I sat down and almost dropped the box of cupcakes. Outside the White Horse, over the road, a young couple walked along in scarves and hats, hugging each other tightly. Adam never held my hand anymore and would rather Chelsea football club be relegated than us snog in public. I used to slip soppy notes in his lunch box until he complained that they stuck to his sandwiches. Perhaps this break-up had been waiting in the shadows for a while.
It’s funny how the things that attract you to someone eventually lose their shine – like the way he threw an arm over me during his sleep; how he insisted on using teabags twice. And I knew my liking for bowls of potpourri drove him crazy. I’d become a fan of them since living above a chip shop. It was my first flat. Dirt cheap. It had to be, on my wages from Best Buns.
From the left, a flash of red caught my eye – Jess’s bobbed hair. Despite her small frame, she stood out in her tribal print duffle coat and maroon jeans. Jess didn’t use peroxide, hated fake tan and wore old women’s comfy shoes – in theory, we were a total mismatch. She didn’t watch my fave shows like The Apprentice and Keeping Up With The Kardashians, nor did she use whitening toothpaste. Yet at school we’d both bonded through a deep hatred of sport. Except I was the lucky one, with a mum always happy to write me a letter to get out of netball or swimming; anything for a bit of peace, so that she could get back to her fags and daytime telly. It was only when I met Adam that I got into fitness DVDs. Not that he minded my squishy bits – he liked my “soft curves”. It was my idea to battle my muffin top. You see, I often imagined what Adam and I would look like together, posing in one of my celebrity magazines. If I could just tone up we wouldn’t look half bad. We’d be the next Brangelina – the papers would call us Kimadam, perhaps. I shook myself and waved in Jess’s direction.
‘Kimmy?’ Jess hurried towards me, eyes goggling at the Christmas tree. She carried a massive rucksack. ‘Why are you sitting outside here with all this stuff?’
‘And what about you, with that rucksack? I said, brightly.
‘You first.’ She slipped the khaki bag to the ground and sat down.
‘No, you,’ I said, graciously delaying my dramatic announcement that Adam had brutally (okay, slight exaggeration) chucked me out. Plus I need a few more minutes to stem any tears that still threatened. I patted her arm. ‘Looks like you and Ryan have fallen out big time. Brothers… Who needs them, eh?’
She bit her thumbnail.
‘What’s happened?’ I said.
‘He called me a neat-freak; said it was worse than living with our mum.’ Her chin wobbled.
‘Ungrateful bastard!’ I said, for one nanosecond forgetting Adam. ‘You’ve transformed his house! Has he forgotten that his previous lodgers liked cheese and had tails?’
She offered me a stick of gum and I shook my head. Jess had taken up the habit about a month ago.
‘Guess I should have knocked, before going into his bedroom this morning,’ she said.
‘Huh?’
Her cheeks tinged pink and instantly clashed with her hair – and her red nose. Poor Jess always seemed to have a cold through the winter months, plus hayfever in the summer – not the best allergy for someone who worked with plants. ‘This morning, it being the weekend, I thought I’d do him a favour and tidy his room.’
‘That was a bit keen.’
‘I know, but I had this overpowering urge to clean.’
‘Was he still asleep?’
‘No. He, um, had company.’
‘Jess!’ My hand flew over my mouth. ‘Was she pretty?’
‘Boobs like grapefruits and a dead neat Brazilian.’
I caught her eye and we both giggled.
‘So, I was wondering…’ Jess glanced across at my case. ‘Any, erm, chance I can crash at yours? You should have heard Ryan. Apparently it’s been a nightmare for him, living with his kid sister, ever since Mum and Dad retired to Spain. He says he owes it to our parents to see that I’m all right, but that I cramp his style and he’s sick of not having a private life.’
‘What a cheek! I bet he’s already struggling to work out the washing machine.’
‘I shouted at him,’ muttered Jess. ‘Told him he was a joke and no other woman would ever move into his hovel.’
‘You never shout.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘He even made some rude comment about my lentil cutlets. I mean, what decade is he in? No one makes vegetarian food like that anymore. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d criticised my bean burritos or tofu chow mein. He said at least now he could enjoy a guilt-free turkey dinner at Christmas.’ She nodded at my luggage. ‘Please tell me you’ve not moved out. Have you two had one of your disagreements?’
‘What do you mean?’ A lump returned to my throat.
‘Remember he gave you the silent treatment after your last trip to the salon?’
