Screw playing along.
‘OK, open this door, right now, or I’m calling the police,’ I say as I remove my phone from my pocket. I noticed it was flat when I was upstairs but he doesn’t know that.
‘I genuinely can’t open the door,’ he insists. ‘And… just… look out of the window.’
He says this in a way that sounds like it is designed to calm me down but it only serves to further freak me out.
‘Don’t move,’ I demand, still brandishing my phone, even though the only way it could help me right now would be if I threw it at him.
I pull back one of the curtains that hangs either side of the front door. My eyes are immediately drawn to the snow that is piled high against the glass. As I look above it, into the garden, and down the long driveway, I notice that I can’t really notice anything. All I can see I snow.
‘Are you telling me this door can’t open because of the snow?’ I reply. ‘Because doors open inwards. So, if you’ll just open it…’
‘I don’t have a key,’ he replies. ‘This isn’t exactly my house.’
‘This isn’t exactly your house or this isn’t your house?’ I reply.
No, I’m not sure what the difference is either, but they both sound bad.
‘Both, I guess,’ he replies.
I just stare at him for a moment.
‘Look, full disclosure time: My name is Chris, and I didn’t say I was your boss, I said I work for your boss.’
I glance around the hallway – I don’t know what for. Another door? A weapon? That’s when I notice the framed photo on the sideboard. It’s my boss, Richard, with his wife and kids. The four all them all dressed up in their warm clothes, smiling on a ski slope somewhere.
I glare at Chris as a horrible realisation occurs to me.
‘Are we in Richard’s house?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘Are we supposed to be in Richard’s house?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Not exactly or no?’ I reply. I can feel the blood boiling in my cheeks.
‘No,’ he admits.
‘Oh, God. I need to get out of here – how do I get out of here?’ I ask in a panic.
‘I only have a key for the garage door,’ he explains. ‘But–’
‘Oh my God,’ I say, cutting him off. I have one big horrible realisation a second before Chris reminds me himself. ‘Doesn’t Richard live on an island?’
‘A tidal island,’ he corrects me. ‘But yes.’
‘That’s where I am?’ I reply.
‘Don’t you remember, we got a train, then a taxi…’
‘Now that you mention it, yes,’ I reply. ‘But I didn’t realise I’d travelled to the sea.’
‘Look, come into the kitchen, I’ll explain everything,’ he says. ‘How we ended up here, our current predicament, and so on.’
‘Our current predicament?’ I repeat back to him.
‘Just come to the kitchen,’ he says. ‘I’ve made pancakes – everything is better with pancakes.’
I glance at the knife in his hand and realise it’s actually a pallet knife. I suppose the apron makes more sense now that I know he’s been cooking. My mind went to a dark place when I was thinking it was to protect his clothes from my blood.
I follow Chris along the hallway and into the kitchen. Yet another massive room, with all the mod cons, coupled with that country mansion charm.
‘My mum always said Agas make the best pancakes,’ he tells me as he starts another one. ‘Of course, she inherited hers, when my gran died and we moved into her house. We didn’t have Aga money.’
I really don’t have time for his cute small talk – how can he just stand there, chatting so casually, flipping pancakes without a care in the world.
‘So, we work together,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘But you’re not my boss?’
‘Did I say I was your boss?’ he replies curiously.
‘I’m sure you did,’ I say. ‘And I could have sworn you said your name was Rowan, not Chris…’
‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,’ he says with a casual shrug. ‘You could have misheard me? I’m your boss’s assistant.’
‘Oh God,’ I say – for maybe the millionth time. ‘I can’t believe I shagged my boss’s assistant… in his house… in his bed.’
‘Huh,’ Chris says thoughtfully. He sounds almost amused. ‘There’s so much to unpack there. Let’s start with the fact that, the part you seem to be the most upset with, in all of that, is the thought of sleeping with an assistant.’
‘Don’t you dare flip this around on me,’ I reply angrily. ‘You’re responsible for all of this. I really, really need to leave.’
