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by Penny Parkes

  She had means, and qualifications, yet nowhere to be and nobody to be with.

  This nomadic adventure had seemed like the perfect bridge from her chaotic student digs into the adult world. At least until she worked out what the adult world held for a person with few career aspirations and even fewer commitments.

  Homeless. The weight of the word was disproportionate to its two meagre syllables.

  Her plan – her much-vaunted voyage of discovery – suddenly felt foolish and ill-advised. Saying she wanted to write somehow both naive and arrogant at the same time.

  She was only twenty-one years old. Barely an adult. Really, truly, what could she possibly have to say?

  All of those around her were moving on to pastures new, seemingly graduating with a clear idea of who they were and what they wanted. Or so it seemed to Anna. And how very lightly they took that privilege.

  Envy was never pretty and Anna worked hard to avoid it, but in that moment it unfurled within her, cloying and corrosive.

  ‘Hey,’ Kate said, catching the change in mood from the expression on Anna’s face. ‘I know Mum said you could move in with them whenever you liked, but does the offer go both ways? I mean, can I move in with you when you’re somewhere remote and fabulous and in need of company?’

  Anna felt tears feather her eyelashes, unusually emotional. ‘I’d really like that,’ she said.

  Chapter 46

  The Mews, Kensington High Street, London, 2010

  Sophie Knightley was everything that one might expect from such a name. From such an address.

  It was a baptism of fire from the very first moment. A first for both of them, it seemed.

  ‘Mummy normally takes Dixie and Dalai when I’m away, but she’s a little under the weather. So a friend told me about you. Not you, per se, obviously. But this Home Network situation. So, I guess I have to trust you,’ Sophie said, her forehead weirdly smooth and sheeny, in contrast to the obvious concern in her eyes.

  ‘Would it help to speak daily? I can update you on the dogs, or anything that might be on your mind. Just tell me what you need.’ It was easy for Anna to be accommodating; she had no plans and no real frame of reference for how this might work. Emily had talked her through the usual parameters over the phone and impressed upon her that this was supposed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Anna was not “staff”. She was not there to clean, organise or handle secretarial matters. She had one job: to keep the house and the dogs safe and well.

  Period.

  But somehow, Anna still felt beholden to this woman for the leap of faith she was taking. Anna had no reviews online as yet. She had no credibility as a house-sitter at all. And a First in English, albeit from a prestigious university, hardly qualified her as the perfect canine companion. She swallowed a bubble of nervous laughter, as the thought occurred to her: it hardly qualified her for anything at all!

  But, seemingly, it was enough for Sophie to hand over her house keys, her car keys and detailed instructions for the care, feeding and entertainment of two incredibly fortunate dogs. Their life was apparently one of ease and luxury, even if they did look totally unfazed by their owner’s imminent departure.

  And so, as she waved Sophie off to some Scottish country estate, despite her mother’s inconvenient ‘teeny tiny heart attack’, Anna found herself wondering as always whether anything in life that was easily acquired meant even a fraction of what it might.

  She clipped on the dogs’ leads and decided to make the most of the sunshine. Storms were forecast and, in this first rush of diligence and excitement, she determined to make the most of every moment in this, her vicarious new life.

  Even stepping out of the mews into ‘Ken High Street’ – as Sophie had called it – was a shock to the senses. The quiet oasis of monied calm immediately gave way to crowds of tourists and shoppers; multilingual, multinational, multitudinous. The dogs weren’t bothered. They trotted neatly to heel, following it seemed a well-worn path to the parkland where they were allowed a little freedom and time with their frisbee.

  Anna smiled to herself, already feeling more like a local than the map-touting tourists who seemed both driven and confused as they marched along the pavements. She stopped for a coffee at Bean-o, Sophie’s recommendation taken seriously. And sipping the perfect cappuccino, she tilted her face to the sun.

  Everything felt new and different and way, way out of her comfort zone, but the fact that she was staying in a house, not a hostel, and carried with her a detailed breakdown of all Sophie’s favourite haunts, gave this adventure a legitimacy and credibility that was encouraging. In her satchel were the fresh new notebooks that Kate had given her, wrapped into a bundle with blue ribbon and a multipack of Fruit Pastilles. Brain sweets – the revision pick-me-up of choice for the slightly dull and drug-averse.

  She would walk the dogs every morning and jot down ideas as they came to her, as she’d heard other writers discuss on various forums and festivals. Then in the afternoon, her time was her own and she would write.

  Live like a local, enjoy the dogs’ company and start her new career.

  At least that was the plan.

  It took four days for her naivety to be fully revealed.

  * * *

  As the fifth day of filthy weather whipped down the mews, the icy rain not giving a shit that it was summertime, Anna found herself twitchy and on edge. Predictably, Sophie hadn’t logged in once, or responded to Anna’s question about the leaky roof on the top floor. Number 3 was apparently a triumph of smoke and mirrors. Once you looked past the address and the winning pastel blue façade, it was faded and ageing and in need of repair. Who knew what a new roof for a place like this might cost, but Anna would wager that it might put a dent in Sophie’s global gallivanting.

