Page 33 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

It was surprising how quickly the thunderstorm cleared after The Three Tuxedos had fled, using their briefcases as umbrellas. It had been a ridiculous sight, although Rosie wasn’t naive enough to think that would be the last of them.

‘We need something more,’ she said to Steve, who’d been the first to escape the rain to come and curl up on the rug in front of her fire.

It seemed cats were more sensible than humans.

‘The retreats will be great.’ She walked to her window and looked out at the parting clouds, remembering the clap of thunder.

‘But if they don’t go off with a fundraising bang, those guys will buy out Autumn Meadows and the farmhouse too, filling everything with factory fumes.

Then we’ll have cyber cats and chatbots taking over the world. ’

It sounded dramatic, but the threat of losing everything they’d worked for was real.

She looked back at her cat friend, like he might have groundbreaking answers. He simply lifted his head, treated her to a silent meow, then resettled himself.

‘Well, I see you’re not feeling talkative.’

Rosie’s eyes moved to the drawer where she kept her mobile phone buried, because she had a strong feeling she needed to talk. To thrash around ideas and get sense from someone other than a denim-clad feline. And it wasn’t just her fears about the farm that were playing on her mind.

‘Time to call Vix.’

Rosie would brave any risk of rain – and she would walk.

She wasn’t quite sure when she’d become the kind of person who spoke to a borrowed cat wise enough to only answer at mealtimes.

Somehow, he’d convinced her into keeping spare bowls in her hut for him and buying him moggy treats.

At least he might keep her warm on lonely nights when she was dreaming of his owner.

‘And no more pointless fantasies about Zain.’ She grabbed her phone and threw on a raincoat. ‘We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

This time, Steve’s meow was audible. Oh, to have the simple life of a cat.

Rosie rushed along the lane and out of the farm’s gates, keen to catch up with her oldest friend. The time was the same in Portugal, and if she got it right, Vix might be on her lunch break.

Rosie allowed her mobile to ping to life as she made her way to the parking spot where she’d broken down in Doll the Citroen, all those weeks ago. It was still the closest place for a hope of decent reception.

The Cotswold hills were aglow with the glorious shades of autumn, from earthy reds to honeyed golds, with fading green fields and round hay bales dotted between.

She could spot the lavender farm in the distance, even though its season had passed, and she could recognise the little village of Mistleton where her swim friends lived, with its large central spruce tree and its shops and gingerbread-themed café.

Being up here usually gave her a sense of peace.

Though right then, it was a sharp reminder that there was real life beyond Autumn Meadows – and some of it was crying out to be dealt with.

Hastily, she opened her thread of messages from her ex-boyfriend, Cassius.

She’d just seen off three idiots who ran a robot empire.

She could absolutely deal with one sexbot pervert, rather than continually burying her head.

She clicked onto the latest message, which, as expected, was about when she would collect her stuff.

Her fingers hovered, before swiftly typing Soon – because she was all about learning to conquer things, even if she had more immediate fires to fight first.

Rosie briefly considered contacting her family, and even dealing with the contents of the orange letters, which had probably still been arriving with them, even if she’d burned the one she’d brought.

Would the words hold less power over her if she faced the truth of them?

Did mistakes from the past really matter, when you were striving for a better future?

She held a hand to her head, the thought making her dizzy.

‘I’ve got enough going on,’ she concluded. The letters would have to be a worry for another day.

She jabbed her phone screen and waited for the call to connect.

‘Finally!’ said Vix in a voice so loud it nearly pierced Rosie’s eardrum. ‘Rosie Featherstone, anyone would think you’re living in a desert cave. I can never get hold of you.’

‘Sorry,’ Rosie replied, trying to keep the wobble out of her words. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed her friend. ‘My phone’s usually off now, but I reply when I can.’

‘It’s not the same as having a proper chat. Are you OK? Let me see you.’

Rosie pressed to accept video. ‘It’s so nice to speak.’

‘So nice that you never do it?’ Vix’s face appeared on the screen, her eyes big and dark, her hair pillar box red today. It fluctuated. She was smiling, her words never cross ones. ‘Ooh, you’re looking good though. Did you use fake tan?’

