Page 111 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘Not exactly.’

‘Well, no, then,’ he snorts. ‘Okay, next? And maybe next time bring cake.’

‘Owen,’ says Janey, ‘this is important. Really important.’

‘To you,’ says Owen, still eyeing the Tupperware with disappointment.

‘Have you got any cake?’ whispers Janey to Lish.

‘Johnson’s diet!’ says Lish. ‘Nothing!’

Owen is looking smug. ‘Well, nearly clocking-off time. I never work a second after my schedule.’

The others, who regularly work vast amounts of time over their schedule, for no extra money, try not to look furious.

‘Please, Owen,’ begs Essie.

‘For what?’ says Owen. ‘So you can totally ignore me in a pub again? I’m amazed you remember my name.’

Essie flushes bright red. She was awful that night. Angry and snotty and determined to look down on everything in Carso, even though those very same people were around helping her now.

She clutches the piece of paper, fingers shaking.

A small cough sounds at the back.

‘I’ve got some custard doughnuts,’ comes a soft voice from the depths of the gloom. Everyone turns round.

It is Yasmin, Amsan’s unfortunate daughter. Her dark hair glows in the soft light as she steps forward, rummaging in her handbag.

Owen stops suddenly.

‘He-hello,’ he stammers, in a much less assured tone.

‘Hello,’ says Yasmin in return. ‘I like your big computers.’

‘I’m management,’ says Owen quickly.

‘That’s amazing.’

She offers him the bag with two custard doughnuts.

‘I told you to stop buying those,’ mutters Amsan.

‘I haven’t even shown you the best bit,’ says Owen. ‘Come here.’

And he stands up, grabs the bag and, ignoring the rest of them, walks Yasmin into the centre of his Starship Enterprise control booth.

‘Wow, what’s that?’ she says, eyes wide.

He smiles in satisfaction at being able to tell someone something they don’t know. ‘It’s . . . a fax.’

‘How does it work?’

Amsan beckons urgently for the papers from Essie, who hands it over, panicked. It is five to five.

‘Well,’ says Owen, but Amsan has already smuggled the papers to Yasmin.

‘I mean,’ goes on Yasmin, ‘can it send anything? Could it send these?’

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