Page 14 of Rescuing Rosie
Oh.Close-up, Madison was extraordinary. Outstandingly pretty, but above all, disconcerting. It was like meeting someone who wasn’t entirely real. A doll, come to life.
She was small in stature and shaped like the proverbial hourglass – if the bottom of that hourglass had been half the size again of the top. Her wasp-waist, visible between her crop top and leggings, was tanned, flat and smooth. How much did Rosie envy that waist? Rosie was, appropriately, an apple, and asshe compared herself to Madison (I probably shouldn’t do that) she was glad that the pink puffer was long enough to cover the stubbornly convex curve of her own tummy.
‘And you’re …?’
‘I’m so sorry, fangirl moment! I’m Rosie, I write forHolistic Healthmagazine.’
‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Madison held Rosie’s gaze; her eyes were clear blue, fringed by forests of false eyelashes.
The upturned tip of her long, narrow nose was slightly pink, as were her cheeks, a result no doubt of spending the afternoon in the daffodils. The effect was charming.
‘I hope you’ve warmed up now,’ said Madison. Her accent was pure Essex. ‘You looked a bit cold and wet down by the lake.’
As she spoke, Rosie’s eyes went to the twin pillows of her lips. Plumped up, glossy, and outlined in dark beige, they were probably as tall as they were wide.
How old was this woman? Twenties? Thirties? Possibly early forties? It was impossible to tell. Journalist fail. Rosie would need to access Madison’s Wikipedia page at the earliest opportunity.
‘I have, thanks. I fell in a stream. I’m not great with the outdoors.’
‘Oh god, me neither,’ said Madison. ‘Isn’t this place fuckin’ depressing? Can you believe people actually come here for their holidays?’
‘Are we all set then?’ asked Ashley. ‘The van’s at the door.’
As they made their way outside, Madison fell into step beside Rosie, and introduced her to the young, snake-hipped guy who’d been helping Jono with his gear.
‘This is Lucas,’ she said. He had spiky black hair, pale skin, and a sweet smile. ‘He’s my PA, and he does all my socials. I heard you were doing Insta posts for your mag? I’d be grateful if you’d run anything with me in it past Lucas first. Okay?’
Rosie didn’t normally ask permission before posting photos, but for the sake of team harmony she’d do as Madison asked.
‘You don’t do your own posts?’ she asked.
‘Just the odd selfie, but Lucas does most, and all the words.’
‘Allof them?’
‘He agrees them with me first.’ She gave Rosie a long look. ‘More importantly, he monitors engagement. That’s mostly deleting comments from the haters, plus keeping an eye on the insights, of course. Instagram endorsements are where I make most of my income.’
Rosie stood back to allow Madison into the van first, and as she did so was treated to an eye-level encounter with that famously uplifted butt.
Why would anyone do that?
Rosie resolved to ask Madison about it when they’d got to know each other a little better. Things were looking promising on that front, as Madison beckoned to Rosie and patted the seat beside her.
Chapter Seven
It would have taken five minutes to walk to the Grasmere Gingerbread Shop, which sat prettily on the far side of the deserted village green, but the rain and the amount of gear (all thisfor a photo of Madison eating gingerbread?) meant they took the van.
Ashley parked outside a whitewashed cottage with a green picket fence, and they alighted into air scented with the tantalising smell of baking gingerbread. He informed them the shop was opened in 1854 and had been in the same family ever since.
As the team quickly discovered, only three or four people could fit into the tiny shop at once. Ashley led the way, bringing Madison and Guy forward. Rosie craned her neck to see over Ashley’s shoulder, as behind her the others squeezed into the small passageway that led from the garden to the shop.
Slabs of gingerbread wrapped in waxy blue-and-white paper were stacked on the counter, and individual biscuits sat beneath glass domes. There were silver-and-blue tins of all sizes, jars of ginger hand balm and ginger candles, and on the shelves behind the counter, ginger wine and ginger-themed gifts. Rosie wasreminded of a story she’d loved as a child, of a magic treacle jug that went out of control and covered everything in golden syrup.
And there behind the counter was the owner of the treacle jug come to life – Mother Tick Tock, in a striped Victorian dress and frilly white apron, topped off with a cotton mop cap.
The woman exchanged a few words with Ashley and Guy, Jono set up his lighting and Madison was soon posing, her famous lips wrapped around a slab of gingerbread.
Rosie took some photos of the shop for her piece, imagining how those pretty tins would eventually be used to stash random objects.
