Page 22 of Sun, Sea & Strawberry Shortcake
When we walk on, Bee apologises for Norma’s rudeness. ‘She’sbitter because I’ve been given a two-bedroom flat on the ground floor and she’sin a much smaller attic studio flat. She won’t let me forget it – especiallysince she’s worked her for eight years, and we’ve only arrived recently.’
‘But you have Jodie. Youneedtwo bedrooms.’
Bee smiles. ‘Try telling Norma that. The boss gives meshifts that fit with Jodie’s schooling and Norma hates that because she thinks it’spreferential treatment.’
‘She sounds awful.’
‘Oh, she’s all right. To be honest, I do think it’s alittleunfair on her. I can sort of see her point about having worked here for years.’
‘It seems a bit petty, though, taking it out on you when noneof it’s your fault.’
Bee shrugs. ‘It’s all in a day’s work. I just ignore herwhen she’s being catty.’
‘So you and Jodie haven’t been here long?’
‘No. Just since January. We came here for a week’s holidaylast year, through the charity. We stayed in one of the little apartmentsbeside the hotel, at the far end of the beach, and I really liked the village.I felt we needed a change, so I applied for a job here and I got it.’
‘It’s a lovely place to be,’ I agree.
She nods. ‘We were really happy. Until those letters startedarriving.’
Back at the flat, while Bee serves the ice-cream, I ask Jodieif she has a favourite toy, and dimples appear in her rosy cheeks.
‘Unicorn poo!’
‘Unicorn poo?’ I fake astonishment. ‘Ugh, what’s that? Isn’tit smelly?’
‘No!’ Smiling, she gives her head a firm shake, looking ather mum for confirmation. ‘Do you want to see it, Ruby? The poo?’
Bee grins at me. ‘Go on, Ruby. You know you want to.’
‘I confess Iama bit curious.’
‘It’s in my bedroom.’ Jodie dances out of the kitchen. ‘Comeon.’
I follow her and she proudly introduces me to a lump of browngloop that feels rather disgusting and when thrown – as demonstratedenthusiastically by Jodie – will apparently stick to absolutely anything. (Andthis is meant to be agoodthing?)
We have a hilarious contest to see who can throw it thefurthest, and obviously I let Jodie win, which pleases her no end. She’s socute, I’m actually starting to feel quite broody. What would Hudson say to a‘mini-us’ dancing around the place and getting excited over unicorn poo? We’vehad some fairly casual chats on the topic of children so I know he’d like themin the future, and after meeting little Jodie, I’m starting to think how greatit would be. Hudson will be an amazing dad...
‘Where is it? Where’s it gone?’ My attention slipping for amoment, I’ve missed Jodie’s last hurl of the poo. The pretty pink curtains atthe window are closed, making the room rather gloomy, and I genuinely can’t seewhere it’s gone.
Jodie giggles and points at the wall. ‘It’sthere!Look!’
‘Nope. Still can’t see it. It must be magic poo. It’sdisappeared.’
She thinks this is hilarious. ‘Look, Ruby!Thereitis!’ She runs over and squidges it off the wall and holds it up to show me.
‘Ah! Right. I can see it now.’ I cross to the window. ‘Youknow what? I think we need some more light. It’s far too dark in here forunicorn poo spotting.’ And I swish one of the curtains aside.
Jodie’s reaction is instant.
As daylight streams into the room, she shouts, ‘No! You haveto close them, Ruby!’ She grabs one of her dolls and runs from the window,crouching in a corner of the room and staring up at me with fearful eyes.
‘Jodie, what’s wrong?’ Seeing her distress, I quickly drawthe curtain back again and go to sit down next to her on the floor. She’s graspingher doll so tightly her little knuckles are white. ‘You don’t like the light?’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t like it when people can see in.’
‘Why don’t you like it?’ I ask softly.