‘No, I saw some sunshine.’ Rosie laughed. She’d always been rubbish with fake tan, ending up with streaky bacon legs and palms the colour of an orangutan.

‘And look at your hair all naturally wavy. Are those real freckles? Country living suits you.’ Vix’s tone was warm and encouraging. ‘My heart feels good seeing you with a smile on your face.’

Rosie felt her grin falter.

‘Is there a but ?’ Vix never missed a trick.

‘I don’t mean to only ring you when I need something...’

‘Nuh-uh.’ Vix waved a who cares hand. ‘I like big buts , and I cannot lie. What can I help you with?’

Rosie filled her friend in on the latest with the pumpkin farm and the bucketload of extra jeopardy, with the leaky roof and The Three Tuxedos adamant they’d up their offer again. And she hadn’t meant to share her conundrums over Zain, but somehow, they spilled out too.

‘It’s a big mess, isn’t it?’ Rosie concluded.

‘Well, I love that you’re noticing the issues,’ Vix replied. ‘I mean, the old Rosie would have been hiding in a cupboard, distracting herself with a paperback novel and possibly eating cake.’

It didn’t sound like a bad plan.

‘Now you need to start asking questions,’ Vix continued. ‘Because words don’t just belong on paper. Did you ask Agnes if she’d want these Tuxedos to buy her a new house? Surely her Plan A isn’t seeing her treasured home turned into a factory for battery-powered cats?’

Rosie let out a small laugh. ‘You’re right.

I should find out exactly what she wants and how much we’d have to raise.

’ She scratched her head. ‘Though we’d need a cash injection to fund Agnes’s new roof.

I thought that would happen when the retreats kicked off, but we’ve had so many expenses.

Health and safety, insurances. Then there will be food, laundry, extras.

.. We can only keep going on credit and kindness for so long. ’

‘A cash injection. What resources do you have?’ Vix’s brown eyes were still large on the screen.

‘Umm.’ Rosie tried to think of it like a problem in one of her novels. ‘Some land, a lake and a lot of pumpkins?’

‘So how could you get this venture off to a flying start? Hint – you’re a Featherstone. This is probably in your DNA, if you can just trust yourself.’

Rosie felt herself inwardly groan. Because she knew the answer. They didn’t have time for this project to grow slowly, or for money to trickle in. It had to take off like a rocket and bring in cash – and that could only mean one thing.

The idea bubbled in her mind, part inspired by her dates with Zain, mixed with things she’d pored over in novels, and life skills she’d gleaned along the way.

Zain wasn’t going to like it, and it would be an extreme stretch of her own comfort zone.

But the butterflies in her stomach told her she was onto something. And butterflies didn’t lie.

‘I’m onto it,’ said Rosie, sounding far more confident than she felt. She wouldn’t trouble her friend with the details yet, because it would need some fleshing out.

‘Always here if you need me.’ Vix’s eyeballs were smiling. And if eyeballs could wave pompoms... ‘Whatever you decide, you’ll smash it.’

Rosie wasn’t sure about the smashing it part, though she was about to give Zain the fright of his life, when she told him. She let out a sigh.

‘Want to talk about Zain?’ Vix asked.

Was it that obvious?

‘You know my advice is going to be much the same, right? Just face the music and talk.’

‘If only. I mean, sometimes he has heaps to say, and other times, barely a word. I sense there’s more to him than he’s letting on.’ She just hoped it didn’t involve horny hardware or toy dingoes stuffed with his ex-girlfriends’ knickers.

‘I think you like this guy,’ said Vix. ‘I mean really like him. Before, you’ve always measured men in terms of a boring tick list. Has his own flat.

Not wanted by the police. Parents don’t hate him.

’ Vix counted things off on her fingers.

‘But when you spoke about Zain earlier, your eyes went all melty, and you used words you usually reserve for your romantic heroes. If you think there’s more to him and you’re as keen as I think you are, keep talking.

The answers will come. Between you, you’ll work things out. ’

‘Do you reckon?’

‘Hell yes, my capable, kickass friend. And before you thank me, please know that the answers were already within you. You simply needed a nudge to help you find them.’

Now, Rosie just needed to nudge her nervous self back to the farm and hit Zain with her controversial new plan.