Page 47 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

Going back to stay in the luxury of her family’s Cheltenham townhouse ought to have been heavenly, compared to freezing outdoor showers and compost toilets where a spider might crawl across your backside. Yet, somehow, Rosie felt like she was festering in her own personal hell.

She spread out across the huge bed, feeling rubbish that she wasn’t more grateful.

Her mother had been lovely, and – with the help of staff – had made sure her old room was comfy, and that the kitchen was stocked with her favourite snacks.

On paper, Rosie had more than a person could wish for.

So why did her entire world feel dark, like a colony of bats was living on her head?

She’d spent days here, sobbing to herself and scribbling angry doodles in her notebook.

Doodles would have to do, now she’d resolved never to write again.

The grim realisation that she could barely create a story without a chatbot having plotted it hit her again.

Rosie grabbed the box of tissues.

She hadn’t heard from Agnes or Zain, although they didn’t know where her parents lived, and neither of them had ever needed to know her phone number. She’d barely switched on her mobile at the farm, and she’d been living among them anyway.

But now, she wasn’t. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that living at Autumn Meadows and having less had felt like so much more .

She knew she would need to stop wallowing and get in touch with Agnes.

Her phone was still hiding in a drawer. But the pumpkin farm retreats were starting in just a few days, not to mention the writing retreat weekend that Zain had single-handedly signed her up for.

Agnes deserved fair notice to find a replacement.

At least her old boss had the funds to fix the house and keep her animals safe, so Rosie wasn’t leaving her completely in the lurch.

‘Urgh.’

Her body felt heavy, knowing she was causing Agnes extra hassle.

Rosie knew she should have got in touch before, but – like Farmer Wilbur had warned – Agnes would be ‘livid’ about Rosie misleading her for weeks, which Wilbur would surely have now divulged.

Rosie had pretended to be a recommended expert, when she’d been no more than a woman on the run.

She pulled out her phone for the umpteenth time, toyed with it, and then threw it back in the drawer. It all felt too much.

And then there was Zain. She wanted to hate him, to feel outraged by his secret chatbotting and the mystery of his real surname, and to slam-dunk him into the cesspit of lying ex-boyfriends. Yet despite everything, she couldn’t stop thinking about him – and she had no idea what to do about that.

The knock at her bedroom door made her flinch.

‘Honestly, peeps. What are we going to do with Rosie Featherstone? Talk about wallowing in heartache. Shall we see if we can sort out her #lifeproblems ?’

It was her sister Flick pushing through the door, her phone in front of her face.

‘She’s sad about this really hot guy she used to work with. Some of you might have seen pics of their #PumpkinFarmKiss that almost blew up the internet last weekend. Didn’t they look cute together?’

‘If you’re livestreaming to your Insta fans, you can bugger off,’ said Rosie, hiding her head behind a pillow and gulping at the thought of their impromptu launch-party kiss being ogled on social media.

It had been an accident, for goodness’ sake – even if the touch of his lips against hers had given her goosebumps.

‘My followers care about you.’ Flick pouted at her phone. She was in full show mode.

‘They don’t know me.’

‘I’ve been telling them all about you. How great you are at writing. How you’re the one with all the beauty and loveliness and talent.’

‘Not true,’ huffed Rosie.

‘And how you never give yourself enough credit.’

Rosie sighed again.

‘And how you hide from things,’ said Flick, trying to snatch away the pillow.

‘I do not.’ Although obviously this wasn’t the best example. Somehow being back at her parents’ house and being stuck with her much younger half-sister had reduced her to her childish, teenage self.

Rosie sensed her sister moving away from the bed, towards the window. She knew how to find the best light.

‘Ooh, lots of love in the comments for the pics of Autumn Meadows Farm. People are booking up for those retreats like they’re on fire. Some are talking about your writing retreats too.’

‘Well, I won’t be running them,’ Rosie muttered. ‘I don’t work there, and I don’t write anymore.’

‘Nooooo. Did you hear that? She’s throwing away her talents because of a guy.’

‘Am not,’ Rosie bit back. Was she? ‘Anyway, I told you to get lost. My life’s not a bloody melodrama.’

‘Look, she doesn’t want to talk right now,’ Flick told her adoring viewers.

‘And we’ll respect her privacy, right? But let me share one thing with you.

Never hide from the truth, even if it scares you.

Seek it out. Run after it. It might not always be what you expect, but it will be the thing you need. Let the truth set you free.’

Flick drummed up more likes and comments from her audience, before ending the livestream. She flung her phone onto the bed and flopped down next to Rosie.

‘Let the truth set you free?’ said Rosie, putting down the pillow and rolling her eyes. ‘Seriously? I’m sure you sound more like an Instagram quote by the day.’

‘What do you mean?’ Flick replied, defensively. ‘It’s a thing. Anyway, I meant what I said about you not realising your talents. It wasn’t just for the livestream hearts.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Stop being such a stroppy child and listen to good advice. For the intelligent one, you can be such a doofus.’

‘Why, thanks.’

‘Girl, you’ve been hiding in this bedroom for days – and quite frankly, it smells like a rotten farm. It’s time for some tough love. When life gives you pumpkins, make pumpkin pie.’

‘I’m sorry. What?’

‘Rosie, you were in your element at Autumn Meadows – even when life was testing you. You were making things happen, rather than ducking behind the foliage. You were full of ideas; you were finding yourself.’ Flick was counting off reasons on her fingers and she was on a roll.

‘You were writing your best ever novel. People are talking about you running writing retreats. Oh, and you and that Zain guy had the hottest chemistry. You two were ablaze.’

‘Once.’ Rosie sniffed. A lot had changed.

‘And you’re going to throw that away over a misunderstanding? Yes, what you told me about the Kimberkoo Chat stuff sounded tricky. But what if there’s a simple explanation?’

Rosie pondered it – again. ‘He was mad at me too, for snooping through his stuff and not being honest with him. Things are just too broken.’

‘For God’s sake, Sis. Words don’t just belong in books. Sometimes it’s OK to say things out loud. Now you’ve both had chance to cool off, maybe you should talk.’

Rosie shrugged and rolled over, her back to her sister. ‘I’m tired. Can you give me a break?’

Flick jumped off the bed. ‘I’ll leave you alone, on one condition.

I want you to write something. Anything.

Because I know writing helps you to make sense of the world.

’ Flick was already setting up Rosie’s laptop at the bureau by the window.

‘It breaks my heart to see you throwing it all away. Don’t let the chatbots win. ’

Rosie sniffed. Perhaps her sister had a point, even if it did sound kooky.

Feeling a slight spark of something, Rosie moved to the laptop. ‘Fine. But only because I want you to go away.’

‘Understood,’ said Flick, trying not to look smug. ‘And if you’re writing another novel, please cast me as the really awesome half-sister who saves the day.’

‘I’m not writing another novel,’ said Rosie. ‘Just for the record.’

‘Whatever.’ Flick held up her hands and backed out of the room.

Rosie had no idea what she was about to write, but somehow her fingers were twitching again. Whether she wanted to hear it or not, it seemed her creative soul had something to say.