Page 17 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
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‘So you’re the new wild swim retreat superhero?’
The woman standing in front of Rosie with her hands on her hips reminded her of Miriam Margolyes in a floral swim cap. Rosie had worked out that her name was Mags. She was short and apple-shaped, with wayward grey curls bouncing out from under her headwear, and eyes that looked like they didn’t miss a trick.
Rosie gulped. ‘Well, I wouldn’t quite say superhero.’ She just had to get through overseeing her first session without giving away that she could barely swim, knew nothing much about retreats and was absolutely not entertaining thoughts about Zain’s pumpkins. Or indeed Zain.
Easy.Right?
‘You’re coming in though?’ another woman asked. She was a similar age to Rosie’s mum and had grey-blonde hair that had been chopped short, with the sides shaved like a mohawk. From their quick introductions, Rosie knew her name was Bonnie, and she was here with her daughter Luna, who had the same hair but dyed pastel pink.
‘Not today, she’s not. Injury.’ Zain arrived near the group and pointed at Rosie’s bare bruised foot, even though she hadn’t told him about her run-in with the vase.
They were standing outside Zain’s cabin, Rosie dressed in clothes he’d lent her after the lake rescuing incident, from the combats and knitted jumper to the dark green boxer briefs that were actually quite comfortable, apart from the flappy pouch at the front where she could probably keep half a dozen crumpets. Not that men’s private regions should be measured in terms of a griddle cake.
Zain gave Rosie a tight-lipped look that saiddon’t you dare do anything else stupid, or murder is back on the cardsand stomped off towards his precious fields.
‘A man of so many words.’ Luna put a hand to her heart and made a swoony look behind Zain’s retreating back. Her accent was fiercely Bristolian, like Bonnie’s. ‘Hot though, isn’t he? Like the perfect chisel of Orlando Bloom, whipped up with the rugged hairiness of Jason Momoa.’
‘You don’t stand a chance,’ said Mags. ‘Unless you turn yourself into a butternut squash. He doesn’t like people. Just wildlife and pumpkins.’
‘Oh, I can be wild,’ said Luna, pulling her swimsuit out of her bottom and beating her chest, with a giggle. Her arms were tattooed with what looked like phases of the moon, which Rosie thought suited her. ‘But I’m with Ellen now.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t think she’d want to share me.’
Bonnie gave her daughter a side-squeeze. ‘She’s the best thing since sliced bread, that one. I forbid you to make eyes at Zain the Grouch. Even if I do think there’s more to him than you’d guess.’ She cocked her head like she was trying to work it out.
‘I think he lives with gnomes,’ Rosie blurted out, before she could think better of it. She put a hand over her mouth. She’d promised him no snooping, and that should probably extend to no telling tales, if she stood a hedgehog in hell’s chance of him not annihilating her chances of sticking around. ‘Sorry, forget I said that. It’s not like I’ve been inside his hut, or anything.’
‘Yeah yeah,’ said Bonnie. ‘Don’t think we didn’t see you coming out of there dressed in his clothes.’ She tapped Rosie on the upper arm and winked.
‘No, it definitely wasn’t that!’ Rosie could feel her cheeks burning.
‘Right down to his camouflage pants.’ Mags pointed to the waistband of Zain’s underwear, which was protruding above the combats. ‘Taming MrGrumpkin. We like you already.’
‘I don’t reckon he’s grumpy,’ said Luna. ‘Just misunderstood.’
Rosie was coming to see he had hidden depths too, and she couldn’t stop wondering what his story was, or the hush-hush past Agnes had mentioned. She just wished she wasn’t so inquisitive to find out.
The swim ladies were soon joined by a few others. Once the swimmers had taken their cool dips and dried off inside their towelling ponchos, they noticed that Agnes’s supply of leek and potato soup had arrived. Rosie hadn’t even had to hobble over and collect it. She assumed Zain had had a chivalrous moment, though that suggestion was met with guffaws andnot on your nellies. But they hadn’t seen him pull her out from the water earlier that day, bundle her up and take her to his warm cabin, before rushing off to check on Steve the denim-clad cat, even if their relationship was still on seriously shaky ground.
The other swimmers peeled off to get on with their days, leaving Rosie chatting to Mags, Bonnie and Luna outside her cabin. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, but Luna was shivering, so Rosie beckoned them inside. They took a moment to appraise it, before Mags set about stoking up a fire in the log burner, and Luna dropped cross-legged onto the mat, emptying out the impressive contents of her backpack, from baguette rolls and spreads, to various pots with beany salads.
‘She likes me to stay healthy,’ said Bonnie, who grabbed a cushion and sat down gracefully next to Luna, in a similar lotus-like position, rearranging her floaty dress. ‘But I can’t live my life like the Saint of the South West.’ Her ribs tinkled with an infectious laughter, and she pulled a bag of custard doughnuts and a large clip-top bottle from her wicker basket. ‘Elderflower wine. Made it myself, last year. It’s been nicely fermenting.’
‘A little bit of what you fancy does you good,’ said Mags, pulling a stool over to the fire and setting herself up as the unofficial fire poker. ‘Or a lot of what you fancy.’ She chuckled.
Rosie was secretly thrilled to see the torn fragments of the orange letter about her late fiancé going up in flames. If only all of life’s problems could be dealt with so efficiently. She’d barely had time to think about James, or any of her hopeless exes, since she’d been here – other than the odd cutting detail that had wriggled into her story.
Rosie brought an assortment of mismatched glasses and plates, and even found herself remembering how to fold napkins into quirky leaf shapes, which she’d once learned from one of her mother’s housekeepers. They were soon tucking into their impromptu cabin picnic, with Agnes’s soup on the side. After Rosie’s eventful morning even a few sips of the home-brewed elderflower wine was whizzing to her head. Rosie realised she was inadvertently hosting something – and enjoying it. Add a bell tent and a few pumpkins, and it could almost be an autumn retreat.
The ladies told her they lived in the nearby Cotswold village of Mistleton, which sounded like a lovely place. Maybe she’d have to borrow a bike someday.
‘What do you love so much about wild swimming?’ Rosie asked, keen to pad out her research in case Zain dared quiz her about swim retreat plans. She’d seen the elation in their faces since the moment they arrived around the lake. Their joy was compelling.
‘I love the camaraderie,’ said Mags, giving the other ladies a smile that lit up her whole, rosy-cheeked face. ‘The in-it-togetherness.’ She stretched out her legs in front of her and flexed her toes inside her rainbow-striped tights. ‘And it does wonders for my aches and pains.’
‘Brr. Cold though.’ Rosie shivered. The three women stopped to look at her with slightly confused faces, so she quickly backpedalled. ‘I mean, I’m used to the wild swimming bit, obviously. But I do prefer a nice hot shower!’ She hated to fib, but she could not go outing herself as a woman who’d stolen someone else’s job.
‘It gets easier,’ Mags replied. Was she giving Rosie an almost knowing look?
