One Snowy Week in Springhollow Read online

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  My alarm clock rings out and when I sit up to hit the button, panic floods through me at the time displayed on the clock. How many times did I press snooze? I jump out of bed, make a dash for the bathroom and shower as hastily as I can, grateful that my short hair doesn’t take up much of my time and thinking it might just have to be a no makeup kind of day. When I get to my wardrobe the efficient speed at which I am moving comes to a standstill as I look over my outfits. One side of my cupboard holds a small selection of awesome flares and vintage and faded tees, while the other is all lace and frills – appropriate workwear according to my mother. My eyes dart back and forth as I graze my hand over a particularly cosy-looking tee that I had purchased online one evening after dinner with my parents. My mum had spent the evening telling me that I should sign up for dance classes to put myself out there more and meet people. The shirt had been my way of rebelling. I have yet to wear it.

  ‘Arrrgh.’ I let out an agitated groan as I reach for a pink pencil skirt and white daisy print blouse. Rebelling will have to wait for another day. I’m going to be late.

  I make it into work with five minutes to spare and make a beeline for my office. Candles are lit, the room is already toasty, satsuma essence is wafting itself around the air and my best friend, Hope, who also happens to be my boss, is already sat behind her desk tapping away at her keyboard with unsurprising alertness at this early hour of eight-fifty-five. When I walk in, she springs up from her chair and closes the door behind me.

  ‘Scarlett, we have a problem,’ she announces walking over to my vintage charity shop desk that’s on the other side of the room by the window. I stop pulling out my laptop from my bag and look to her so she can elaborate, but she’s taking her time, chewing her nails. Her eyes are wide behind her giant spectacles, which finish off her signature hipster meets casual businesswoman look. Her cropped linen trousers and loosely fitted white tee look super chic but she isn’t exuding her usual girl boss demeanour.

  I don’t like being kept in the dark or when people build up to bad news; I’d rather they just spit it out and get it over with before my mind runs away from me with all sorts of horrible possibilities. I immediately start thinking about Hope’s mum and dad. They were healthy and happy last time I saw them, as was Jess, my other best friend. ‘Hope, what is it?’ I ask urgently.

  ‘I’ve been trying to figure it out myself for some time but we’re struggling, Scarlett. The magazine is struggling. With so much information online these days people aren’t buying it. Even some of the villagers have cancelled their subscriptions and I don’t know what to do, so I need all hands on deck. I need everyone’s ideas, including yours,’ she tells me, squeezing her hands together in a prayer-like position. I visibly let out a breath.

  ‘Jeez, Hope, I thought something had happened to Jess,’ I say and continue with my typical routine of switching on my laptop and getting comfortable at my desk.

  ‘I didn’t say anything had happened to Jess,’ she says shaking her head at me, her brow furrowed. ‘Scarlett, this is just as serious. I love this place; we can’t lose it. It’s not the same reading things on your phone – people need print. I’m panicking a little, but you can’t tell anyone out there. We can keep up the positivity, but encourage new input,’ she adds, pointing towards the door and to the office floor. ‘We have some time to salvage this thing, but I’m aiming for a solid plan that can take us into the New Year.’

  ‘Don’t panic, of course I won’t tell anyone you’re worried. We will save it. The villagers won’t want to see it crumble; they love this place too much, even if some of them have forgotten. We’ll think of something. Why don’t you come to mine tonight and we can put our heads together?’ I suggest. It was never my dream to work at The Village Gazette but it’s Hope’s dream and she has done so much for this magazine as well as making my working here a hell of a lot better than it used to be. As far as jobs go, it isn’t bad. I’d hate to think of what my mum would make me do if this place fell through. I like my job being Hope’s assistant. I get to work with my best friend. Who wouldn’t want that? But at one point in time I was a little girl who dared to dream, and that dream didn’t include copy-editing, organising schedules and doing general assistant work.

