Page 32 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

At that moment, she emerged from the garden centre and my heart leapt. Would it be weird to go up to her and ask her if she fancied going out for a drink at some point? What if she said no? What if she thought I was some creepy bloke who hung around garden centres trying to pick up women? What if…?

She pulled out of her parking space and left the car park and I exhaled loudly. There probably were blokes out there who could go up to a stranger in a shop and ask them out, but I wasn’t one of them.

As I drove home to drop off the meals, I pushed thoughts of my missed opportunity out of my mind and focused on work instead. The first night shift back after the takeoverannouncement had been hard work and I’d found myself clock-watching, willing for 6a.m. to arrive so I could go home. My team had wanted to know they had job security, but I had no reassurances I could give, and I hated that there’d been no more information. Telling themyou’ll know as soon as I dofelt like a cop-out and provided little comfort. The problem with having no information was that it invited people to draw their own assumptions and those were invariably negative. Several of the production operatives had asked if they could put me down as a referee on any job applications and, when Sal and I broke for ‘lunch’, both tucking into portions of spaghetti bolognaise I’d brought in from home, she confessed that she’d spent the weekend sending her CV out.

‘Before you know whether your job’s even at risk?’ I asked, surprised.

She put her fork down, her expression serious. ‘I’ve been here less than two years, Joel, and I know how these things go. Last in, first out. If your role goes, you’ll get a decent redundancy payout, but I’ll get hardly anything. I’d rather jump ship and secure a new role before I’m pushed and forced to catch the others who are already swimming.’

It was a good analogy and, in her position, it did make sense. She asked about my plans and I admitted to going round in circles, desperate to keep my job one minute so I could financially support Imogen and my brother, and hoping to be made redundant the next so that my hand would be forced and I’d have to rethink my career, although I had no idea what that would look like.

‘Something will turn up,’ she said, echoing what Amber had said. ‘Probably something you’d never have considered.’ She sighed heavily as she gazed round the office. ‘I’ll miss this place and I’ll miss working with you, but do you know what I’ll miss the most?’

Her serious expression turned into a big smile as she scooped up some bolognaise. ‘Your cooking. If I ever win the lottery, I’m going to employ you as my personal chef.’

It lightened the mood and we drifted off into anif I won the lotteryfantasy discussion, our suggestions becoming steadily more ludicrous. While it didn’t help with my decision-making, it did help with the positivity and I left the shift convinced that being made redundant, while scary, might be the best thing that could happen to me.

When I arrived home, I braced myself for walking into a mess, but the house was surprisingly tidy. Chez must have taken on board what I’d said as he’d even loaded the dishwasher. Things were looking up.

Ready meals dropped off, I headed over to Crafty Hollow for Imogen’s dress. When Chloe had messaged to say I could either collect it this week or Samantha could take it to Fennington Hall – the grand hotel on the outskirts of York where Barney and Amber were getting married – I was going to ask Samantha to take it, but I imagined Tilly’s voice in my head, demanding to know why she hadn’t seen Imogen in the dress first, so I arranged to pick it up instead.

Chloe seemed really touched when I gave her the flowers, but it was the least I could do when she’d refused to charge me for the alterations. I’d carefully timed arriving at Tilly’s so that Imogen would be home from school but they wouldn’t be eating their tea yet. Surely Tilly wouldn’t object to me saying a quick hello to Imogen before I went to work.

Imogen answered the door in her school uniform and her face lit up. ‘Daddy!’

‘I’ve brought your dress,’ I said, holding the dress carrier and a bag up in front of me. ‘I’ve got your shoes and a headband too.’

Tilly appeared behind Imogen, scowling at me. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Imogen’s bridesmaid dress was ready, and I thought you might like to see her in it before the wedding.’

Her expression softened. ‘I would. Thank you.’

‘Are you coming in, Daddy?’

I looked down at Imogen and shook my head. ‘Sorry, sweetie, but I need to get ready for work. I’ve got time for a hug, though.’

She squeezed me tightly and kissed me on the cheek. I hated always having to say goodbye to her, knowing it would be days before I saw her again.

‘Right, let’s get this door closed,’ Tilly said when Imogen released me. ‘We’re letting all the heat out.’

‘But I want to wave Daddy off.’

‘It’s too cold. Wave from your bedroom window if you must.’

Imogen raced upstairs and I returned to my car, waving as I started the engine. I was about to pull away when the front door opened and Tilly emerged, pulling on her coat. Surely she wasn’t going to have a go at me for turning up announced?

I wound my window down and looked up at her expectantly.

‘I spoke to Greg about the Daddy thing and it’s all a misunderstanding. Imogen had asked him whether the twins would call him Daddy and she seemed put out that she was the only one of the kids who wouldn’t call him that. He said he wouldn’t mind if she ever wanted to call him Daddy but there was no pressure.’

That wasn’t how Imogen had told the story, but I knew better than to suggest Greg was a liar.

‘Fair enough. As long as that’s the end of it.’

‘It is. Greg and Imogen are fine, and it won’t crop up again. Thanks for having a word.’

She turned as though to go, but paused.

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