Well, Willow couldn’t disagree with any of that. She was hopelessly careless and never knew from one moment to the next where her life would lead.
Seeing that Kyle was on the warpath and doing his hourly check on their progress, Willow readjusted her headset and dialled the next number on her list. She never liked it when Kyle stood over her, or worse, listened in; it made her self-conscious and more liable to mess up. For now, he seemed more intent on observing Stefan, the newest member of the team.
When Mrs Tate answered the telephone in Matlock, Derbyshire, Willow set to with the script. But five minutes into it, she didn’t know which upset her more, explaining how badly the poor donkeys in India were treated, how they were beaten and starved and left to die on the roadside, or hearing the apologetic sadness in the trembly voice of the donor, an old lady who couldn’t afford to increase her standing order.
‘Just another pound a week would do so much good for those horribly abused donkeys,’ Willow wheedled. She couldn’t have felt worse if she were actually mugging the woman in the street and stealing her handbag.
‘I wish I could,’ Mrs Tate said, ‘I really do, but I only have my state pension and there are always so many bills to pay and I don’t even have the money to have the washing machine repaired.’ She sounded like she was on the verge of tears and Willow couldn’t bear to upset her any more. If it were in her power, she’d send the old lady the money to buy a new washing machine, maybe even offer to do her ironing for her.
‘I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you, Mrs Tate,’ she said, almost in tears herself. ‘Please don’t worry about the donkeys; you’re already doing a wonderful job for them and I’m sure they appreciate your help. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, dear. And thank you for being so understanding.’
A lump in her throat, Willow ended the call. She had to steel herself before dialling the next number on her list. Why was it she now always seemed to be landed with the donors who didn’t have any money? Just once it would be nice to speak to somebody who was rolling in cash and happy to share it with the less fortunate and abused.
Maybe that was what was wrong with the world, the haves kept it to themselves and the have-nots knew what it was to go without and wanted to help, even if they couldn’t.
Willow didn’t mind people being successful and rich, she wasn’t one of those green-eyed misery-guts; far from it, good luck to them, she thought. After all, her own family had always been comfortably off and she had enjoyed what many would call a privileged upbringing.
She didn’t like to think what Dad would make of her doing this job. ‘Hardly a career, is it, sweetheart?’ she could hear him say, giving her one of his tolerant smiles. ‘What better purpose in life than to help make the world a better place?’ she imagined herself saying back to him.
Funny how Martha never felt the need to justify herself, whereas Willow frequently did. But then Dad had never approved of what he called QLC, Questionable Life Choices – he would view this latest job of Willow’s as decidedly questionable. ‘The future,’ he would say, ‘you must always look to the future and ask yourself what you want yours to be.’
That was another difference between Willow and Martha. Martha had always known what she wanted – an amazing career and an amazing husband, and when the time was right, a couple of amazing children.In contrast Willow had never really known what she wanted. She still didn’t.
‘Daydreaming again, Willow?’
‘Just waiting for the donor to pick up the phone,’ she lied to Kyle who had magically appeared by her side.
When he’d moved on to check on somebody else, she dialled the next number and waited for Miss Evans of Penarth to answer. When she did, Willow threw herself into her opening lines from the script.
‘Good evening, Miss Evans, I hope you’re having a pleasant evening and that I’m not interrupting anything important, but I wonder if I could ask you to consider—’
The line went resoundingly dead in Willow’s ear.
Okay, she told herself, the next call would go better. Thankfully it did, as did the following call, which resulted in a continuous giver saying he wanted to make a sizeable donation to the charity to which he’d been donating for several years.
At eight-thirty, she finished work on a high and was surprised to find Rick waiting for her outside the building. As always when she saw him, and took in his handsome face, neatly cut hair, and smart suit, she had to pinch herself that he was her boyfriend. She was sure she wasn’t Rick Falconer’s usual type, any more than he was her usual type. Her last boyfriend had been a motorbike courier who’d spent his days whizzing around London delivering packages and his evenings playing bass guitar in a band. His hair had been nearly as long as Willow’s. The boyfriend before that had been a chef with his own vegan burger van which he took to music festivals. Which was where she’d met him. Rick, at thirty-eight, was a very different kettle of fish and looked much more the type who would have a clever,well-dressed girlfriend who was as ambitious as he was. The polar opposite to Willow.
‘What are you doing here, Rick?’ she said.
‘Taking you for dinner, that’s what.’
‘But you never said anything when we spoke last night.’
He smiled. ‘That’s what you do when you want to surprise your girlfriend and celebrate a milestone date. You don’t let on.’
‘Milestone date?’ she repeated. Oh Lord, what had she forgotten?
‘It’s four months today since we met and I’m taking you somewhere special to eat.’
‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said, touched by how he sweetly romantic he was. ‘But I’m not dressed for anywhere special,’ she added, tugging at her baggy dungarees and denim jacket.
‘That’s not a problem,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go. I have another surprise for you. One I really hope you’re going to say yes to.’
‘Tell me now,’ she said, as he slipped his hand through hers and steered her towards his BMW, which he had left parked on double yellow lines.
‘No,’ he said, ‘you have to wait.’