  Springhollow being such a small village, Hope and I had applied to work at the magazine right out of college at the ripe old age of eighteen. Hope had always dreamt of being a journalist and overseeing the magazine one day, whereas I loved spending time with Hope and thought maybe a job at our village’s only magazine would appease both my creative aspirations and my mother. I could focus on sophisticated pieces of writing, report the news and leave my silly dreams to professionals more suited to it than me. However, my previous boss didn’t quite take to my writing style, for some reason. I tended to add my own twist and inspiration when it came to facts and what was going on in our small village; that may have included the odd alien or magic power.

  Giving me the top stories or putting me out in the field was not on his agenda. I was better suited to making coffee and seeing to it that the photocopier never ran out of toner, is what I was told. I take a deep breath and open up my emails. It’s better these days, I’ve gotten used to organising meetings, scheduling appointments and helping Hope assign writers to their suited articles.

  Since landing our jobs here at The Village Gazette, Hope has worked her way up from editing other people’s articles to becoming a manager, and she is a businesswoman to be reckoned with. I on the other hand have remained the coffee runner, only now I’m getting to do it for Hope and not Alfred, an older man who always wore a grey suit to match his grey hair, and didn’t much care for my creative flair. So really, I could take that as a win, maybe even say it was somewhat of a promotion, right?

  ‘Thanks, Scarlett. You’re the best. We’re just like Clark and Lois working at the Daily Planet,’ Hope says as she goes to sit down. I choke on the strong scent of satsuma and feign a smile, but I’m happy to be of service and to see that she’s smiling now. That’s what best friends are for.

  ‘Speaking of superheroes, will you come and watch the new DC movie with me tomorrow night? Jess was going to come but he can’t make it now – he has to attend his office’s Christmas do until late,’ Hope says looking up from her screen. Usually the minute the clock strikes nine she turns into business Hope until lunchtime. She must be feeling shaken by the possibility of the magazine closing, given the fact she is still talking to me at nine-thirteen. I’m determined to help her save it. At her question, I scrunch up my nose and try to compose my words gently, so as to not let her down.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ I say, with an apologetic nod, before trying to look busy pressing some keys in hope that she won’t try and persuade me.

  ‘Not one superhero movie in the ten years I’ve known you. Whatever will it take to bring you over to the dark side? Are Jess and I too nerdy for you? Can you not be seen out in public with us geeks?’ Hope says, mock pouting and wiggling her eyebrows my way. She knows this isn’t true. They are two of my favourite people and were a godsend in my life when I went to college.

  I can feel a trickle of sweat on my top lip and pray that Hope hasn’t noticed that too.

  ‘You know how much I love you, both of you,’ I say forcing a causal laugh. ‘But Eddie has an appointment,’ I blurt out. For someone who once loved spending every day on other planets and using every bit of their imagination, I’m horrified by my lame excuse and cross my fingers under my desk hoping that Hope somehow buys it. She looks up at me over her laptop with a smirk on her face.

  ‘Should I be worried about you, Scarlett?’ she asks, the smirk fading slightly as a look of concern flashes across her kind features.

  ‘Why would you need to be worried about me?’ I ask, turning away and trying to focus on an email from Billy in horoscopes.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m just trying to think of all the possible reasons or events that would require a goldfish to have
an appointment and I’m struggling to think of one,’ she says, waving a hand in the air casually, her lips curving into a grin again. If I wasn’t sweating under the pressure of getting out of movie night, I would probably be laughing right now too at the absurdity of what I just said, but there’s no turning back.

  ‘Oh, it’s OK, just a general check-up. Now, stop distracting me. We’ve got work to do if we’re going to save this magazine,’ I reply with confidence.

  Hope hesitates for a moment, as if assessing me, then she gets right back to typing away at her laptop. My shoulders relax a couple of inches from my ears and inwardly I sigh with relief.

  If I’m going to score the Christmas fair project and come up with a plan to save The Village Gazette I can’t lose focus and be out watching superhero movies. I love Hope and I can’t let all the work she has done here at the magazine be for nothing and see her dream fade, because leaving your best friend to go into battle alone is not something that I would ever consider doing.

