It Started With A Tweet(73)
I’ve been walking practically at the pace of a snail to get to the mailbox today; I’m that desperate to bump into Jack. Despite our frequent letter writing, it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him, and after our near kiss .?.?.
I’m pleased when I open the mailbox to see a folded note that instantly I know is from him, as well as a more official-looking letter. Unable to contain my excitement, I open Jack’s note first.
DAISY,
YOU’D NEVER BELIEVE WHAT ARRIVED AT MY DOOR TODAY! THAT’S RIGHT, MY VERY OWN BULLSEYE MUG!
GLAD ALL IS WELL ON YOUR SIDE OF THE FARM. I CAN CONFIRM THAT I SAW SUNLIGHT TOO, AND, I BETTER WHISPER THIS, IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE SUNNY FOR THE REST OF THIS WEEK AS WELL! I’M HEADING OFF TO NEWCASTLE FOR A COUPLE OF NIGHTS (FOR WORK – STILL NOT TELLING), BUT I’LL PROBABLY SEE YOU OUT AND ABOUT LATER IN THE WEEK, AS I BET YOU’RE DYING TO TEST OUT YOUR NEW OUTDOOR GEAR ON THINGS OTHER THAN TRIPS TO YOUR PORTALOO.
JUST TO LET YOU KNOW, I KEEP A SPARE KEY UNDER THE BOOT CLEANER (THE THING THAT LOOKS LIKE AN UPSIDE DOWN BROOM HEAD) WHICH CAN BE USED FOR EMERGENCIES WHEN I’M AWAY – SUCH AS HAVING A SHOWER.
HOPE THE BUILDING IS GOING WELL.
JACK
P.S. WILL GIVE YOU ANOTHER CLUE ABOUT JOHN MAJOR – IT HAS TO DO WITH HIS SON’S WIFE .?.?.
As I read the letter, the warm glow that runs over me ebbs away as it dawns on me that I’m not going to see him for another few days. I don’t bother to write a reply like I’d planned to do. I don’t want him coming back to a full mailbox, as that’ll make me look too keen.
I turn my attention to the official-looking letter; the address has been crossed out and the farm’s address written next to it, in what looks like Erica’s loopy writing. I’m confused for a second, before I remember that she was going to forward me a letter, and I open it, only to find another envelope inside with just my name on it. Hastily, I open it, even more intrigued.
Dear Ms Hobson,
I have asked your previous employer to forward you this letter as we have been trying to contact you without success.
We are a small, recently launched company called E.D.S.M., and we are looking for a forward-thinking marketing manager. From your LinkedIn profile and professional reputation, we think you would be perfect for the role.
Please could you contact us at your earliest convenience to arrange an interview.
Kind regards,
Ben Stone
M.D.
I stare at the typed letter and wonder if it’s some sort of joke. Surely no one would go to all that effort to contact me based on my professional reputation, which right about now has to be at laughing-stock level? If I had the Internet, I’d be on it like a rocket to google the company.
I fold the letter up and put it in my pocket as I start walking back to the farm, eager to see what Rosie makes of it. I hurry along, now that I’m not expecting to see Jack, only I freeze as I pass the turning to his drive. I remember what he wrote in his letter. He’s away for a couple of nights and he’s left a spare key out for me to have a shower.
I close my eyes for a minute and imagine the hot water rushing over me. Rosie’s got the bath working again, yet, with the amount of hot water we have at the moment, we can only fill it a few inches so it’s like bathing in the Blitz.
I glance at my watch. I’m sure Rosie won’t even notice that I’m not there. She’s so busy working on the bathroom.
I practically jog down the path to his house. As it comes into view, it’s exactly what I imagined. A small cosy cottage built in dark-grey stone, with ivy creeping over one side. It’s got a bright red front door, and despite its austere setting, it looks inviting. I find the boot cleaner – he was right to tell me what it looked like as I would never have guessed that’s what its purpose was – and, sure enough, there’s a small Yale key. Quickly, I open the door and return the key to its hiding place, not wanting to lose it, before I head inside.
I guess I thought it would be like Rodney’s – a bit old fashioned – but instead it’s surprisingly modern and everything’s white. I slip my shoes off, not wanting to leave a trail of mud, and I head up the stairs, thinking it’s the most natural place for a shower. I find a towel resting over the edge of the bath, and there’s a note for me:
DAISY,
GLAD YOU TOOK ME UP ON THE OFFER, NOW YOU’LL SMELL AS FRESH AS YOUR NAME WHEN I NEXT SEE YOU ;) HERE’S A CLEAN TOWEL, AND HELP YOURSELF TO SHAMPOO AND SHOWER GEL (ALTHOUGH THEY’RE PROBABLY A BIT MALE).
JACK
I don’t care that Jack only has Head and Shoulders two-in-one, as right now it’s just about the feeling of getting clean. I strip off and walk into the shower cubicle in the corner of the room, and practically groan with delight like the woman out of the Herbal Essences advert. Knowing that Jack won’t be home anytime soon, I take the world’s longest shower, safe in the knowledge that I’m not using up anyone else’s hot water like I would be back at the farm. Never did a shower feel so good.
Finally, I prise myself out of the shower when my hands are fully wrinkled and prune-like, and I dress quickly. I’m just towel-drying my hair, when I realise I’ve missed a great snooping opportunity. I bet I could find out what Jack does.