Page 1 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

It was one of those crisp autumn days where surely nothing could go wrong.

‘So you caught him googling what ?’

Rosie winced at the sound of her friend Vix’s voice, blasting through her phone’s earbuds. Well, perhaps one thing had put her off her honey nut cornflakes earlier, but she wasn’t going to let that ruin a lovely morning. Because this was the first day of her favourite season.

Rosie looked around, breathing it all in.

It was brisk enough to wrap up snugly, even though the sun was sparkling.

Gold and amber leaves fell like confetti, dancing around her as she crunched along the tree-lined street, past tall Regency buildings with balconies worthy of love scenes.

She’d even treated herself to a warm cup of pumpkin-spiced latte, topped with. ..

‘Earth to Rosie.’

Rosie winced.

‘Your voice trailed off and I missed the last bit. Then you went suspiciously quiet. Is everything all right with you and Cassius?’

She hadn’t gone quiet. Had she? On second thoughts, it would be infinitely better if she didn’t say that out loud anyway.

‘I was juuuuust ... admiring the particularly pleasant foliage.’

What perfectly decent people Google-stalked when they were bored was their business.

Rosie herself looked up all sorts of weird things when she was researching her romance novels, even if her efforts had amounted to no more than a pile of cutting publisher rejections, because the romantic bits were oddly lacking .

Vix sighed. ‘I’m sensing you don’t want to talk about it. Again. Just promise me you’ll keep your head out of the clouds, OK? I love that you often live in imaginary worlds. But please stay vigilant.’

‘Mmm hmm,’ Rosie promised, through a slurp of nutmeg and cinnamon deliciousness. Vix was starting to sound like her mum. Stop daydreaming, Rosie. Didn’t they realise daydreams were the best place to be?

Rosie wriggled her way out of the doomed phone conversation.

Her oldest friend was wonderful, but sometimes it was handy that she lived seven hundred and ninety-eight miles away.

Friends tended to ask a whole lot of questions about things she didn’t like poking around at.

Like her back catalogue of eye-wateringly unfortunate relationships, which had no bearing on her present one with Cassius.

It was no wonder she often preferred fictional friendships.

Anyway, she had work to do.

Lifting her chin, Rosie kicked onwards through the leaves, steeling herself for another morning at KJ Marketing where she worked as a content writer, creating articles and newsletters on the enthralling topic of dental health.

It wasn’t exactly her dream job, but she’d dropped by the bakery to grab swirly, orange-iced cupcakes, so at least she could enjoy the small rebellion of risking tooth decay as she mulled over the perfect description of fillings.

Rosie took a deep breath and pushed through the door of the dingy office.

She was one of the early birds, as always.

It wasn’t actually her turn to sort the cakes this week, but the others always forgot, and there was no way stingy Kelvin would let them out before lunchtime.

He timed them to the second and she was pretty sure he’d ration toilet roll if it wouldn’t start a riot.

Rosie shivered at the thought as she made her way to the main office.

‘Rooooosie Featherstone.’

The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she heard Kelvin call her name. He tended to have that effect on people. Or maybe it was the use of her surname, which for various reasons, often embarrassed her.

‘Yes,’ she replied, as patiently as she could. Couldn’t he even let her take her coat off? She put the latte and cupcakes down on her desk, yanked her already droopy ponytail, and mustered a smile.

‘You’ve got lippy on your teeth,’ he said, squinting at her mouth.

‘Thanks for the self-grooming tips,’ she mumbled into her hand. He was too self-absorbed to notice when anyone was being sarcastic, which with his wonky goatee and kipper breath, she definitely was.

‘I’m not here to sort your life out. That would be a job, wouldn’t it!’ He laughed at his own attempt at a joke and tried to play-slap her on the arm.

Rosie sighed, her patience waning. Her life wasn’t exactly where she’d expected it to be by her fourth decade, but she had somewhere to live and a steady job, and her current boyfriend hadn’t been on Crimewatch . She was positively winning next to Kelvin.

‘So... you called me?’

‘Oh yeah, that. You’re fired.’

Rosie froze, midway through shrugging off her coat.

‘Whaaa... what ?’ She’d worked there diligently for ten years and had never broken a rule.

She didn’t nick the notepads or steal her colleagues’ oat milk, and she definitely wasn’t the sort who photocopied her backside for giggles.

‘I’m sorry, what? What have I done?’ Why was the room spinning?

She reached out to try and grab something, but her hands were failing her.

‘Ah, nothing really.’ Kelvin tried another jovial slap on the arm.

Rosie staggered backwards and landed in her chair, which made a tragic, fake leathery farting noise.

She didn’t have the energy to wince. ‘You’re not fired, as such.

I just don’t need you anymore. I’ll make you redundant, or whatever. I’ve got a robot to replace you.’

Rosie’s eyes darted, as though C-3PO might amble out of the kitchen looking all productive, and presumably not having a gale-force-nine emotional breakdown like she was about to. Maybe droids didn’t moan about making the coffee either.

