Kindling

Chapter 23

23

Harper was still half-asleep when she plonked down in the cabin’s front room the following Monday morning, at her brand-new writing desk. She rested her half-drained mug of tea on one of Fraser’s wooden coasters, blinking groggily at her laptop screen. Her inbox had been empty for weeks, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because she hated replying to emails and had always worried that she used too many exclamation points with clients and co-workers. A curse, because now that her days were no longer structured for her by whatever lay in her inbox, she was floundering in freedom. She could – in theory – write as much as she wanted to, with nobody to tell her when or what or why. If she could – in practice – stop procrastinating.

So why on earth was her former boss’s name appearing in bold at the top of her screen now?

Anxiety trickled through her, unpleasant but not unfamiliar. Her stomach cramped with the same dread, and it was like she was sitting in that stuffy office again, with co-workers who gossiped quietly in break rooms, and tasks she had to miserably slog through until the day finally ended when she was too exhausted to do anything for herself.

She considered not opening it – even switched tabs back to her open manuscript. She’d churned out fifty-thousand words of her novel now. With Fraser busy babysitting yesterday, she’d curled up in bed, the rain her soundtrack, and typed until her wrists ached. It was becoming an instinct, something she didn’t even have to think about before she started.

She rubbed her eyes, eager to dive back into the fantastical world she’d been living in. Yesterday, she’d been certain of what would come next in the story.

Today, she stared at the last line she’d written and found her brain completely devoid of any words that weren’t in the subject line of that email.

New job opening?

She couldn’t ignore it. It would press into her mind like a bruise until she found out what her ex-employer wanted.

Drawing herself up, she closed her manuscript and returned to her inbox. Her fingers shook as she clicked on the new message.

Subject: New job opening?

From: Chris Bailey

To: Harper Clegg

Harper,

I hope this email finds you well.

“All the better now I don’t read that soulless line twenty times a day,” she muttered.

While I am sure you have probably already found a new position following your regretful departure from Brentworth Furnishings, there has been an unexpected opening for the role of Marketing Director that I believe would suit your skillset well. If you would be interested in rejoining us, I would like to invite you to interview for the position. Naturally, the managerial role offers a higher salary and greater responsibility than your previous title, but after working with you for several years, I am confident that you have the potential to perform well under pressure.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you to say – after already letting me go ,” she quipped sourly.

I would be interested to hear your thoughts.

If you would like to book a meeting, please do let me know. My schedule is open for interviews the week beginning November 18th.

Many thanks,

Chris

She should have been happy. Chris clearly regretted his choice to make her redundant, and waltzing back into that office would show everybody at Brentworth that she was worth more. Chris would see she wasn’t just a worker ant to swat away, but a person who was needed to help the company thrive. She could even make him grovel.

Then there was the fact that, should she take the job, she would be Kenzie’s senior. The entire marketing department’s senior. What better way to prove that her ex had made a mistake than Harper working as her boss and earning more money than Kenzie in the process? Kenzie would weep . She would regret. She would pine .

Harper had always wanted to make someone pine.

But did she want this ?

Of course, she wanted stability. She missed knowing that she had money coming in. She missed feeling satisfied by her work not just when she hit a word count milestone or had a breakthrough in plotting, but when a campaign she’d led succeeded, or when somebody gave positive feedback on her attention to detail or her great advice on copywriting. In such a fast-paced company, she’d been fuelled by everyday accomplishments, and not having them had made her feel unsteady. Unsure of herself. Nobody was here to praise her.

Nobody was here to demean her, either.

She sank lower into her chair, resting her head on the keyboard until her reply box was filled with long lines of Xs and Vs, accompanied by the jolting noise warning her that she was typing utter nonsense. She ignored it.

“This is bad. This is really, really bad.” Just the thought of heading back to Manchester and stepping back into that office, wearing something far less comfortable than her current thermal leggings and cosy jumpers, made her mouth dry as sandpaper. At least before, she’d been able to work from home when the pressure got to her. The last marketing and sales director, Debra, had practically lived in the office, always rushing from meeting to meeting while trying to supervise Harper and her colleagues, too. Over coffee, she’d confessed that the work was piling up and it was causing problems with her wife and kids at home. Harper didn’t have a partner or kids, but she wanted them. One day. And in the meantime, she wanted at least six hours a night to watch reality TV in her pyjamas, or catch up with friends, or read, or perhaps even keep her newfound connection to nature intact. She didn’t want to feel like she was just trying to survive each day, each week, each month.

And she wanted time to finish her book. She still had a long way to go. If she went to this meeting, she’d have to cut her trip short. And if she got the job, what if it left her with no time to write?

She’d come too far to abandon the novel.

And…

Fraser. She didn’t want to leave Fraser.

“Bollocks.” She whined into her hands, tearing apart at the seams. She couldn’t just turn down an opportunity like this when she was painfully unemployed, could she? Maybe the increased salary would mean she could save up, take a gap year to continue writing in the future.

“Morning, sunshine.” She slammed her laptop shut when the door swung open and Fraser appeared. Bernard jumped straight onto her lap, licking her cheek in greeting.

“Good morning.” Her voice came out loud and squeaky, not hers, but he was too busy striding towards the kettle to notice.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Enjoying your new desk?”

Harper stared out at the woods. Her woods. She’d grown accustomed to this view. Fraser’s chopping block, the saplings slowly rising from the soil, the carpet of fallen leaves and pine needles surrounding tall trees that were gradually turning bare. November had come too quickly, and the proof was written in the cool fog blanketing the golden forest. At Brentworth, the only view was a big yellow crane across the street, hovering over a new apartment build that never seemed to be finished. When she was lucky, the eternal scaffolding was blurred out by the rain.

