I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,12

her hands.

‘I was. Once upon a time. Among other things,’ Bridge replied. The list of ‘other things’ was long: factory worker, cleaner, dish-washer, barmaid, telesales operator, till operator, auction house administrator, PA to the owner of that company… MD of her own property company.

‘I’ve only ever had one job, apart from a Saturday job in Tesco,’ said Mary. ‘I love it though. I wouldn’t want to change. I think I found my perfect niche early. I’ve worked for Jack for six and a half years since I left college. Well,’ she began to correct herself, ‘I worked for Jack’s dad Reg for two and a half years at first and then when he retired and Jack took over, I became his PA.’

‘So that would make you about twenty-five?’ asked Bridge, waiting for the answer before flushing.

‘Yep. At least, I will be on Christmas Day.’

Bridge thought back: she’d been selling advertising space at that age. Working long hours selling a sub-standard product for a sub-standard rate of commission, then she’d stay behind when the others had gone to clean the building so she could at least take a semblance of a wage home. She emerged from the cubicle, went over to the sink, pushed some soap onto her hand from the dispenser before turning on the tap.

‘What line of work is Jack in that you needed to travel so far for a meeting on Christmas Eve morning?’

‘Scones,’ replied Mary.

‘Scones?’ Bridge couldn’t help the hoot of laughter that escaped from her. She’d been expecting the answer to be on the lines of national security.

‘Yep, scones. Just scones, nothing else. Butterly’s Scones. Jack’s grandad Bill set it up. Jack’s the third generation to run the company. Since he’s been top dog, he’s taken it to heights his dad and grandfather wouldn’t have even dreamed of. Anyway, a bakery owner in Japan contacted us to do business with him and I can’t count the number of times I’ve fixed up meetings only for him to drop out at the last minute. But he was bobbing over from Brussels on business today and I managed to persuade him to squeeze in seeing Jack in the morning before his plane left Newcastle, but he backed out yet again – just before we found this place. Jack’s furious and I can’t say I blame him.’

Bridge made a whistle. It all sounded very big business. ‘I didn’t realise there was such a demand for scones that you needed a whole factory to produce them and nothing else.’

‘Oh goodness me yes,’ said Mary with emphasis. ‘At capacity we can produce two million scones per day. We do every sort too, raisin, cheese, cherry, treacle, gluten-free, vegan, different grades and prices and more long-lasting ones, which we export. We run machines twenty-four-seven. There’s the demand all right, and it’s growing.’

It was on the tip of Bridge’s tongue to say ‘You must have a word with my ex about the vegan scones,’ but she stopped herself. Why should she give Luke Palfreyman any mention where a possible business venture was concerned?

‘Why are you here then?’ said Mary, trying not to stare too much at Bridge’s face. She thought she was beautiful, with her large hazel eyes and her brave red lipstick. It should have clashed with her fire-flame hair, but quite the opposite. It was amazing what a bit of chutzpah did for you. Her dad had taught her that word. Maybe one day she’d have some too.

‘I’m meeting my husband,’ Bridge said, still washing her hands with the thoroughness of Lady Macbeth. ‘Soon to be ex-husband.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Mary, though she didn’t really.

‘Our marriage took a lot of… deconstructing.’ Bridge chose the word carefully. It was a tame one to use to describe a war. ‘But we got there.’

‘Good that you were able to sort everything out in the end though,’ said Mary with a little smile.

‘We both figured we didn’t want the solicitors creaming off all our hard-earned cash, so we did most of our fighting without involving them, which was hard and probably stupid, but we managed eventually to come to an agreement that works for both. Neither of us wanted to step into another new year without resolving everything, as we both intend to be married to our new partners sooner rather than later.’

‘It’s a bit easier when you’ve both got someone else,’ said Mary. ‘When my aunt and uncle split up, he got himself a young, glamorous girlfriend and my auntie was so bitter and