Page 66 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
‘Mum. Flick.’
Rosie held her breath, unsure what reaction to expect from them, after not keeping them in the loop. She’d been hoping that when she finally saw them again, she’d be the new, improved version of herself, rather than the one who chose rubbish boyfriends or lived in a naive dream. That hadn’t quite worked out.
‘Oh darling. So this is where you’ve been,’ said Rosie’s mother, Farrah, who looked as glamorous as ever in a fitted fuchsia shift dress and matching jacket.
‘Rosie Featherstone! As if you would throw the county’s most talked about party and not invite us. Good job we’re on top of social news,’ her sister, Flick, added.
Rosie guessed there was only so long you could evade the formidable force-ten gale that was the Featherstones, and sometimes a girl needed a whip of wind to strengthen her sails.
‘You look...different.’ Her mother cocked her head. She seemed more wobbly than usual, but that was probably because sky-scraping heels didn’t work on muddy grass. At least Rosie had learned something about suitable footwear.
Her sister did a similar head-cocking thing, and Rosie tried not to dwell on how they both looked like they were fresh from a swanky salon.
Flick reached out and touched Rosie’s hair, her manicured fingernails inspecting the ribboned braids. Rosie braced herself for a comment about hippies or needing a hairbrush.
‘Totally different,’ Flick concluded. ‘It suits you.’
‘You look wonderful,’ her mother agreed, scooping Rosie into a hug. ‘We’ve missed you. I’m so happy you’re safe and well.’
‘Oh!’ The words of approval took her by surprise.
‘You did all of this?’ her sister asked, when she’d given Rosie an equally squishy hug.
‘Well, I had help from some friends, and...’ Rosie had been about to say Zain. As if he deserved her praise, when his ideas had been plotted by a chatbot.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Flick, sounding more sincere than Rosie could ever remember. ‘Honestly. I’ve been following on social media, before realising you were behind it. I’m ridiculously impressed.’
Rosie felt herself blush. ‘Thanks.’
‘She’s a Featherstone. Of course she can throw a party. Rosie always could create anything she put her mind to,’ said her mother, pulling Rosie in for another squeeze, even though there was serious danger of her jacket getting creased. ‘My beautiful, clever girl.’
Flick nodded in agreement. Rosie brushed herself down and took a few deep breaths. Had they always been this nice? Rosie wondered if her memory too often clung to the put-downs and didn’t give enough weight to the kind things they said.
It was just a shame she’d have to tell them she’d messed up again, and this time there was no option but to come home. At least they still had the final auction, and Rosie could hopefully go out with a bang. She just prayed it was a positive one.
‘Ohhelloooooo,’ said Rosie’s mum, recognising someone from one of the glossy magazines. ‘We’re the Featherstones.’
Rosie felt her stomach take a dive as the words ‘cover’ and ‘blown’ bounced into her head. She’d managed not to bump into Farmer Wilbur so far, but if Agnes realised Rosie was related totheFeatherstones, of local schmoozing fame, she’d be looking less like one of Farmer Wilbur’s friends by the minute.
‘Erm, just these two!’ said Rosie, dodging a camera lens and whispering to her sister that she was on an undercover mission.
Then she gave her mum and sister a quick farewell hug, because she had work to do.
It was nearly time for the auction, and if it didn’t bring in enough cash to match the numbers Rosie had scribbled in her notebook, then the three men in the rowing boat would be home, dry, and sending in the diggers.
42
‘Remind me again why we decided to leave the fate of the farm, Agnes’s roof, and approximately eleven squillion helpless cats and dogs to anauction?’ Rosie stood at a safe distance from the intermittently working microphone, rearranging her paperwork and giving her somersaulting stomach a rub. She had what Agnes would callthe collywobbles. ‘Auction basically means huge, terrifying gamble, doesn’t it? Like when you put your best designer coat on eBay, and it only sells for a pound.’
Luna took the papers from her and put them down gently. ‘If you shuffle those any more, people will think you’re a magician.’
‘Maybe I’ll need to be.’
And where on earth was Agnes? She’d promised to help Rosie to run the auction, in place of Zain. If Rosie was forced to be in the same square hectometre as him, she would not be held responsible for the ensuing devastation.
‘You have some great auction lots though,’ said Luna. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t want a year’s supply of wonky parsnips?’
Rosie couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. Sometimes laughter was the only medicine. ‘You’re right. I’ll fight you for those.’