  2

  The office is now deserted. The hum of the photocopier silent. The shuffling of paper has settled and only the odd creak of the old and rickety pipes can be heard as we walk down the stairs. It had been a super busy day, especially once Hope had informed everyone of the status of the magazine, minus the scary detail that we were on an incredibly tight schedule for a miracle to happen, but she hadn’t wanted them to fret over losing their jobs so close to the holidays. I had been answering questions with unwavering positivity and was so busy listening to people’s comments and views that I didn’t even get chance to nip out for mine and Hope’s usual lunchtime treat and afternoon coffee.

  ‘I’m proud of us for getting through the afternoon without our afternoon pick-me-up.’ I grin at Hope. It’s just gone five-thirty and we’re finally stepping out of the office and into the December evening. Our building sits around the edge of the village square so from my office window I can see the shops below: Mrs May’s Sweet Shop, Duncan’s Hairdressing, the post office, the library, Jenny’s Boutique, Kelly’s Pizzeria and the grocery stall. I have everything I could ever need around me.

  The grass circle that stands in the centre of the square has to be my favourite part. With its gazebos and benches and decorations to match each season, I never tire from looking at it. Right now they are busy building and constructing the Christmas spectacle. It will soon be home to the most extravagant Christmas tree and lights will be strung up everywhere. I can’t help grinning as I gaze over at it while Hope locks up. It is also wonderfully convenient that my walk to and from work requires us to go past Mr and Mrs Rolph’s bakery, especially when Hope and I are having a little get-together, albeit the working kind. It certainly helps to have chocolate.

  Rolphs’ Bakery has been a staple in Springhollow since 1947 when Mrs Rolph’s parents moved to the village from Italy. They bought an empty shell of a shop, very much a small hole in the wall and at first, they only served the freshest most mouth-watering bread. But as it started to grow, and they built up loyal customers, they began sharing all sorts of Italian delicacies with the village, delicacies that Mable and Jonathan still make to this day with many Springhollow originals of course, what with Mable having been born here and Jonathan’s family being born and raised here too. Jonathan became something of an honorary Italian after marrying Mable and passing the bread-making test. Despite my run-ins with Mrs Rolph when I was a kid, she’s lovely and one of a kind, as is her husband.

  ‘I think missing out on our treat means we can make up for it now,’ Hope says with an exaggerated wink as she links my arm and we fall into step. I’m not one for watching my weight. I take regular walks and hikes over the weekend and I don’t care for the diet fads and trends that come through via email asking about sponsorship and spots in our magazine, but I am becoming increasingly aware of getting older, mostly thanks to my mum. My body has remained lean since I was a child. Being outdoors all the time – skateboarding and running around, jumping off everything in sight – had done my body good. But my mum likes to remind me that getting older means your body has a mind of its own. Skateboarding used to be my activity of choice, but I gave it up along with most of my childhood joys many moons ago. Plus the idea of being the only twenty-six-year-old shredding makes me feel stupid, and the last hiding place my mum had hidden my skateboard sure was a doozy as I’m yet to find it.

  We duck inside the bakery and are greeted with the most heavenly scent of the last few gingerbread men and chocolate-covered doughnuts that look as though they have been waiting in the display case just for us. The small square-shaped shop is simply decorated with family photos hung up on the light cream walls, an old-fashioned wooden counter where an Italian flag and a British one hang proudly from the ceiling above and to the right stands a wooden shelving structure that houses packaged goodies. It’s the cakes and bakes that take centre stage in this place. Mrs Rolph smiles when she looks up from cleaning the empty trays.

  ‘Evening, Mrs Rolph,’ Hope and I say in unison.

  She stops what she’s doing by the big sink and walks over to the counter. ‘Evening, girls, what can I get you?’ she asks sweetly but I can’t respond. My heart feels like it has fallen out of its cage and landed with a thud on the ground and my hair feels like it’s sticking to my hot cheeks. I blink a few times and swat at my face, wondering if I’m dreaming. Behind Mrs Rolph on the bakery wall there is a poster, a poster of a man in red spandex wearing a white cape and gold boots. His brown hair is short and he’s baring a goofy bright smile.