‘And I keep telling you, you can’t,’ Chris says again.
He grabs the remote and flicks on the TV on the wall in the kitchen. Then he gets back to his pancakes.
I sit down at the island in the middle of the kitchen, as the gravity of what they are talking about on the news hits me. It turns out, while we were sleeping, the snowstorm that had been threatening to hit for days, has hit – and it’s much worse than they expected, especially here in the north.
‘Shit,’ I say softly.
They’re showing clips of people in different locations and it’s bad. It’s really bad. There’s no traffic. No public transport. People are stranded places – I am stranded here. In my boss’s house. Without permission to be here.
Richard Adams, whose house this is, is the big boss of the law firm I work for. I say firm, but that makes it sound smaller than it is, he started one of the first chains of law firms. He has offices all over the country so I’m not surprised at all that he has such a big house. Last night was our post-Christmas party – a classy affair at a luxurious 5-star hotel so, when I hit it off with Chris, why couldn’t we just check in there? I remember we went to a club afterwards, and I kind of remember ending up here, but the night gets blurrier as it goes on.
‘How did we end up here?’ I ask, hoping he knows.
‘Richard left me his car keys and asked me to drive his car back here and park his car in the garage. I was under strict instruction to drive back here today and lock it safely away. When I drove him to the party from here yesterday, he locked the door that leads from the garage to the house, and he put the key in the glovebox. I guess I took it out, when we were looking for somewhere to go, and we ended up back here.’
Chris tells this story like it’s no big deal.
‘So, his car is still in the city?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Chris replies.
‘And I’m stuck on an island, in his house, with no way of going anywhere, and we’re not supposed to be here?’
Chris thinks for a second.
‘Well, yes,’ he says. ‘But look on the bright side – I didn’t drive while I was drunk!’
‘Where is Richard?’ I ask, ignoring his so-called silver lining.
‘He’s gone skiing with his family for New Year,’ Chris replies. ‘So at least the place is ours for a few days.’
‘Would you listen to yourself?’ I say, jumping to my feet. ‘We’re trespassing here.’
‘Only technically,’ Chris replies with a smile.
‘Chris, I’m a paralegal at Richard’s law firm – do you think he’s going to buy for a second that I believe this might be OK?’
Chris places a plate of pancakes down on the island in front of me.
‘Just calm down for a minute and eat these pancakes,’ he insists. ‘Look, thankfully Richard doesn’t have CCTV, and he’s away for a few days, and if we can’t leave here then he can’t get back. If there’s been a snowstorm he won’t be expecting me to have driven his car back this morning, so we’re off the hook. We just need to be out of here, with no sign we’ve been here, as soon as we can.’
I realise that we don’t have much choice, and that there’s nowhere else we can go, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Why, why, why did I do this? This is why I never do anything like this, bec
ause this is a disaster.
‘We just need to make the best of it,’ Chris says. ‘It’s a big, sick house and it’s all ours. For now.’
I puff air from my cheeks and try to let out a little of my stress. I suppose he’s right but I’m still terrified we’re going to get in trouble.
‘We do need to make sure no one can tell we’ve been here though,’ he says.
‘Of course,’ I reply.
I squirt a generous amount of golden syrup on my pancakes and take an even more generous bite. OK, these are great.
‘With that in mind… we have a problem.’
My stress comes charging back – not that I’d let go of much of it.
‘What?’ I ask through my first – and probably only – mouthful of breakfast.
‘We had more to drink when we got back last night,’ he says. He places a bottle of whiskey on the island in front of me. About a quarter of it is gone.
‘I’ll stick with syrup, thanks,’ I say.
‘Oh, now who’s making jokes,’ he replies with a grin. But then his smile drops. ‘This is a problem though. We drank this. This was a new bottle. I just looked it up, to see where I could replace it.’
‘Don’t tell me you can’t buy it,’ I reply.
‘Oh, no, you can buy it,’ he says. ‘But it costs £1,600 a bottle.’