Was she willing to give this – him – up?

She couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t even think about saying goodbye. She buried her face into Bernard’s musky fur and sighed.

“Harp?” Fraser whirled around before the kettle, concern tugging down the corners of his mouth. “You all right?”

She couldn’t tell him. Not until she’d had a proper chance to think about it.

So she nodded with feigned enthusiasm. “Yep, I’m good. How was babysitting? Is Eiley feeling any better? Did she hear anything from Finlay? What did Cam say?”

“Steady on.” He ducked his head as though her words were flying right at him. “That’s a lot of questions in a very short amount of time.” He rested on the arm of his sofa so there was nothing between them but Bernard. He reached out, brushed his knuckles across the back of her hand before petting Bernard between the ears. “Eiley is surprisingly okay, for now, but I’m going to keep checking in between work. Babysitting was good. We ate too many sweets on Saturday, and yesterday I took them along the Fairy Trail with Cam and Sorcha to tire them out. Sky was a little upset, but Isla soon cheered him up, and… what were the other questions?”

Harper shook her head. Her brain couldn’t focus on anything other than that email. It felt like a shadow peering over her back. Like somehow, Fraser might be able to see through the closed lid of her laptop to what lay beneath. Their impending farewell. “I can’t remember, honestly.”

His cheek dimpled as he bent forwards, the pad of his thumb tracing her cupid’s bow. “What’s on the agenda for today? I feel like I didn’t see you nearly enough this weekend. Forty-eight hours feels like a lifetime without you.”

He might as well have ripped her heart open, the way he tore apart pieces of kindling outside. She would love nothing more than to sink into him and forget, but what if that only made the inevitable more painful? What if she should already be preparing herself to say goodbye?

It would be the sensible thing to do. She would need a job eventually, and it would be nice to line her pockets with extra money before Christmas.

She frowned, taking his hand and kissing his palm, because it was about all she could muster. “I think… I don’t know, honestly. I haven’t thought about it.”

“You’re supposed to say you missed me, too,” he pointed out, nudging her shin with the steel-cap toe of his boot.

“I did miss you,” she said. It was the truth. She’d felt lonely without him here yesterday. She’d even gone for a walk to ease her restlessness, before knuckling down to her writing.

“I wanted to thank you for the way you looked out for Eiley,” he said. “You really helped her on Saturday.”

Harper shrugged. “If she needs anything, I’m here.” Which reminded her. She was due back at the preschool tomorrow morning. Another thing she would have to give up soon if she agreed to the interview. Sixteen days was all she had, and before then, she had to make a decision. “I’ll ask her if she fancies a coffee or something after playgroup tomorrow. If you think she’d like it.”

“I think she’d love it.”

He sighed, seeming not to notice when the kettle came to a boil. “I was thinking a lot about what you said. About my woodwork.”

At this, she finally jumped back into her own body, eyes widening eagerly. “Oh? Have you finally realised I am right about everything all the time?”

Fraser offered her a deadpan stare, but he struggled to keep a straight face, so maybe he really had changed his mind. She twisted just to admire her fairy figurine, placed proudly on the shelf of her beautiful desk.

“It’s the autumn festival in the village this weekend,” he said instead of admitting that she was, in fact, right about everything all the time.

“Do you think there will be PSLs?” she enquired. One thing she had not yet grown used to was the lack of seasonal drinks on Belbarrow’s café and tearoom menus. Her last decent beverage had been from the coffee truck next to the Fairy Trail, and she didn’t know how to get there on foot.

“What the hell is a PSL?” asked Fraser.

“Pumpkin spice latte. It’s not autumn without them. There’s a café near my house called Coco Cups, and oof !” She licked her lips for emphasis. “So good. I sometimes worked from home just to set up camp at one of their tables. I need pumpkin spice set up in an IV, I think. With whipped cream. Although, then I’d miss the taste, and maybe the whipped cream would clog the IV—”

“There was a point to my earlier sentence. When you’re ready to hear it.” He crossed his arms patiently, eyes glittering with amusement. “Take your time.”

Of course she was babbling. Because she was nervous. And because she thought that maybe if she was too quiet, he’d sense something was wrong, and then she’d have to tell him.

“Apologies. Go on.”

“Thank you.” He cleared the gravel from his throat. “The autumn festival is this weekend, and I signed up for a stall to sell my figurines.”

“Oh my god!”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to go all out with my furniture, yet. It takes a lot more work and resources. But… you were right about the fairies. The kids loved the trail so much yesterday. Sky wanted to take the fairy house home with him. And after our conversations last week, in the shed and with Eiley... I’ve realised that I would never, ever want Brook, Sky, and Archie to grow up the way I did. Thinking they’re not good enough, or that they can’t make art because they’re boys. I want to surprise them all. Tell them that Uncle Fraser made them.”

“That’s really lovely, Fraser,” Harper said softly. “They’re going to love it – but it shouldn’t just be for them. I hope you’re doing this for you, too.”

He gave a small nod, mouth dimpling at the corners. “I am.”

“Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Don’t get too excited. I might back out before then. I’m still nervous.”

“Understandably, but this could be so special!” She clapped her hands together. “I’m so excited! We can make posters and I can help bring people to your table!”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of—”

“Oh my goodness, what if we made a huge sign? ‘Fraser’s Fairies’—”

“Now that just sounds weird.”

“— And I can find decorations. It will be like autumn sneezed all over your stall!”

“Gross.”

“Wait there!” She pushed him onto the couch, leaving him sprawled on his back in surprise. “I have so much planned already!”

When she hadn’t been writing yesterday, she’d been planning. For Andy’s reopening, but mostly for Fraser, in the event he changed his mind.

She’d had a feeling he would.

Maybe marketing was still in her blood, after all.