“How are you doing for bookings?”
She nodded and smiled, thinking of the flux of phone calls she’d had. “I’m doing better than I thought, given that I only have a few pictures on the website. It’s surprising people want to take a chance on somewhere that’s not open yet.”
“You offered special rates?” he said.
“I did. Introductory offer, plus a guaranteed discount if they stay again within twelve months,” Sorrell said, closing the doors as they headed out into the bitter air. “A marketing offer that I didn’t feel bad about.”
“What did you do before?” he said, opening the door for her and balancing the crate between his leg and body. “I’ll have to rest this on your knee. The back’s pretty full.”
“No problem.” She climbed up into the car. “I was a therapist, mainly for children. Buy one get one free offers weren’t really ethical.”
Zack chuckled and placed the crate carefully. “I can see why. Big change though.”
“I’m not sure. I suspect a few of my guests might end up needing therapy. I’m considering wellbeing retreats too at some point; the place lends itself to that sort of thing,” she said.
They talked for the rest of the short drive down the hill to the town, mainly about the manor and the idiosyncrasies of the building. It was easy conversation, with none of the atmosphere that there had been previously.
Severton itself was cloaked in darkness, with just the street lamps and light from the windows breaking the black. There were people milling about the streets, wrapped up in coats and scarves and hats.
“Have you been to the clubhouse before?” Zack asked as they turned left into a large car park.
“No. What’s it the clubhouse for? Rugby?” she said.
“Pretty much everything. Cricket, football, rugby. There are three pitches and it’s used all year round,” he said. “And tonight it’s the base for the bonfire party. Let’s get everything unloaded.”
They were swamped by people as soon as they opened the car doors. Some Sorrell recognized, some she didn’t. Jake was there, picking up boxes out of the boot and from the back seat, as was a man called Lee who she’d met at the farm when she’d gone to speak to Jake about orders.
There was a larger, bearded version of Zack, and a clean shaven guy with a German shepherd who probably should’ve been on the cover of a magazine. No introductions were given, as the only focus was getting the boxes out of the car and into the clubhouse.
Sorrell was dragged into helping as were the other two women there. She carried in boxes of disposable plates and bowls and a large vat of hotpot that was still piping warm. Metal trays of other food were taken from the car into the clubhouse and within five minutes it was empty, the food set up to be warmed and served in a couple of hours.
“Who pays for all this?” she asked Zack when he approached her with a mug of something steaming. It wasn’t freezing in the clubhouse, but neither was it warm enough to take off her coat or gloves. The doors were wide open, leading onto a large field where a bonfire had been built.
“There are events throughout the year which raise funds for this and other stuff, like the Christmas tree and the parties that happen. People tonight will make a donation too,” he said, sipping his own drink.
“What about the food?” Sorrell said, smelling something suspiciously alcoholic in her drink.
“Everyone donates it. We always have more than enough. There’s whisky in that. Wasn’t sure if you liked it, but it’ll help keep you warm,” he said, his eyes studying her reaction.
She smiled her approval. “Everyone seems to help out round here,” she said. “It’s nice.”
Zack nodded. “It’s why we all ended up coming back. It’s a good place to live. Let me introduce you to some people before the masses arrive.”
Sorrell followed him around, meeting people she’d seen in the town or that were new to her. She had a good memory for faces and remembered quirks and oddities and people’s lives. It had been a necessity in her previous job, when she was a therapist and the smallest details were often the most important.
“What did you do before you came here?” Rayah Maynard asked as she started to lay out oddly shaped gingerbread men that had been decorated by her nursery class.
“I was a children’s therapist,” Sorrell said, noticing a gingerbread man that had an extra appendage. “But I was getting to the point where I was burnt out by it all. There’s only so much you can take on before you get to the point of being full.”
Rayah focused on the gingerbread men but her hands paused. “We could do with a therapist in Severton for the kids. If you ever have any time and you don’t feel full with it anymore, let me know.”
“Bad case?” Sorrell said. “You know, with a family?”
Rayah nodded. “I have the youngest in my class. Not sure you could do much there.”
“Play therapy,” Sorrell said. “Or Draw and Talk therapy—there are loads of ways you can help children, even younger ones. But I have enough to do with getting the hotel up and running, and finding staff.”
“I might be able to help,” Rayah said, picking up a gingerbread man and biting its head off. It was a fairly vicious attack.