I’d forgotten that. He thought twenty pounds was a lot to pay for fifteen minutes eyebrow threading.
‘And he didn’t come out to the pub last weekend for that festive quiz.’
Nope. He was sulking because I’d turned down an interview for a permanent cleaning job.
‘Do you think my head’s stuck in the clouds?’ I asked, voice choked up. ‘Adam more or less said I’d treated his flat like a holiday camp.’ I could count on Jess to be straight with me. She’d always tell you if your bum did look big or your new haircut sucked. I pulled the lid off the Tupperware box. Sugar was great for low moods. A bloody good cake could sort out any problem.
‘You’re a… a….’ She sneezed and blew her nose – into a handkerchief, of course. Even tissues made from recycled paper, originally made from sustainable forests, were too environmentally unfriendly for her. ‘You’re a daydreamer, Kimmy; a romantic. No doubt about that. And who can blame you. Let’s face it, your mum hasn’t always–’
‘She’s done her best,’ I said and bit my lip.
‘I don’t know why you still defend her,’ Jess muttered and shook her head. She took a cake from the box. ‘Whereas Adam, I guess he just looks to his parents. Marriage, mortgage and kids; the daily grind paying off…’ She bit into the sponge and chewed for a moment – the only person I knew who could simultaneously munch on food and gum. ‘Face it, Kimmy: you two have less in common now – you’ve got different priorities and have grown apart.’
‘But you and me still get on, even though I hate gardening and you’d rather stare at a blank screen than follow Beyoncé on Twitter.’ I took a large bite of cake too.
‘But I’m not planning my future around you.’ She smiled. ‘No offence.’
‘You’d be better suited for him,’ I mumbled. Jess even had a savings account.
She shook her head. ‘Have you forgotten the argument we had about recycling?’
Jess sorted through all her rubbish, composted her peelings and washed out her tins. Adam said multi-coloured wheelie bins cost the government too much money and that they’d be better off investing it in nuclear energy.
Jess popped the last mouthful of cupcake into her mouth. ‘Really yummy,’ she said. ‘I trust it was suitable for vegetarians?’
‘Of course.’
‘Love that orange buttercream icing.’
‘It’s made with actual orange zest, instead of essence, which means…’ I smiled. ‘Ingredient geek alert. Ignore me.’
‘Shame you used paper cases. They contribute towards the decimation of rainforests.’ She opened her rucksack and tugged out a copy of the Luton News. ‘Is there anyone else we can stay with?’ Her mouth drooped at the corners. ‘It doesn’t get much worse than being homeless for Christmas. Plus I’ve got to get myself sorted for work tomorrow. The last thing I need, on top of this, is to lose my job. Maybe we can find a flat?’
‘This late in the day?’ I said. ‘Have we even got enough for a deposit?’
‘It won’t do any harm to look through the paper. In these arctic temperatures, I for one don’t want to spend tonight on the street.’ She pointed to a splat of co
ngealed sick on the pavement. ‘That mess reminds me, I threw up just before I left Ryan’s. Last night I had a take-away veggie burger – it must have been contaminated with meat. So, I’m a bit peckish now.’
I jerked my head towards the White Horse. ‘What we need is a shot of caffeine. I might even splash out on a packet of crisps, seeing as I no longer have to justify my every financial transaction to Mr Stingy Purse Strings.’
Jess gazed at me. ‘Chin up, Kimmy,’ she said, softly. ‘Come on. I’ll treat you to a cheese toastie and chips.’
I gave a wry smile and nodded. We stood up, ready to haul our luggage to the pedestrian crossing. But then I stopped dead. What was that, stuck to the glass front of the estate agent’s? Leaving Jess to drag over my case, I carried the tree and cake box over to the window. I cocked my head. The house in that photo… Wow. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of: roman pillars either side of the red front door, massive gardens, a well cute pond… I leant forward to read the labels. Five bedrooms, a hot tub and (posh or what) croquet lawn. It even had its own games room and bar. And that kitchen! There was a big American fridge and an island to breakfast off.
‘Ready?’ said Jess. ‘The traffic lights are about to change.’ Puffing under the weight of her rucksack, she gazed at the picture. ‘Bet that place costs a lot to heat.’
Why wasn’t I that sensible? Instead, in my head, I was already clicking my fingers at servants whilst eating a delicious afternoon tea on the front lawn. As for that staircase! And those four-poster beds! And talk about privacy, there was room for a mid-terrace house before you came across the neighbours. I was about to step away, when underneath the For Sale caption I noticed some bold writing.