  There were framed photographs on every horizontal surface – sailing with family, skiing with friends, beach barbeques with an incredibly good-looking boyfriend. Not the same boyfriend as in the other photographs, but still. There was no shortage of narcissism in the photo array – not one single image anywhere that didn’t feature Sophie’s broad, unfettered smile of glee.

  In fact, if Anna hadn’t been forced to relocate the sodden file boxes on the landing as the rainwater gushed down – if she hadn’t seen with her own two eyes the heap of job rejection letters and wince-inducing credit card statements, then Sophie Knightley might almost be the kind of girl one might resent.

  But those blonde highlights – £209 at John Frieda of Mayfair – were just a distraction.

  Along with this house. It was not just her father’s aquiline nose that she’d inherited.

  And Anna hadn’t meant to snoop. In fact, her very first commitment to herself on taking this job was that she would be beyond reproach – the kind of house-sitter that could be trusted and relied upon. The kind of person in whom you could be confident looking after your beloved pets and your privacy.

  But for the flood.

  Anna had been torn, as Sophie’s mobile rang out again and again – should she leave the box files to turn to papier mâché on her watch, or should she attempt to rescue them? She’d opted for the latter, draping sodden pages over radiators around the house. But the cost had been confidentiality.

  Another bang outside the front door as the bin rattled along the mews in the wind. Another window slamming next door. Voices, muffled but in heated debate on the other side of the party wall.

  Day five and already Anna’s nerves were wired to breaking point.

  Five days, four nights and not a soul for conversation or company.

  The dogs were adorable, yet mostly self-sufficient and independent. They had each other and Anna was merely the means to food and outings. To be tolerated perhaps, rather than appreciated.

  For the first time, it dawned on Anna that a year was a really long time to be alone. Not alone, in the sense she’d always known it – surrounded by people – but actually, I-can-hear-my-own-heart-beating alone.

  Another crash out
side in the mews roused Anna to her feet, as she once more went methodically from room to room, checking doors, checking windows.

  Old habits died hard.

  But she was damned if she would pick up the phone after only a few days and admit that this was a mistake.

  She just needed to focus on her words, on her characters, on the parallel universe she was constructing out of thin air every afternoon as she sat at the kitchen table with a pen in her hand.

  Six pages was all she had to show for her efforts.

  She would need every week of the year to have something concrete at the end of it.

  So losing her nerve now was hardly the answer.

  If it turned out that house-sitting was just a different way to procrastinate with a wider geographical reach and fewer deadlines, then she might have been better off doing a master’s with Kate after all.

  It wasn’t too late.

  But even that calculation felt like an admission of defeat and pride had carried her this far.

  As though summoned by the very thought of her friend, her phone bleeped with a text from Kate, somewhere in Greece with Duncan as a last hurrah before they knuckled down to the fresh term.

  Write me a letter? I’ve been reading this biography of Eleanor Roosevelt and she reminds me of you so much… That’s a compliment by the way… So, if the words don’t flow, start small and write me a letter. Then invite me to stay somewhere wildly glamorous that we lowly academics will never afford in a million lifetimes. Kxx

  She didn’t want to write letters, she didn’t want to start small, but Kate’s text was a timely reminder that in the wobbliest of times, there was normally a book that might hold the key to sanity. She clicked open her phone and searched for Kensington Library.

  It was a small thing, but it was somewhere to start, and that was all she needed right now.

  If anything was to come from this house-sitting plan, Anna realised, then above all, it had to feel like the start of something.

  Chapter 47

  Chipping Norton, 2019

  ‘And you’re quite sure it’s okay if a friend joins me for a few days?’ Anna clarified, not sure if Mrs Loseley could even hear her above the sound of squabbling and tuneless singing in the background.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s fine. Now I’ll leave the key in the key safe – I told all this to the girl at Home Network.’ The poor woman sounded stressed and as though her attention were being pulled in three different directions at once. ‘Let yourself in, make yourself at home, and honestly just ignore the mess.’

  ‘No problem. I hope you have a lovely holiday.’

  Anna could have sworn there was more than a hint of irony in Mrs Loseley’s reply. Three children under five couldn’t be easy, whether there was a beach involved or not. Even the logistics of airport security and sunscreen application defeated Anna. And it certainly sounded as though Mrs Loseley was in need of a well-earned break.

  The less maternal side of Anna’s brain supplied the notion that a holiday without her offspring might actually be more conducive to relaxing, but she knew all too well how the families that left home stressed, exhausted, and with relationships at the point of fracture, would all too often return two weeks later renewed, ready to embrace the new school year. Easy smiles, tender touches and conviviality for the price of a fortnight in the sun.

  Apart from the ones who headed straight for the divorce lawyers, of course, and she’d seen a few of them in her time as well… High days and holidays as always the perfect litmus test for life, loves and litigation.

  She pulled over into a lay-by and looked across the rolling Cotswold hills. She was early. In fact she’d been up before the dawn broke, ready and willing to move on. To collect her dust-spackled Mini from the long-stay car park and head west, away from the somewhat suffocating confines of a hotel room, however luxurious.

  Back on schedule, back on track.

