Read Online The Great Allotment Proposal by Jenny Oliver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenny Oliver
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junket had been published already. Light and whimsical stuff that she had been completely in control of, batting away comments with funny little quips and charming them with stories of youthful summers frolicking in the cherry orchard.
She opened the laptop.
Where’s a Hunter without her Fox?
Emily sighed, put her chin in her hands and started to read.
Emily Hunter-Brown says she’s fine. OK, Em, we’ll play along. She’s not looking for romance (yet hang on a sec? Isn’t her new signature scent ‘Cherry Blossom’? And what did she wear in her hair at her engagement party? You guessed it!), she’s completely forgiven Giles (but she hasn’t called to congratulate him on his new baby), she’s not broody (yet she’s just bought a six-bedroom house?).
‘Honestly, I’m very happy for him,’ she says of Giles, lowering her head and looking up through tear-flecked lashes. When I question her further, she comes back with her trademark, husky ‘That’s private.’ Yet I can see the turmoil behind her eyes.
I ask why she’s suddenly so serious. Where’s our fun, wild Emily gone? She claims she’s growing up – hence the blue highlights, gone, and the dumped Rolling Stones roadie
–
but we want to tell her that growing up doesn’t have to mean boring, sad and lonely. Bring back our Em with her crazy brand of cool.
Not only that, we’re worried about you, Emily. Alone in that big new house of yours. We worry that you’re building a bubble around yourself away from reality. We worry that we’re losing you to a fantasy past. We don’t want to utter the words Havisham, but if we don’t, someone else will.
So we’ve done the only thing we felt we could do…
We’ve called in the Fox.
‘Oh god.’ Emily covered her eyes with her hands and read the last bit through the cracks in her fingers.
And even we had to catch our breath when Giles said that he too was worried. (OMG, Mr Fox, we LOVE you.) He urged her to get in touch and told us to tell her that he’s always there if she needs him. (We can hear Adeline screeching from here!)
Read into that what you will. Butterflies fluttered in our tummies.
So please, Emily, if you’re reading this, call Giles. It may be the most important call you ever make. You say you’re OK, but we simply can’t believe you.
‘Bollocks.’ Emily slammed the laptop shut. ‘Giles, you snake,’ she said then, closing her eyes for a moment, realised that he probably hadn’t even spoken to them.
‘Everything all right, Emily?’ Winston called from the hallway.
‘Fine thanks, Winston.’ She pulled her hair away from her face and tied it up with an elastic band.
She read the article again and again, wishing that she’d never read it once. She knew she shouldn’t let it take the shine of the launch of her perfume – blossom in her hair at the engagement, for goodness sake? How dare they bring it back to that. The scent was her tribute to Cherry Pie Island. The smell of the first blossoms, the big puffballs of flowers and the carpet of white petals. But it made her want to curl up in her bed clutching the signature scent to her chest, to lock it away so no one else could have it. She had wanted it to be about her strength and vitality. About independence and spirit. Her memories of a time before she became ‘Fox Hunter’ and an ability to make it on her own without anything to do with him attached. And yet however many years passed – five now – she couldn’t shake him.
So she Googled him instead.
There he was in the hundreds. Pages and pages of him. She hadn’t really looked at a photo of him in years. And now there were almost too many to see clearly. She peered at the photos of him with his new baby. With Adeline at the Oscars. With him loping down the street with his bulldog, carrying a Starbucks and talking on his phone. With him wearing glasses, which she wasn’t sure he needed, looking serious as he tried his hand at directing. She studied him, the
She opened the laptop.
Where’s a Hunter without her Fox?
Emily sighed, put her chin in her hands and started to read.
Emily Hunter-Brown says she’s fine. OK, Em, we’ll play along. She’s not looking for romance (yet hang on a sec? Isn’t her new signature scent ‘Cherry Blossom’? And what did she wear in her hair at her engagement party? You guessed it!), she’s completely forgiven Giles (but she hasn’t called to congratulate him on his new baby), she’s not broody (yet she’s just bought a six-bedroom house?).
‘Honestly, I’m very happy for him,’ she says of Giles, lowering her head and looking up through tear-flecked lashes. When I question her further, she comes back with her trademark, husky ‘That’s private.’ Yet I can see the turmoil behind her eyes.
I ask why she’s suddenly so serious. Where’s our fun, wild Emily gone? She claims she’s growing up – hence the blue highlights, gone, and the dumped Rolling Stones roadie
–
but we want to tell her that growing up doesn’t have to mean boring, sad and lonely. Bring back our Em with her crazy brand of cool.
Not only that, we’re worried about you, Emily. Alone in that big new house of yours. We worry that you’re building a bubble around yourself away from reality. We worry that we’re losing you to a fantasy past. We don’t want to utter the words Havisham, but if we don’t, someone else will.
So we’ve done the only thing we felt we could do…
We’ve called in the Fox.
‘Oh god.’ Emily covered her eyes with her hands and read the last bit through the cracks in her fingers.
And even we had to catch our breath when Giles said that he too was worried. (OMG, Mr Fox, we LOVE you.) He urged her to get in touch and told us to tell her that he’s always there if she needs him. (We can hear Adeline screeching from here!)
Read into that what you will. Butterflies fluttered in our tummies.
So please, Emily, if you’re reading this, call Giles. It may be the most important call you ever make. You say you’re OK, but we simply can’t believe you.
‘Bollocks.’ Emily slammed the laptop shut. ‘Giles, you snake,’ she said then, closing her eyes for a moment, realised that he probably hadn’t even spoken to them.
‘Everything all right, Emily?’ Winston called from the hallway.
‘Fine thanks, Winston.’ She pulled her hair away from her face and tied it up with an elastic band.
She read the article again and again, wishing that she’d never read it once. She knew she shouldn’t let it take the shine of the launch of her perfume – blossom in her hair at the engagement, for goodness sake? How dare they bring it back to that. The scent was her tribute to Cherry Pie Island. The smell of the first blossoms, the big puffballs of flowers and the carpet of white petals. But it made her want to curl up in her bed clutching the signature scent to her chest, to lock it away so no one else could have it. She had wanted it to be about her strength and vitality. About independence and spirit. Her memories of a time before she became ‘Fox Hunter’ and an ability to make it on her own without anything to do with him attached. And yet however many years passed – five now – she couldn’t shake him.
So she Googled him instead.
There he was in the hundreds. Pages and pages of him. She hadn’t really looked at a photo of him in years. And now there were almost too many to see clearly. She peered at the photos of him with his new baby. With Adeline at the Oscars. With him loping down the street with his bulldog, carrying a Starbucks and talking on his phone. With him wearing glasses, which she wasn’t sure he needed, looking serious as he tried his hand at directing. She studied him, the
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