Humbugs and Heartstrings: A gorgeous festive read full of the joys of Christmas!

Ella nods.

‘You want me to donate money? To the poor people?’

‘Yes! It’s ever such a good cause and just think what it would do for the image of the company.’

The Boss nods as if she is giving it her full consideration. ‘Hmm, so you think our image could do with a bit of help, then?’

Ella’s face falls slightly. ‘Well, no, I didn’t mean – I just meant it would be good publicity. That’s all.’

The Boss raises an eyebrow and disastrously, Ella takes this as encouragement to continue. ‘It wouldn’t have to be very much. Just a few hundred, maybe? I mean, obviously that would be up to you.’

I look over at Shona. Her shoulders are up to her ears, as if she expects the ceiling to fall in on us at any second.

‘I don’t think so.’ The Boss’s tone is as icy as a skating rink.

She takes Ella’s arm and steers her firmly out of the way.

To my horror, Ella moves back into the doorway and continues talking. ‘But that kind of publicity is like gold dust. It must be worth a try. Don’t you think?’

In the silence, you could seriously hear a false nail drop.

I feel as tense as I do when someone on telly hears a strange noise in the attic and decides it would be a good thing to investigate.

The Boss shakes her head and places her hands on her hips. ‘If you seriously imagine I’m going to hand over my hard-earned fucking cash to a bunch of stinking, dirty lay-abouts, who lie around all fucking day watching their fucking friends on the fucking Jeremy Kyle Show and can’t be arsed to go out and get a job, you really do need your head examined, Ellen.’

She shimmies into her office and kicks the door shut.

Poor Ella – enduring the added insult of being called by the wrong name – needs two cups of nettle tea before she starts feeling normal again.

As I’m packing up to leave the office later, Shona, looking red-faced, hisses, ‘Guess who’ll be drinking the posh coffee and munching the chocolate biscuits?’

I frown. ‘Who?’

‘Only The Sparkle Sisters!’ She nods at The Boss’s door. ‘And here was me thinking she hated them!’

‘But she does. They’re our biggest rivals. She spends any spare time she has sticking pins in their effigies.’

‘So what’s she doing inviting them in for a cosy chat?’

I stare at Shona.

What, indeed!

Chapter Eight (#ulink_895d59be-d423-542b-ac18-f11d9792c9de)

It’s another inspiring day at the office and I’m supposed to be doing an inventory and ordering supplies. But an email from Ronald McDonald has just pinged onto my screen and I’m trying to think up a reply.

His message:

Morning Ms Blatchett

How are you today?

And how are things in the cleaning world? (I looked you up online.) Interesting name, ‘Spit and Polish.’ Your boss obviously has a great sense of humour.

Ronald McDonald

My reply:

Oh yes, she’s a laugh a minute!

I’m all right, thanks, apart from the fact that my brother tried to paint his scooter with my blusher brush and paints.

What’s your boss like?

I’m smiling as I hit ‘send’, wondering how he’ll reply. It brightens up a Thursday morning, at any rate.

When I get back from lunch, I quickly check and there’s another message:

Little brothers, eh? Mine’s twenty-one and he still winds me up. (But I keep my make-up brushes in a safe place.) What do you paint?

I reply:

Watercolours. At least, I used to. It was my dream to be an artist but I got wise to the delights of a regular income. Rent doesn’t come cheap!

And back bounces the following:

Ah, yes. The rent. That’s a dream-crusher if ever there was one. But what would you do if money weren’t an issue?

I’m about to type something flippant like, ‘buy myself an island and become a latter day Robinson Crusoe.’

But instead, I pause, my fingers suspended over the keyboard.

Then I take a deep breath and write:

Glass-blowing. That’s what I’d do. I learned at college and I decided I wanted to spend my life creating beautiful beads and vases and Christmas baubles. Molten glass is such an amazing thing to work with.

A minute later, he replies:

Glass-blowing. You’re full of surprises, Miss Blatchett. What’s so special about it? (I’m not being polite; I’m genuinely interested.)

I’m smiling as I type :

Did you know glass is made of sand? Not the sort you find on the beach but a purer kind. And you can add things to the melt to make different colours. Put a little cobalt oxide in and you get this lovely deep, rich blue. Add a pinch of gold and it makes a glorious ruby red. When you first pull the molten glass out of the furnace, it has this incredibly beautiful clarity. So I like to work as quickly as possible because the less the glass is handled, the more stunningly pure it looks.

Bobbie

I send it off and stare into space for a while, remembering my excitement when the trading allowed me to buy a small furnace and all the tools I’d need to start up. I even managed to find a workshop, just around the corner from the London flat. But I never got as far as renting it. The trading wiped me out before I had a chance and most of my lovely equipment had to be sold.