First off, though, I need to speak to Rog.
CJ
From:Charlie Jones
To:Charlie Jones
Subject:Day forty-three sober (cont.)
I eventually tracked Rog down—he was still at the polytunnel, picking late into the evening with Marly and a few of the remaining summer workers.
A lot of people have assumed the worst of me, over the years. It’s the ogreish looming, probably, the fact I’m not much of a smiler. So I’m not going to do that to Rog. I’m done with the darkness, the pessimism—when I’m not depressed, I’m a person who hopes for the best and looks for the good. So that’s what I did in the polytunnel this evening.
I just asked him, straight up.
“Rog, did you take some cash from the shop till the other day?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, probably,” he said distractedly. “For the extras fund. We always take it out the farm shop till—all one business, isn’t it? It evens out, that’s Rosie’s logic.”
“That’s…Rosie’s…logic?”
“So you know there’s always a few B&Bers who don’t pay, right? Like Red?”
I did not know this. My face said as much. Rog rounded on Marly, who glanced up briefly over her row of strawberry plants.
“You didn’t tell them that?”
“Did they need to know?” Marly asked, head back down.
“Yeah!” Rog said. “They’ve seen me taking cash out the till and they think I’m nicking it!”
Marly stopped. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. He’s not stealing it. You picking over there, Jones, or just having a yarn?”
“The till never balances,” I said, pinching a few strawberries and putting them in Rog’s container.
“No, well, it wouldn’t,” Marly said, “because when we need petty cash for the B&Bers who aren’t paying rent, you know, for snacks, treats, extras, we just take it from the till.”
“You can’t do that,” I said. “It’s an accounting nightmare.”
“Accounting is a nightmare anyway, and it’s much easier than going all the way to the cashpoint in the post office.”
I didn’t even know where to begin with this, so instead I asked why some people at the B&B don’t pay.
“Rosie,” Marly said, as though no more explanation was needed. On seeing my bemused expression, she sighed, hands a blur as she moved her way down the line of strawberry plants. “Her parents did it—any young person in trouble, having a tough spell, they’d have a room at Bramblebay Farmhouse. When we decided to convert the place into a B&B, it was really important to Rosie to keep up what her parents had started, even if we were mostly putting in the extra bedrooms to try to make some money. So there’s always at least one person there who’s on reduced rent, no rent, whatever—Rosie decides. It’s entirely at Rosie’s whim. Completely nonsensical.”
And very Ormer.
“That’s actually lovely,” I said.
I still have no idea how both Charlie and I ended up getting this job, and Marly and Rosie having something to do with it is top of the list, but how can I think badly of these women? How can I think they’d create this messy situation on purpose?
“Anyway, I’m the farmhouse guardian,” Rog said. “I’m the one people call if there’s trouble. Or they need a snack.”
“Of course you are.” I sighed, trying to refocus. “From now on, you don’t just take random amounts of cash out of the till. We need to document where all the money comes from and goes to. Is there a business account for the B&B?”
“Right, someone said ‘business’—I’m out! Can’t be doing with the business talk!” Rog declared, moving off down the polytunnel, hefting his tub of fresh strawberries.
“Rog, you’re a business owner,” I pointed out. “In fact, you own about a hundred businesses.”
