Page 7 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

‘Think Krista left some paper.’ Agnes began opening cupboards.

‘She used that thing to start typing up retreat plans. None of that Wi-Fi around here, you see. No outside world to trouble you. Pure peace. Though Wilbur said you were more into painting, not writing. I’m sure you could bring some of your artiness to the retreats too.

Painting seasonal scenes and carving pumpkins around the lake.

’ Agnes gave her a buoyant clap on the arm, like it was a brilliant plan.

Rosie spluttered up the tea she’d been sipping.

‘No! I mean, honestly, I don’t think I’m the person you were looking for.

’ Enough was enough. She could not hang around here pretending to be a retreat-organising, wild-swim-conducting artist extraordinaire.

She had none of those skills. What was she still doing here?

‘Oh. You’ve changed your mind? Don’t like the accommodation? The pay’s not great, but it’s enough to keep you alive and kicking. I’m not even fussy about proper references. Wilbur said you were good.’ There was a tinge of despair in Agnes’s voice.

‘Well, I’m not good. I’m... mediocre .’ Her ex-boss had said as much, and he hadn’t even witnessed her attempts at swimming or holding a paintbrush.

Agnes shrugged. ‘Aren’t we all. Look, you’re here now and I don’t have time to find anyone else.

It was a struggle enough to find you – you’re our last chance.

Just give it a go for a day or two. The swim ladies will be here on Wednesday, and I can’t get in the water with my impetigo.

’ She scratched her leg, like it was an after-thought.

‘And you won’t catch Zain parading around the ladies in a pair of swim shorts. ’

‘Right.’ Well, that was probably for the best, as Rosie had no desire to see any more male nakedness or have any more unbidden thoughts about strangers in Speedos this week. Or, in fact, ever.

Of course, she should explain that this had all been a terrible mix-up.

Rosie knew that. Though it was getting trickier by the second.

Now it would involve admitting to Agnes that she’d been drinking her tea and stringing her along for a whole hour, like some complete oddball.

No. It would be easier to say the job wasn’t for her.

Which she definitely would. Very, very soon.

But would it hurt to pretend to try it out for a day or two? Just to appease Agnes and prove she’d given it a shot. Then she could bow out politely before she got rumbled, and everything would be fine .

Rosie was needed here. Wanted , in fact.

Even if it wasn’t exactly Rosie that Agnes had been expecting, and the real interviewee might still appear at any moment.

Feeling needed, however fleetingly, was intoxicatingly good.

Especially when she’d spent the morning facing the truth that in her own life, she was nothing more than a loser.

‘There’s running water,’ said Agnes, turning on a tap that screeched and spluttered in protest. ‘Just needs a bit of encouragement. And the electrics work some of the time. There’s a bed.

It’s warm. I provide the food, as it’s not so handy for shopping out here.

’ She pointed to a basket of supplies on the small worktop.

‘And did I mention the peace and quiet?’ Agnes was smiling with every single one of her teeth, even if it looked a tad frantic.

‘Nothing better for your soul than the great outdoors.’

Well, Rosie’s soul was in a mess. And she didn’t have a bed to call her own.

She couldn’t face slinking back to the family townhouse, with her sister gabbling about her misfortunes to her fifty squillion Instagram followers, and her mum saying, ‘I knew you always picked buffoons.’ Her car wasn’t working.

She had no trusted friends to call on, because she often distanced herself when people pointed out her boyfriends’ flaws, and her ex-colleagues probably only liked her when she bought cakes.

In truth, she’d never really felt like she’d fitted in with anyone, other than Vix, who’d rudely gone to live in Portugal when they were both in their teens.

Staying here and pretending to be the real interviewee for any length of time would be outrageous. Obviously . And she wasn’t an outrageous person.

‘Just one night. See how the place grows on you.’ Agnes’s voice was getting a little more desperate.

Just one night. Right then, the fantasy of hiding in a remote, Wi-Fi-free hut for just a little longer was luxurious compared to facing reality.

On the other side of the farm’s boundaries, she had nothing but a list of troubles.

But here? Here there was a typewriter that was calling her fingers, and a log burner that needed logs.

And that intriguing man in the hut across the lake. ..

So perhaps just a short while longer, then she’d leave tomorrow. Unquestionably. She could sleep on things and then get up, ask to use a phone, arrange something with the breakdown people and be on her not-so-merry way.

‘Just one night,’ she heard herself whispering.

‘Great! Or maybe two. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ Agnes checked her watch again. ‘Right-ho. Must be off.’

Rosie exhaled a long breath. Because she knew she would have to let Agnes down at some point.

Perhaps she was extremely creative , like the person Agnes had been hoping for – but it had never amounted to much.

She wasn’t right for this job like she’d never been quite right for anything.

And yet somehow, Rosie felt compelled to stay here. Just for one night. Or maybe two...