Page 27 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
‘And not to be nosy, but where did your ex get his sexy robot from? And do they do one who looks like George Clooney? Because I could be in the market for one of those.’
‘Mags!’ Bonnie shook her finger. ‘Don’t be such a dirty old dog.’
‘Less of the dirty,’ Mags replied, as she tittered into her mug of soup. ‘No harm in a single lady checking out her options.’
Bonnie shuddered. ‘It’s all a bit creepy.’
‘And that’s not the worst bit,’ said Rosie, giving a quick look around. ‘Don’t tell Steve, but the future of this place could be given over to robot cats, if I don’t pull in the crowds and create some pretty impressive pumpkin farm retreats, in record time. And guess what? I’m not a retreat expert either. Apart from a few ideas from the library and a bit of pumpkin soup, my plans are looking sparse. I have no clue how to bring this all together. Will you help me brainstorm some more?’
Rosie filled them in on the dangers of Cyber Purrz and their ugly factory plans, and the three suited men she’d seen poking around the farm and taking measurements.
‘Well, we’re not having that,’ said Mags.
‘Jeez, does Zain the sworn technophobe know about this?’ asked Luna.
Rosie sighed. ‘No. And I’m not allowed to tell him. It’s more than my job’s worth. Agnes thinks he’ll hit the roof or do something dangerous.’
‘You need to get real with him, if you want a cyber cat in hell’s chance of getting him onside.’ Luna gave Rosie an apologetic look, because clearly nobody wantedthatscary job. ‘But whatever you decide, we need to make plans.’
‘I have to get things up and running this autumn. And there’s hardly any budget. This land and Agnes’s crumbling house depend on it,’ said Rosie.
‘And what is it thatyouwant, love?’ asked Bonnie.
It was true that every main character wanted something. ‘I want to help. To do something that makes me feel worthwhile. And to keep my cosy little home, and the headspace to write the novel I’ve been working on.’ She pointed towards the typewriter in the corner. ‘I’ve never written the way I write when I’m here.’
It felt too fanciful to float the idea of the writing retreats that kept bobbing into her mind, but maybe one day – because surely they couldn’t run pumpkin retreats all year round?
‘So you write novels?’ said Luna. ‘Wow.’
‘Ahh, not a painter then?’ said Mags.
‘Nope,’ Rosie replied, feeling a little sheepish.
‘Then grab that typewriter, Rosie,’ said Luna. ‘We have some lists to make.’
And once again, Rosie’s fingers were typing like the wind. But this time, she was creating list upon list of ideas, resources, areas of expertise, friends in the know, random talents, dates and deadlines, and all sorts of things she had never even thought of. Her writer selfloveda list. They would need plenty of pruning and perfecting, and lots of it would evolve as they went. She’d have to run things past Agnes and perhaps put a firm foot down, and to reach awholebunch of nail-biting compromises with Zain.
But somehow, a plan was coming together. Rosie’s mind was bouncing with brainwaves, and she was relishing every moment. It was just like crafting a story – but this one wasn’t make-believe. Who knew real life could be as much fun as fiction?
She also knew that when she got back to her writing cubby, her own storytelling powers would be elevated by the friendship and feelings she’d experienced tonight. Any chatbot would have its work cut out to replicate these emotions and turn them into meaningful words that would change people’s hearts.
Rosie smiled as she sipped her elderflower wine, watching the others become enlivened too. Perhaps they were onto something with these retreat logistics. Maybe, just maybe, Rosie could pull this off. There was just the not-so-small matter of Zain. But she’d let some of her secrets out tonight, and it had gone surprisingly well. They’d made progressandshe was feeling like much less of a guilty fraudster. If she could somehow convince Agnes to let her be similarly honest with Zain, surely there was a tiny, glimmering hope of winning him around?
19
‘My bathroom looks like a duckpond. And I haven’t even got any ducks!’
When Rosie reached Agnes’s farmhouse, fully intending to put her foot down about them getting honest with Zain, it seemed the woman had enough on her plate. She was scurrying around her kitchen trying to find buckets and bowls. Hens were flapping, Onions and his pack of quirky mongrels were barking, and Agnes seemed to have forgotten about the soup she’d been cooking as it bubbled and spat green liquid, giving off the smell of burnt broccoli.
Rosie rushed to the hob to turn it off, then did her best to shoo the hens out of the back door. Goodness knew what they were even doing in the house, but Agnes had her unconventional ways.
‘Why are all my buckets as holey as a block of Swiss cheese? Can you collect rainwater in an ancient crackedLe Creuset?’
The dogs continued yapping, and between that, the stress emanating from Agnes, and the one-eyed chicken that was running around in circles rather than finding the exit, Rosie could barely hear herself think. Maybe today wasnota good day to negotiate with her boss about letting her tell Zain some home truths, in the hope he’d be less ferocious about her retreat plans. Agnes clearly had enough to deal with. If Rosie dared to harangue her, she might get thrown out of Autumn Meadows on her ear.
‘Agnes, what’s going on?’ Rosie yelled above the noise. ‘And how can I help you?’
Agnes flung open a saucepan cupboard and pointed inside. ‘Grab what you can and follow me upstairs.’