I place my head in my hands and massage my temples.
‘I’m guessing you can’t afford to replace that either?’ he says.
‘Nope,’ I reply. ‘And it will be even harder to do when I’ve lost my job. Or from prison.’
My God, this just gets worse and worse.
‘Any ideas?’ he asks.
‘Just, let me think for a second,’ I insist. ‘Just let me…’
How have I got myself into such a mess? How am I going to get myself out of it?’
‘I’ve got it,’ I say. ‘When my sister and I were younger we used to sneak sips from our mum and dad’s bar.’
‘Oh, how fancy and rebellious,’ he says sarcastically.
‘OK, first of all, it’s not fancy, it was just a wooden cupboard in the dining room that opened up when we had company or whatever, and all teenagers do stuff like that. Second of all, shut up, I’m trying to help.’
‘Sorry,’ he says, retreating. ‘Go on.’
‘We would top up bottles from other bottles,’ I explain. ‘To replace what we had drunk. You could only do so much with water, before you could tell it had been watered down, but if you moved it between bottles – especially from the less used ones…’
‘So, you’re saying we need to refill it?’ Chris says.
‘Yes, we just need to find the right thing to replace it with,’ I say.
‘OK, great, see now you’re getting into the spirit of things,’ he says with a smile.
‘No, clearly it was last night when I got into the spirit of things, today is about damage control. So, I’m going to drink this coffee, and then I’m going to set about seeing what I can find,’ I say, trying to be practical, because what choice do I have?
Tonight is New Year’s Eve and I was supposed to be going out with my friends. I’m just hoping the snow clears up as the day goes on. Then I can get a taxi to the train, a train home, and I can leave Chris here to sort out this mess. His mess.
There’s no way I’m letting him take me down with him.
Chapter Four
It’s hard to imagine growing up on a tidal island. I wasn’t massively familiar with the concept, until I looked it up briefly, while I was reviving my phone with the iPhone charger that thankfully lives in my boss’s bedroom – the one I’m ‘staying in’. Thankfully Chris has agreed to sleep in one of the other room. I did consider sleeping in a bed that didn’t belong to my boss but weirdly it’s the only part of this house that feels familiar to me. Well, that and the bathroom, with whom I am even better acquainted. As guilty as I feel about ‘making the most of it’, I am thinking about having a nice, relaxing bath later. Come on, give me a break, I am trapped here.
As far as I could tell from my quick search, the people who live here are often stuck here, depending on the tide. When the tide is in the island is shut off from the rest of the country – pretty cool on face value but it must be a nightmare to live with.
I did look into the times the causeway would be open, meaning it would be safe to cross, but not only would I have to walk a few miles in the snow to get to civilisation on the mainland, but I’d be stuffed when I got there, given that most of the roads are closed.
Yep, I’m definitely stuck here. With Chris who, I have to say, is thoroughly rubbing me up the wrong way. I know that I’m a grown woman who makes her own choices – I’m pretty sure I was chanting it to myself, in my head, all the way here last night – but I do feel like he’s totally misled me. I’m sure he gave me the wrong name and I’m certain he let me believe he was my boss – not my boss’s assistant. I’m not sure how much plausible deniability I’d have, if we did get caught, because it’s pretty clear from all the family photos on the walls that this is my boss’s house, and I definitely don’t think Chris would be the kind of guy to clear my name and take all the blame himself.
If what they’re saying on the news is anything to go by then I’m definitely going to be stuck here with Chris tonight. I’m trying to make peace with it. These are difficult circumstances and there’s nothing I can do, so what’s the point being upset? I am upset though. I’m really upset.
I’m currently searching for a wine cellar – because don’t all big fancy houses have one? I’m not having much luck though. I suppose you can’t really have a wine cellar if you don’t have a cellar to begin with.
‘Hayley,’ I hear Chris call out. ‘Hayley!’
Well, at least he has my name right, although to be honest, I’d probably rather he didn’t. I don’t exactly want to keep in touch.
