The Great Allotment Proposal. Jenny Oliver

       Chapter One

      ‘That’s it!’ Emily stood up, both hands raised in an enough-is-enough gesture. ‘This interview is done.’

      ‘Emily, Emily, sorry, I apologise. It’s just this is what our readers want. I won’t mention Giles again. Sit down, please.’ Faye Starkey, the journalist from Deluxe magazine, had half stood up, reaching towards Emily with a calming outstretched hand.

      Emily was tired. She’d never walked out of an interview before. But this was the last one of the day. She’d coped with the pile-up of questions about the birth of her ex-fiancé Giles Fox’s third baby, she’d smiled when they’d brought up his recent proposal to Adeline Cooper as he’d accepted his Oscar, she’d laughed off questions about her eternal single status, her broodiness – especially since her brother had recently announced that he and his girlfriend were expecting, her poorly judged flings, her short-lived blue hair, her mother’s remarriage, but then Faye Starkey had leant forward and said, ‘Now, about this house you’ve just bought. Cherry Pie Island, isn’t it? That’s quite a departure for you, Emily. I’m wondering what’s going on.’

      Emily had pushed her hair away from her face. The air conditioning in the hotel was broken and sweat was starting to bead on her forehead, outside a helicopter was waiting on the lush grass to take her to an awards ceremony in Cannes. ‘Nothing’s going on, Faye.’

      Faye had leant back in her seat, crossed her legs, taken a sip of water. Emily’s water had run out and the jug on the table was empty. ‘I just think, the recent hair changes, the launch of the new signature scent – Cherry Blossom, isn’t it? – hugely nostalgic, Giles having more and more babies, buying up some great house with far too many bedrooms for a single woman with no expectation of children … Emily, it smacks of a mid-life crisis. However you try and dress it up. I can’t imagine how must it feel; the press have you earmarked as being desperate for marriage and a baby so no eligible man will come within a mile! Surely this house, thrown into the mix, will have them running for the hills. I feel for you, I really do. If we’re completely honest, you’re romantically doomed.’

      That’s when Emily had stood up to leave. At the mention of the house something inside of her had snapped. It was the best thing that had happened to her in years and somehow they’d already snaked their way inside and put their grubby little stamp on it. ‘Faye.’ Emily turned back and rested her hand on the back of the sofa. ‘This is over. I’m not answering anything else.’

      ‘Oh come on! What happened to the Emily Hunter-Brown that we all know and love? Just give me a little soundbite, tell me who you’re shagging and your plans to wreak havoc in the countryside and I can flip the whole focus of the piece.’

      Emily