  For a ridiculous moment I think he’s the spitting image of Devon Wood, my childhood best friend. I pinch the skin on the back of my hand, fearing I’m hallucinating; it has been a long day. But my skin stings with my pinch and I snap my eyes away and shake my head.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Rolph,’ Hope says cheerfully as the old lady places our box on the counter. Hope must have ordered while I was busy having an internal panic attack. I nod my head and pretend to tip my non-existent hat and mutter a thank you when Mrs Rolph narrows her eyes at me. Then a warm smile spreads across her face as she turns around to look at the poster and then back to me.

  ‘Have you not seen it yet, Scarlett dear?’ Mrs Rolph says.

  ‘Seen what?’ I retort. ‘Let me help you with that box, Hope. I’ve got it,’ I add, fumbling to take the box out of Hope’s more stable and secure grip, while taking a few steps back.

  ‘Our village has its very own superhero,’ Mrs Rolph answers, causing Hope to squeal with glee and me to hiccup in horror at her confirmation that the man on the poster was not just an uncanny lookalike but Devon himself. Shoot, so he did it, he really did it; he became an actor. Well good for him. I try to get my face to display a cool, relaxed, unbothered look but can’t be sure I’m nailing it because my eyebrows feel very close to my hairline and my cheeks are heating by the second.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Rolph, that movie looks amazing. I can’t believe I live in the same village where Devon Wood grew up. Did you know that this movie is his big break? He’s been relatively unknown until now. How lovely is that; to get your big break in a comic book franchise? Did you know him, Mrs Rolph? I’m going to see it on Wednesday night. I’ve been trying to get Scarlett to come with me but she’s no fun,’ Hope tells Mrs Rolph with all the excitement of my twelve-year-old self, but I have no time to get lost in what once was. We need to get out of here quick. Hope knows nothing of my vigilante days or of my childhood with Devon and I’d very much like to keep it that way.

  ‘Know him, the whole town knew him. Mind you I do hope he has grown up a touch and stayed out of trouble. He was always up to no good with this—’ Mrs Rolph starts to regale us with a mix of pride and distain.

  ‘Would you look at the time. Phew, it’s getting late and we have so much to think about and plan, what with the Christmas fair and saving the magazine,’ I blurt out while shooting Mrs Rolph an offended look. Devon and I were not always getting into trouble, getting into casts and hospital beds was more lik
e it while trying to hone our skills in order to save the people of Springhollow from impending danger. With my words Mrs Rolph’s face softens and her wrinkles deepen.

  ‘What did you say about saving the magazine? Is it in trouble? Johnathan and I are happy subscribers; we’d hate to see it struggling, Hope,’ she says and I realise in my freaked-out state I just put my foot in it and let slip about the magazine’s possible demise, though my words have effectively distracted her from memory lane. I continue backing towards the door bowing with the box, needing to escape before I do further damage. Hope is looking at me with a befuddled look on her face.

  ‘No, don’t be silly. It’s in no trouble. How can it be in trouble with Hope at the helm? But be sure to keep subscribing. Please pass on our love to Mr Rolph and thank you for the treats,’ I say and push open the door, allowing the cool wind to chill my heated cheeks.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Rolph, and please don’t worry about us. It’s just been a long day,’ Hope shouts after me as she walks through the door. She links my arm again in hers and doesn’t speak for a moment. We really do have so much to think about tonight. I wasn’t lying when I said we have tons to plan. With only two weeks until the Christmas fair, I need to bring my idea to Hope. I don’t want to think about the poster and what it means but it seems Hope has other ideas.

  ‘I truly can’t believe I’m friends with someone who hates superheroes and can’t keep a secret.’ Hope chuckles and tugs at my elbow as we turn onto my street. I shiver with a mixture of guilt and the frosty air. ‘Can you believe Mrs Rolph knew that guy? Did you know him growing up?’ Hope adds. I think I may have left my heart on the floor in the bakery, for where there should be a rhythm of healthy beats there is only a hollow feeling and a complete sense of dread about lying again to my best friend.