laughing nervously but being shoved in front of Ollie seems to have that effect on me. I’m perfectly normal in other company. Just not Christmas party company.
‘So, you still live here?’ Juliet sounds incredulous. She sips her drink delicately and I resist the urge to neck mine. I am well aware that my life is pretty crap at the moment, but ten minutes in the company of this pair and I feel worse than ever.
‘Yep.’
‘Ah,’ she looks as though she’s struggling for something to say, then suddenly smiles triumphantly, ‘so you play polo! Everybody does, don’t they in the countryside! My step-brother lives in Cheshire, plays polo all the time, so exciting!’ As she is excited it seems a shame to disappoint her.
‘Oh yes, polo! Great! All that galloping, hot men, chasing a ball! Yes, of course I play, ha-ha! Definitely.’
Ollie raises an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you have been busy, I thought you hated horses.’
‘Hated horses? Me? Never!’
‘I’ll have to challenge you to a chukka or two next time we’re up this way then.’
‘Splendid.’ What the hell is chucking?
‘My brother plays in Argentina a lot, do you?’
‘Oh no, no, not enough time. Dogs to rescue! Oh sorry, phone buzzing! You know what it’s like, all work no play when you’re a journalist!’ It isn’t, well not here. Unless there’s been a mass food poisoning incident and half the village have been rushed to hospital. But I cannot take this much longer. Just hearing about fabulous Ollie and his fabulous life has been bad enough in previous years, but actually being in the same room as him and his silly girlfriend is making me want to scream. Or run away and hide in a corner. With a book. A book never lets you down, a good book, bad book, any book, I don’t care.
I’m just about to dash off, when there’s a shriek.
‘Oh my God, Maisie!’ For a moment, I think Juliet is about to collapse, her hand is on my arm, she’s grasping, long polished nails sticking in. I stare down, slightly aghast. It’s a bit like being grabbed by a bird of prey wearing nail varnish.
‘Daisy.’ I say it automatically.
‘My God!’ She clasps her throat melodramatically. ‘How absolutely awful.’ She flashes her mobile in front of my face, then waves it in front of Ollie’s.
His reactions are quicker than mine. He grabs her wrist, so that the phone stills and he can read it. ‘That can’t be right. I’m sure it can’t. Never read anything so ridiculous. Don’t worry, Daisy.’
I wasn’t worrying, until he said don’t worry.
‘What?’ I grab the phone from her, but as I’m reading, she’s shouting out.
‘How absolutely awful, to lose your job on Christmas Eve! What on earth will you do, poor Maisie?’
‘Job? You’ve lost your job?’ Mum has heard and scurried back over to my side and is trying to extract the phone from my frozen fingers.
I stare at Ollie, I can’t breathe. There’s a massive lump blocking my throat.
If I’d thought the last couple of days have been rubbish, this is the cherry on top of the bloody cake.
Shit. How low can I go? I’ve cocked up my career plan, been dumped, and now even lost my crap dead-end job. I’m overweight, live in a rabbit hutch, and I’m staring at the man who has it all worked out.
I hate him.
‘Even my hair’s a mess.’ My voice has gone as wobbly as my legs.
‘Hair?’ He looks very concerned, and it makes me want to cry.
‘Come and sit down, you poor girl.’ Terence puts one hand on my elbow and the other in the small of my back and steers me towards the corner of the shop where he houses the special editions. ‘You’re in shock. Somebody get a brandy.’
Even feeling like I do I have to take a deep breath and let the smell of old leather and special words (yes, they do have a smell) filter their way into my body. I’m not sure if I want to cry, or curl up with a book and escape, pretend I’m somewhere else.
I also feel a bit heady, which could be dust, words of wisdom, or the goldfish-bowl sized brandy glass he’s pushed into my hand. The fumes alone are making me splutter.
He gently prises the phone from my fingers and hands it over to Ollie wordlessly.
‘You’ve not been sacked, Daisy.’ Ollie crouches down in front of me and looks into my eyes. He’s got the lovely warm brown eyes he had when he was Joseph to my Mary. Before they turned naughty and he kissed me. He was mischievous then, he’s not now, he’s all earnest and caring, but he actually looks a bit like the Ollie I knew. He looks like the eighteen-year-old Ollie with the luscious lips and the nervous smile. Maybe I don’t hate him.
‘But Juliet said …’
‘It says here,’ his tone is firm. It’s quite commanding and authoritative, I can see why he’s so successful. ‘That the three local newspapers are merging. The office is closing, but there will be opportunities for all staff to apply for jobs and no compulsory redundancies are expected. None.’
‘Well, that’s okay then, none!’ My voice sounds pathetic and all wavery to my ears, but it’s the best I can do. I say it again, trying for a stronger tone. ‘None.’
Uncle Terence pats my hand absent-mindedly, but he’s frowning at Ollie. ‘How the hell can they not have announced it in the office, that’s not on is it? Downright underhand if you ask me. No emails,