Page 39 of Loving Jemima
“Fine,” they huffed just as the door opened.
“I come bringing good tidings,” Jem said, striding in and flopping on a chair, not even bothering to take off her coat.
Ellie wondered how she got her hair to look like that, like she’d just been to a salon every morning, all bouncy and shiny. But then maybe she did go to a salon every morning. Or maybe she had a private stylist who woke her up.
“I said good tidings,” pouted Jem.
“Right, what?” Ellie asked, sliding her bag off her desk and sitting down.
“All three locations get the go from Pa.”
“Pa?” asked Carys, perching on the edge of Mo’s desk. “I had no idea that anyone outside of a Dickens’ novel used that word.”
Jem’s face creased. “It’s what we call him,” she started.
“Ignore Carys,” said Ellie. “She’d like everyone to believe that she grew up working the coal mines and walking fifty miles to get there. She grew up in a suburban semi outside Swansea.”
Carys glared at her. “Which doesn’t make me any less dedicated to the socialist cause.”
“Be kind,” Ellie said. “Also, don’t you call your dadtad?”
“It’s the Welsh word for dad!”
“Well Pa comes from the Latin,” Jem broke in.
“I’m not sure you’re going to help your case by bringing in Latin,” Mo said.
Ellie rubbed at her face. “Okay, okay, business time, please. All three locations approved, that’s good, Jem, well done.”
Jem shifted in her chair and grinned. “I, um, took the liberty of making an appointment at Leigh House so that we could check it out since it’s the preferred favorite. We can always see the other two if that doesn’t work out.”
“Taking initiative,” Ellie said, nodding. “Alrighty then, I’m impressed. Just let me know when and I’ll be there.”
Jem blushed slightly and Ellie could see that she was proud of herself. It was oddly touching. She was about to congratulate her and was desperately trying to think of some busy work to give the woman to keep her out of everyone’s hair for the day, when Mo suddenly squeaked.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Mo waved their phone at her. “No, and neither are you.”
Ellie frowned and Mo tossed their phone over. She read the message and her heart sank. “She specifically said that she didn’t want staff at the party.”
“What?” asked Carys.
“The Cohen Bat Mitzvah is this afternoon,” Ellie explained. “It’s all set up and ready to go, we contracted out the entertainment, the caterers are already on site, everything’s a go. And now Mrs. Cohen is asking that one of us attend to keep an eye on things and make sure they go smoothly.”
“You already do that, surely?” Jem asked.
“We do generally,” said Ellie. “But this was a package deal that we’ve done a hundred times, and Mrs. Cohen said she didn’t want strangers mingling with the guests. She said she knew the caterers and it was all fine. But it looks like she’d changed her mind.”
She groaned. An afternoon surrounded by thirteen year olds was not her idea of fun. She had too much to do. She turned to Mo. “I’m meeting the caterers for the Darlington party.”
“Don’t look at me, I’m handling the entertainment,” said Mo.
“And I’ve got your invitations to do, plus a bunch of flyers for the bakery downstairs, rush job,” Carys said.
“I’ll do it.” Everyone turned to Jem, who shrugged. “I’ll go. All you need is someone as a contact, right? I can smile and be polite,I’m terribly good at it, actually. I’ll just ring you if something goes wrong.”
Ellie bit her lip. “You don’t even work here.”