‘Not an actual robot, you numpty. You know. A chatbot. Artificial Intelligence. AI. I can type a few words into this new Kimberkoo Chat software, and it will write anything I want, at the speed of lightning. Amazing, hey? The words just appear on my screen like witchcraft, and it doesn’t cost me a penny.

’ He grabbed a wadge of papers from the top of a creaky filing cabinet and slapped them on the desk with a flourish.

‘Just look at this article it wrote on the future of gum disease. It would have taken you hours to put this together, and you probably would have ballsed it up.’

Her throat tightened. Ballsed it up? She was good at writing.

Wasn’t she? She snatched up the papers that he’d plonked on the desk like Exhibit A in the surprise takedown of Rosie Featherstone.

Her eyes motored through the first half a page.

‘But it sounds... like a robot.’ She had to admit, it wasn’t terrible .

And it was hard to write about gum disease and make it sound bubbly.

But somehow, the thought of a computer program taking over from real people – impassioned, creative writers – gobbled at her insides.

How was this even happening?

‘When I write something, it’s like a gift,’ she heard herself saying. ‘From my heart to the reader’s. An expression of my soul.’

Kelvin screwed up his face. ‘It’s about periodontitis. What’s that got to do with anyone’s soul? I always did think you were a bit strange.’

Rosie gripped the sides of her chair and pushed herself to standing. ‘I am not bloody strange! And it’s disingenuous, isn’t it? Pretending it’s written by humans and that it’s heartfelt, authentic, honest. But really, it’s just something puked out by a computer program. How is that right?’

‘Like I said, it’s just perio...’

‘But where does it stop? Next, you’ll get it to write your nan’s birthday card, or impassioned words to loved ones, or your wedding speech, if anyone ever agrees to marry you.’

‘Yep, it can do all of those things and more. They’ve got it writing novels, you know.

I bet it could write those romance books you always drool over.

’ He nodded to the stash of well-loved paperbacks on the shelf behind her desk, which often kept her company on a quiet lunchtime, when she wanted to escape from the world.

Rosie’s gasp could have emptied the room of air. Writing novels? That robot-worshipping stink bag. ‘Love stories should be written by people . Laptops can’t love. They don’t know what it feels like.’

‘Big expert on it, are you?’ He tilted his head.

From his crooked smile and dustbin teeth, she wouldn’t mind betting he was an expert on gum disease. But she wasn’t rude enough to say that. She pursed her lips.

Kelvin held up his hands. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.

Technology is better at some things than us.

Artificially intelligent software taking over from mediocre writers is the future.

Get over it. Go and find something you’re actually good at.

Make yourself irreplaceable, as Beyoncé would say. Like me.’

The words caught her in the breastbone like the sharp jab of a knife. Words had power – especially when they came from the mouths of mean people. Goodness knew whether software should be left in charge of them.

‘Anyway, I’d usually get my money’s worth and make you work your notice. But Kimberkoo Chat is quicker and better, and it doesn’t use up all my pumpkin spice or try and tart up my office with autumn-leaf bunting. You can take that crap with you, by the way.’

The painful words twisted a little deeper, even if the look on his annoying face suggested he thought he was doing her a favour.

‘And let’s face it, you always were a bit of a spare part. I mean, you’re welcome to stick around and do the cleaning, or something. The bogs are in a right old state. And I think we’ve run out of loo roll...’

Spare part? Bog roll? Rosie felt her jaw clench.

She was not hanging around for any more of his verbal bottom trots.

Kelvin was probably breaking all sorts of employment laws, and she was sure she had rights.

But just then, she had no desire to stick around or fight to spend another excruciating minute there.

He could shove his stupid job where the toilet brush didn’t shine.

She charged around her desk, scooping up her precious romance novels, and the bits and bobs she’d brought in to make the place look loved, piling them into her oversized handbag.

Then with only the tiniest pang of guilt, she grabbed back her cakes, because she absolutely needed them. He could keep her cold latte.

‘I’m actually not bad at writing,’ she huffed over her shoulder as she marched towards the door. At that moment she wasn’t quite sure she believed it, but she wasn’t admitting that to a bad boss in a sweaty tracksuit. ‘And I won’t be outdone by a robot.’

Rosie stomped through the creaking doors of KJ Marketing and out onto the street, acutely aware that she had in fact been outdone by a robot, or whatever the hell Kimberkoo Chat was.

The autumn chill hit her in the face in a way that hadn’t bothered her just minutes before.

Tears were stinging her eyes, and she could barely make sense of her thoughts – but somehow, her body took over.

One foot in front of the other, faster and faster until she knew she was on her way back to the flat.

Her hands tore at the cupcake box, splitting it open and shoving one into her mouth to soften the blow.

She didn’t care that icing was smearing around her cheeks or that she was blubbering like a two-year-old over ten wasted years, working for someone who thought she was distinctly average and would replace her in a heartbeat. She just had to get home.

Home to the safety of Cassius, who’d be quietly working at his desk, but ready to jump up and give her a big, compassionate, human-sized hug. What she wouldn’t give for one of those. Because some things could not be done better by a robot.