Page 8 of Loving Jemima

“No,” said Ellie at the exact same time as Carys said “Yes.”

“Come on,” said Mo.

“We have to celebrate,” said Carys. “It’s the law.”

“It might be Welsh law, but it’s not English law,” said Ellie, who felt her evening on the couch with her book and Constable slipping away between her fingers.

“It’s important for office morale,” put in Mo. “Come on, please?”

She looked from one to the other. Both faces had wide eyes and pleading expressions and in her heart she knew that she owed them this. Both had supported her, and Mo had worked their arse off on getting a prospectus put together. She sighed. “A drink.”

“That new queer bar opened up close to the tube station,” Carys said to Mo. “There should be something for all of us there.”

“I’m in for anything queer,” said Mo. “Do you think I should go home and change?”

“No, that skirt is most excellent, no way can you change it,” Carys said.

“One. Drink,” Ellie said more firmly.

But neither one looked at her. They were far too busy deciding what to wear and arguing over whether the bar had karaoke or not to listen to the voice of reason.

Ellie sighed. She loved them, but a night of looking after two drunken queers wasn’t necessarily her idea of fun. Still, they deserved it, she supposed. She grinned half to herself. She’d really done it. Baker Functions was about to become a name that people recognized. All she had to do now was see that the Darlington party was a huge success.

Chapter Four

The car was undrivable. Just that morning when she’d sat in the driver’s seat and turned the key, it had uttered a sad choking noise and then lapsed into silence. Jem had screeched in frustration and was now having the worst day ever.

Well, perhaps not ever. But close.

Her manicurist had canceled, her favorite coffee shop had messed up her order leaving her uncaffeinated and tasting faintly of cinnamon, and then, to top it all off, she’d peeked at her bank balance and had had to look twice before she realized that there just weren’t enough numbers.

Which meant she had to walk the gauntlet.

“No, no, wait!” called the young man in the suit as Jem clipped by in her favorite heels.

“It’s me,” she caroled.

“He’s busy,” Toby caroled right back.

“He’ll see me,” she practically sang.

“He’ll kill me,” he sang back.

She stopped. “Tobes, it’s me. It’ll be fine.”

He pulled a face. “Give me a minute? Let me at least tell him that you’re here. You know, prove that I can do my job and all.”

“Fine,” she said, leaning against his desk and folding her arms. “How’s the mood?”

“Oh, you know, I’m alright, bit tired I suppose,” Toby said as he picked up the phone. Then he paused and looked at Jem whosimply raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean Mr. Darlington. Um, yeah. He’s okay, I suppose. He finally found a party planner so that put a smile on his face.”

Jem, who suspected that Toby harbored more than a little crush on her father, frowned. “Who did he go with? Farber’s? Or Carrington’s?”

“Neither,” Toby said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand. “Some new place, the girl was here this morning. Baker’s?”

“Never heard of it,” Jem said, rolling her eyes. It wasn’t like her father to go against tradition. It was like her father to look for a bargain, however.

“Mr. Darlington, your daughter’s here,” Toby said quietly. He looked up at Jem. “Go right in.”

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