Mildred sighs. ‘If it helps, passers-by aren’t paying them much attention. And if we keep the windows and doors closed, we can’t hear the chanting inside.’
‘There’s chanting too?’ I gasp.
‘It’s stupid, Darcy. They’re shouting that you’re a fraud. Shows what they know.’
‘I’m sorry, Mildred,’ I say. ‘You shouldn’t have to deal with this.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Mildred laughs. ‘I’m sure they’ll get bored soon and bugger off.’
‘Do you want me to come down? Luke and I are nearly home but we can turn around and swing by the factory.’
‘Absolutely not. It’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to give you the heads up, that’s all,’ Mildred says, and realising she’s on loudspeaker she raises her voice and adds, ‘Luke, you take care of her. I’ll take care of everything here.’
‘Thanks, Mildred. Speak soon.’ I flop my phone on to my knees and look at Luke as we pull into our driveway.
‘Right. Let’s get you inside,’ he says.
‘Inside?’ I say as Luke turns off the engine, ready to get out. ‘You heard Mildred. This is a mess. We need to go into work.’
Luke exhales slowly. ‘No. We need to get you inside. You need some rest.’
I shake my head.
‘C’mon, honey. Lindsay is right. People who had never even heard of Darcy’s Dishes before are talking about us now.’
‘But they’re saying terrible things.’
Luke smiles. ‘But they are talking.’
‘What if Andrew Buckley saw the show? He’ll know we’re in trouble. We told him we need his backing to expand, not to save us from going under.’
‘I think someone like Mr Buckley is a little too busy to sit around watching morning telly.’ Luke chuckles.
‘What if he doesn’t want to invest any more? We’re screwed without that money.’
‘Look,’ Luke says, becoming serious. ‘I have that Buckley & Co meeting this weekend. I am going to charm the pants off Andrew Buckley. He’ll be throwing money at us.’
‘I wish I could go with you,’ I say.
‘I know.’ Luke sighs. ‘I wish you could too. But you’re going to have to trust me. I can do this.’
Exhausted, I open my door and swing my legs out. The rest of me takes a lot more effort to follow. I feel like such a blob. Luke appears at my door with Jinx under his arm, and when he reaches out to me I grab his hand tight.
‘I trust you,’ I say. ‘It’s Tina I don’t trust. I never have.’
Chapter Five
TINA
Tuesday 11 June 2019
I carry a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and a carton of milk under the other. The milk is uncomfortable as the cold bites into my bare skin. I regret my decisions to wear a sleeveless summer dress and to not pick up a basket, but I don’t move the milk. I need my hands free to reach into the floor-to-ceiling fridge at the back of the shop. The shelf is marked ‘Lasagne – Darcy’s Dishes’ but the space is bare.
‘They’re sold out,’ a voice behind me says.
‘Oh.’ I turn around expecting to find a helpful staff member.
‘There’s only shepherd’s pie left and I don’t fancy that,’ says a lady in a bright, loose-fitting tracksuit, who clearly isn’t staff. ‘Have you tried them before?’
I shake my head.
‘Me neither,’ she says. ‘But I saw that pregnant woman on the television, and I thought, if eating this stuff makes her look that great even when she’s about to pop a baby, I’m going to give it a go, what harm can it do?’
I don’t know what to say.
‘I’m just not sure if it tastes all that nice, you know?’ she continues. ‘I’m telling myself it mustn’t be too bad if the lasagne is sold out, eh?’
‘I guess not,’ I say.
She laughs. ‘Ah, I can see you’re as disappointed as I am.’
I don’t reply. I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic, but I think not.
She reaches across me and picks up a small rectangular tray of shepherd’s pie. The packaging is minimal: a pale-brown, egg-carton-type box and a small yellowish label with green writing. Earthy colours. Unsurprising. Ugly, but no doubt biodegradable. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Darcy has really thought of the best way to market her product. And I must admit it’s impressive, if not a little clichéd.
‘Are you going to buy that?’ I ask, as the lady reads the label, probably checking out the ingredients.
‘Ah sure, ’tis worth a try, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘Although I think I need more than fake meat to work a miracle on my thunder thighs.’
The woman isn’t overweight. She looks perfectly healthy, actually. But compared to Darcy she is unattractive. Compared to Darcy most women are. I’ve felt it. And now, a stranger who has only seen Darcy through a television screen feels it. Typical Darcy, making other people feel inferior without even trying.
‘But, don’t you think she’s completely full of herself?’ I want to put my hands on my hips, but the ever-warming milk under my arm makes it too tricky.
She looks at me as if I have ten heads and she points to the vegan logo printed clearly on the bottom of the label. ‘She’s a vegan concerned about her carbon footprint. I can’t say I’m as selfless. Can you?’
‘She was horrible to her friend in that phone-in,’ I say. ‘The woman just needed some work.’
‘Oh gosh yes, that was awful,’ she says, dropping the shepherd’s pie into her shopping basket. ‘What a crazy woman.’
I exhale. ‘But you’re still going to buy her shepherd’s pie?’
‘Oh no, love,’ she shakes her head as she reaches into the fridge and ironically takes out some pork sausages. ‘I don’t think Darcy is the problem. It’s that other woman. Clearly looking for her five minutes of fame. Who on earth rings up a morning show looking for a job? Madness. I thought Darcy handled the situation so well. What a lady. It must be so hard living in the public eye and have all these people wanting favours all the time. To be honest, I blame Lindsay St Claire. That crazy woman should never have made it on air.’
‘It wasn’t Lindsay’s fault,’ I say, snapping the fridge closed.
I follow Ms Bright Tracksuit to the counter. She chats to the girl on the till as if they are old friends as she checks out.
‘So, I said to my husband, I’m not a vegan but I’ll give it a go,’ she says as the cashier scans Darcy’s Dishes shepherd’s pie.
‘Oh, I saw that Darcy woman on TV,’ the cashier says, pointing at the label. ‘God, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’
‘And so down to earth,’ tracksuit lady says.
‘Did you hear that weird caller?’ the cashier asks, hovering a tin of beans over the scanner.
Tracksuit lady sighs as if talking about this for a second time exhausts her. ‘Crazy. Just crazy.’
The cashier pauses before reaching for the next item. ‘You have to wonder what is wrong with those kinds of people, don’t you? Just apply for a job like a normal person does.’ She points to a sign above the till that reads ‘Staff Wanted’ in large bold font.