‘What?’ I call back.
I follow the sound of his voice until I find myself in a large dining room. On the other side of the table, there’s a large set of bi-folding doors. Walking through the open door in the centre is Chris.
‘Oh my God, it’s freezing out there,’ I say.
‘Tell me about it,’ Chris replies. ‘But I found something in the games room at the bottom of the garden.’
He closes the door behind him, almost instantly removing the cold chill from the room, and if I’m sure of anything now, it’s that I am not going to take my chances walking to safety in the snow. I would die.
Chris holds up a bottle of whiskey. Even I can tell it’s a cheap one from the label.
‘We just top it off with this,’ he says. ‘There was a few of these in the games room. No one will notice this one being low – or even missing, which means we can finish it tonight.’
‘The bleakest New Year’s Eve plans I have ever had in my life,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I’ll go find a funnel.’
I search the kitchen drawers until I eventually find a funnel. We carefully top off the expensive whiskey bottle with the cheap booze. Hopefully, no one notices or, by the time they do, they won’t suspect anyone was here when we were. I hate the idea of his poor kids getting the blame though.
‘Well, now that’s taken care of, the house is ours,’ Chris says excitedly. ‘We can do what we want.’
‘Oh, fantastic,’ I say sarcastically. Of course, I’ll go mad, if we don’t find something to do. I’ve seen The Shining and I think that sort of madness would kick in pretty quickly for me.
‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I saw an 85” TV and a PS5 in the lounge,’ he says. ‘Fancy a game?’
‘I’m not really into videogames,’ I admit. ‘Wait, didn’t you say the games room was at the bottom of the garden?’
‘Yeah, but boring games, like pool, Scrabble, Monopoly…’
‘Oh, I love Scrabble,’ I say excitedly. ‘That will pass some time – fancy a game?’
‘Not a chance,’ he replies. ‘I hate bored games.’
&n
bsp; He says ‘board’ in such a way that makes me think it’s supposed to suggest that they’re boring.
‘I’m trapped here and it’s your fault – are you telling me you won’t even play Scrabble with me?’
‘You can watch me play Cyberpunk?’ he offers.
‘Yeah, I’ll pass,’ I reply. ‘You’re so selfish.’
‘It’s been said before,’ he replies.
‘I guess I’ll amuse myself then.’
‘I’ve heard that before too,’ he tells me with a snigger. ‘Well, I’ll be here until the countdown to midnight, while I neck this bottle of booze, so if you want to join me at any point…’
‘As tempting as that sounds,’ I say with a roll of my eyes.
I wander off, back into the hallway, and glance around. There are so many corridors, so many doors… there must be something here I can do to amuse myself – and it’s definitely not Chris.
Chapter Five
It’s such a shame I can’t tell Richard that I was here because it turns out we have something in common.
After wandering down one of the hallways I happened upon a large wooden door. I opened it to find a library. Yes, an actual library. Walls covered in shelves, all absolutely packed with books, and they’re even organised alphabetically by genre. I’m a total bookworm, so this is the best thing I could have found in here, second only to a snowplough.
Before I let myself go to town on the books I hurried back to the kitchen and made myself a big mug of hot chocolate. Then I hurried back here, set it down on a coaster next to an inviting looking red Chesterfield chair, and only then did I allow myself to start browsing for something to read.
The thing that caught my eye was that, in an otherwise serious, old fashioned looking library, there was a kids’ section for his children, and it looks exactly as you would expect. A colourful rug, multicoloured small chairs, and shelves and shelves of fun looking books.
I couldn’t resist looking at them first. I loved reading when I was a little too. Choosing a library book, reading on the carpet – oh my God, when it was Book Day, and they would wheel in the big silver case that opened up into bookshelves, I would take my free token, and buy as many books as my mum would allow, and I would spend the longest time trying to choose what I wanted.
Two Night Stand: A fun, festive read - perfect for the holidays! Page 2