  And if she so wished, she could almost erase the last month from her mind.

  Perspective. That was what was required here.

  And not just the patchwork of fields and hedgerows laid out below her in shades of chartreuse, asparagus and emerald.

  Perspective she would hopefully find in the four file boxes crammed into her boot. An idea that arrived in her head, fully formed and insistent at three that morning was now already one step closer to exploration.

  It had been a somewhat major detour to drive to her storage locker and it was possible she should have prepared herself for a few uncomfortable moments. Not least, the bloodstained silk dress balled into the corner from her last visit.

  But there had also been a moment of clarity, as she boxed up all her travel journals and clippings and her Home Network files and photographs, and looked around at the wire racking and plastic boxes that housed all her worldly possessions.

  She needed to take stock. A fresh start. Another new beginning.

  And in the charming market town of Chipping Norton, with the space of a four-bedroomed house and no real calls on her time outside the care and feeding of Mr Loseley’s extensive tropical fish collection and an enormous and apparently somewhat elusive grey Ragdoll cat called Spook, Anna now had the perfect opportunity.

  And, whilst she could now see clearly enough that this was hardly the first such opportunity, it was the only time she had ever felt ready to tackle such a project. The only time, in fact, it had even occurred to her as she bumbled along from placement to placement, so close to the daily calls on her time as to have missed the big picture altogether.

  * * *

  Driving through the marketplace of Chipping Norton, Anna smiled as she saw the double-fronted windows of an independent bookshop, followed by cafés and boutiques that were welcoming and just the right side of quirky. After a few days in London, the cheery greetings as residents passed each other on the street were almost jarring as she tried to adjust. You could travel the length of Oxford Street some days without so much as a smile, discounting the builders, of course – who never missed an opportunity to exhort the benefits of cheering up. Apparently, it might never happen.

  She smiled despite herself, wondering what it was that they imagined worried her. Women like her. Were they really convinced that women’s anxieties were all fictional and forthcoming and never in the here and now?

  She pulled over again and checked the directions, even the road names reminding her that she was in the countryside again now: Spring Street, The Cattle Market, Cotswold Crescent… She flexed her swollen ankle, the long drive having taken its toll. Still, the distractions around her were plentiful: beautiful dogs were being walked almost everywhere she looked, and there was no small number of chiselled, tousled men with their tattersall check shirts rolled distractingly to the elbow; several cliques of women with strollers and toddlers on unwieldy scooters gathered outside a hall advertising a music group for children, half looking peppy and exuberant, the other half simply exhausted and resigned.

  Anna wondered which category she herself would fit into, before dashing the very thought from her mind. Motherhood was not now, and never would be, on her agenda. Even as she put the Mini into gear again to pull away, though, she couldn’t help but wonder which group of women was more authentic – and how many tears were hidden behind the bouncier ponytails and Sweaty Betty outfits.

  Finally pulling into the designated bay outside number forty-two The Lea, Anna struggled to remember why, all those months ago, she had chosen this particular assignment. This sweeping cul-de-sac was hardly high-lux, even if the brand-new Cotswold stone homes here seemed to be selling for a small fortune if you looked on the internet. Everything was so new. Squeaky, shiny, Desperate Housewives new.

  Even the key in the key safe was barely scuffed.

  There were no hand-me-downs here. No compromises.

  Any sacrifices to live here, in The Lea, were apparently those of the parents. And probably their bank accounts.

  It was a way of life that Anna had always secretly wondered
about, yet simultaneously avoided. Even as the sunshine lit up the rolling hills beyond the rooftops and dried the last drops of rain from the various plastic climbing frames and bike stores, Anna still felt strangely ambivalent about being there.

  Perhaps it would come to her, over the next few days, why exactly she had sought out this little slice of family life to be her base in the Cotswolds.

  * * *

  An hour later and she was none the wiser. The whole house was exactly as Mrs Loseley had described. Organised chaos.

  The grey Ragdoll cat had retreated, as predicted, to the top of the kitchen dresser, its tail swaying back and forth. Large and beautiful, its intense blue eyes watched Anna’s every movement, taking her measure. Once approved, Anna could apparently look forward to Spook dropping silently and without warning onto whichever pillow or cushion she might choose to doze upon. Still – at least this time, she’d been warned.

  Walking upstairs, Anna was struck immediately by the three smallest bedrooms. They were like a movie set, with their miniature beds, and miniature wardrobes. Everything new. Everything clean, even amongst the deluge of toys. The pink, the dinosaurs, the Lego – absolutely everywhere, as advertised – and then there were the books. Shelf upon shelf of tiny books with stiff cardboard pages and appealing illustrations of Gruffalos, dragons and witches, and of course aliens flaunting their underpants.

  Anna was entranced, wandering from room to room, wondering what a childhood like this would feel like. Could it possibly be as magical as the brush-strokes of the murals painted on each bedroom wall, the trompe l’oeil doorways and arches leading to other worlds of fairy gardens and grottos?

  And for a moment, she tried to imagine her own child in a room like this. Even knowing that he – or she – would have been a little older than this age by now. And just the very thought made her chest tighten.