Page 7 of Once Upon a Thyme
Zeb was scrabbling through his pockets. He finally pulled out his phone and started tapping in notes. ‘That’s great.’
‘And you are not to tell my mother anything.’
He paused, fingers mid-tap. ‘When you say “anything”…?’
‘I mean about this place. No inside information, nothing about the band filming here or our turnover, what we’re doing, what we’re planning. Nothing. You can just about tell her what day it is, because she’s always a bit hazy on that one. Did she ask for regular reports?’
‘No, she…’
‘She will. And I know she’s the one paying you, butI’mthe one who will kick you out on your ear if I find out that you’re spying for her, okay?’
He looked at me steadily, as though he were reading the subtext in my words. ‘You and your mother…’ he began, carefully.
‘If I use the phrase “it’s complicated”, that doesn’t even touch the sides. She’s paying you but I’m the boss and if you want your testimonials and some pictures for your website, then I’m the one you have to stay on the right side of.’
The steady look continued. It was as though the apologetic Zeb, the Zeb who’d been telling me about his past life, had flown out of the door like a sprite, and here I was, left with the businessman. But I’d seen the vulnerability, that half-closed expression when he’d told me about his life. Zeb had offered me something that not many others had, an insight into life outside this little valley, an intimacy that tingled at the edges of my brain. Very few people treated me as though I were worth talking to, but he had.
After a moment or two Zeb said, ‘That sounds remarkably Mafia-like for someone who runs a herb farm.’ I didn’t reply and eventually he sighed. ‘Right. I’m paid by her but I’m working for you, got it.’
‘You never know, perhaps the Goshawkpeople might put some work your way too, if you play your cards right.’
I got a sudden smile for that, a brightening that lit his eyes. ‘Never thought of that, good call.’
‘But you absolutely and totallydo not tell my mother anything.’ I gave the words such heavy emphasis that he frowned.
‘Right. Got it.’
‘Especially about the pig.’
‘The pig?’
I sighed. ‘The pig in the kitchen. The pets’ corner was my idea and my mother thinks – look, never mind.’
‘Pig silence will be maintained.’
‘Better be.’
We drank our tea in a slightly more comfortable silence, whilst outside the owls continued their haunted conversation across the garden.
4
‘Do you need me to get you any shopping, Mum?’
It was the next morning, time for my scheduled visit although there would often be phone calls summoning me to an emergency – which could range from her tripping over in the kitchen to a moth on the bedroom curtains – in between times. I’d left Ollie sorting out the bald spot in the parsley bed and Zeb keeping an eye on the shop. Usually I had to close when I visited my mother, so at least he was coming in handy for something.
‘No, it’s fine, darling, I’m going in later myself. When I feel up to it.’
My mother was currently a duvet-swathed form in the middle of her bed. She’d suffered from poor health since before I was born, something that her doctors didn’t seem to know what to do with or how to treat.
‘All right. Shall I open the curtains and get some air in?’
The duvet shuddered. ‘I need the darkness, Natalie, you know how I get.’
Alongside her, unasked questions also shuddered. All those things I wanted to say, all those things I wanted to ask. She was carefully not mentioning Zeb, and I was, equally carefully, not saying that I had even met him. There was no way I could phrase my disapproval at her actions and no point in my even trying. She would spin the situation to make everything sound reasonable with a ‘but I’m justinterested, darling’.
If it ever came to a passive-aggressive-off, we’d probably tie for first place.
‘Right. Well then. I’d better get back.’
