Page 64 of A Perfect Devon Pub
Ivy spoke gently, concern etched on her face, ‘Do you want me to call Rose and let her know you’re not well enough for work today?’
Fiona stifled a laugh. ‘No,’ she spluttered. ‘No need. I’ve been fired. Accused of theft. Somebody set me up.’
Ivy swayed, clutching at the doorframe. ‘Who would do something as wicked as that?’ she gasped.
Fiona wanted to name the culprit, but although certain who it was, she had no proof it was Kim. Blinking back the tears, she told herself to do something. She couldn’t collapse in a heap of misery. She picked up the pile of whites, tying the ends of a sheet round the bundle, then stumbled past Ivy and down the stairs, hearing her aunt thumping her way down behind her.
She hurled the linen into the washing machine and snapped the door shut. ‘Why would anyone want you to take the blame, and how did they do it?’ asked Ivy.
While stabbing at the dial to choose a cycle, Fiona told her aunt about the bottle of Krug. When Ivy didn’t respond, Fiona spun around. Her aunt was chewing her lip, clutching at the cross at her neck.
‘Ivy, if you know something ... please, I beg you, help me!’
‘All I can say is ...’ Ivy heaved a sigh. ‘Someone has a problem.’
‘Who?’
Ivy clutched at her cross again.
‘Who?’
‘I never break a confidence.’ Listening to those words, Fiona recalled Ivy saying how Kim had been upset after being interviewed and that she had taken her for a coffee and a chat. Had Kim confided in Ivy, confessed some secret? Maybe Kimwasthe thief. Fiona had read about wealthy people shoplifting for the thrill of the crime. Had Kim done this as a dare and planted the evidence against Fiona, not just to remove her from the ‘love playing field’ but to deflect suspicion away from herself? Fiona’s heart started pounding, and she raised her voice, ‘It’s Kim, isn’t it?’
Ivy dropped her gaze. ‘I think you should talk to Rose. I’ll come with you if you like. She may be more receptive after a few days reflecting on this. She must know you’re not a thief.’
Hearing the comforting sound of water gurgling into the washing machine behind her, Fiona shook her head. ‘I’m going upstairs to study.’
She stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door behind her. Grabbing herWorld Atlas of Wine, she sank onto the bed, opened the book and flicked through the pages, seeing neither the pictures nor the words. Instead, her mind tortured her, feeding her visions of Kim stroking Ru’s arm, and echoes of his voice accusing Fiona of being evil. She couldn’t let Kim win. She snapped the book shut, then hurled it at the wall. What was the point of studying? If she was a convicted thief, she’d be lucky to get a job washing pots. She must convince Rose of her innocence. Fiona didn’t need help from anyone; she could fight her own battles. She’d work out a script, then confront Rose.
Later that afternoon, determined to clear her name, Fiona marched through Brambleton, her jaw clenched. Rose had accused her of being athief. That word was lodged in her mind like the bitter aftertaste of an immature glass of fine wine.
Emerging from the alley, the cool onshore breeze hit her.She paused, to gather her confidence and spotted Josh leaning against the wall by the back steps. He looked up, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her.
‘Fiona!’ he said, the warmth in his voice juxtaposed with the autumn chill. ‘Where’ve ya been? Are you working tonight?’
‘London and no,’ she replied tersely. She didn’t want to engage in small talk. Not now.
He exhaled a cloud of vape which curled up towards the pub sign which was swaying gently in the wind. Josh sauntered closer, a serious expression spreading across his face. ‘Just wanted to say, I reckon you’re innocent.’ Just for a moment, the brash confidence in his voice made her pause. She glanced at him, taking in his swagger, the way he stood with an exaggerated casual stance that screamed Australian bravado. ‘If you need any help proving it, I’m your guy,’ he added, hooking a thumb into his belt loop.
‘I don’t need anyone’s help, Josh,’ she said, her tone sharper than intended. ‘I need to speak to Rose. Do you know where she is?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Are you sure I can’t help? I could—’
‘I’m sure.’ She cut him off, the firmness of her voice echoing around the empty terrace.
‘Okay. If you change your mind, need anything ... any backup or ...’
He was standing there, vape smoke trailing up around his face, creating a cloud that momentarily obscured his expression. Gazing at him, so self-assured, the only person to stand up for her, she felt a deep warmth towards him. He had always made her feel good about herself, but despite the flirting, had never expected anything in return. He was uncomplicated and fun. He would make someone a special partner one day.
‘No,’ she said firmly, shaking her head. ‘I must do this myself.’ The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves of the nearbytrees and carrying the scent of impending rain.
He laughed, then nodded. ‘Dive right in. I’m here if you need me.’
Smiling for the first time in days, she turned her back on him, making her way up the steps. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, ready to fight for her reputation.
As she hoped, her former boss stood behind the reception desk, phone cradled against her shoulder as she scribbled in the diary. Becky perched on the edge, her skinny legs drumming against the wood.
Alerted by the door opening, mother and daughter looked up. Rose frowned, reaching out a protective hand toward her child. ‘Fiona’, cried out Becky, her face bright with excitement. Becky wriggled her little body around so she could scramble down backwards to the floor, then hurtled toward Fiona, gabbling as she ran.