“Live-in housesitter urgently required, to maintain gardens and house until property sold. Enquire within.”
‘What’s the matter?’ said Jess. ‘You look like you’ve just been given limitless texts.’
‘Do you believe in fate?’ I said.
She read the advert and stopped chewing her gum for a moment. ‘Are you completely bonkers? Us? Living in a place like that?’
‘Why not? Come on, you and I aren’t going to be beaten by our current situation. This is the answer. Think about it – your job at the garden centre is bound to impress. And I’m well nifty with a duster and vacuum cleaner. This could be my one chance to prove to Adam that I do have a practical streak.’ There’s no need for him to know how wicked the setting is – just that I’m prepared to scrub and clean and work hard to put a roof over my head; that I can do anything I put my mind to, including making a success of my cake company. If I slogged my guts out to do well at this job, he’d be impressed. Then I’d wow him with my “concrete business plans” (um, leaflets, cooking classes, entering cake contests). My mind raced.
‘You and me, together, we’ll have that place sold before you can say “Mulled Wine Muffin”.’ I beamed, a chink of hope breaking through the storm clouds of my lovelife.
‘But we haven’t any experience.’
I snorted. ‘You’re joking? The way we’ve kept house for Adam and Ryan? You don’t need a CV a mile long to know how to bleach a loo or polish a mirror.’ I pointed to the window. ‘“Urgently required”’, I quoted. ‘Sounds desperate.’ I scooped my hair back into a scrunchie, unzipped my gold parka jacket and smoothed down my sequinned jumper. ‘After a few days away, the two men in our lives will be pleading with us to move back.’
‘I don’t know, Kimmy…’ Jess wiped her nose. ‘What about references? How do we explain suddenly turning up like two lost tourists?’ She stared hard at the photo and pointed to the right hand back corner of the lawn. ‘Who do you think that is?’
I screwed up my eyes and examined the topless young man with floppy chestnut hair, leaning on a spade. He certainly had his work cut out – that garden was huge.
I fixed a smile on my face and held out my hand, flat, in front of Jess’s mouth, glad she got the message but didn’t actually spit her gum into my palm. Then she smeared on her favourite lipgloss – homemade of course, using Vaseline and food essence. I took a deep breath and pushed open the glass door. Jess caught my eye and I winked. A tiny bubble of hope tickled the inside of my chest. This dream house was going to help me win back Adam.
Chapter 3
‘You are certainly not within your rights to withhold rent.’ A woman in a smart navy trouser suit, and pristine blouse, looked up from her phone and gave a stiff smile. ‘The owner has been informed of the problem and we’ll be in touch shortly,’ she said, returning to her call. ‘Pardon? You do realise we record some of these conversations…? Well, maybe you’d care more if faced with eviction!’ Calmly, the middle-aged woman put down the telephone receiver
‘Are we sure about this?’ whispered Jess and I nodded.
‘How can I help?’ asked the estate agent, in a flat voice. Her smile had shrunk as she’d clearly worked out our luggage was bargain Primark, not Prada. We set down our bags and I placed the Christmas tree and cake box on a nearby desk. The room was practically furnished with office equipment, and talk about unfestive – there wasn’t so much as one tinsel garland.
‘We’re looking for, um… somewhere to rent,’ I beamed. There was no point looking too keen, and mentioning the house straight away.
She pointed to two black swivel chairs on the other side of her desk, which was cluttered with stationery, assorted files and a wilted, white-flowered plant.
‘It’s kind of urgent.’ Understatement. I sat down and luxuriated in office’s warmth. ‘We’re currently homeless.’
The woman’s eyes glazed over and the atmosphere seemed even darker as clouds gathered outside.
‘Homeless?’ She raised her finely plucked eyebrows.
‘It’s just a blip.’ I forced a laugh, which hopefully oozed confidence as if to say “of course a deposit would be no problem”. As long as the rent was based on Monopoly prices, that is. I glanced sideways at Jess.
‘And I’m employed at the moment,’ Jess said. ‘I work at…at…’ She sneezed loudly. ‘Nuttall’s Garden Centre.’
The woman winced. Her badge said Mrs D Brown. D for Deidre? Or Dawn? Perhaps Dragon?
‘We may only need somewhere short-term,’ I said.
‘That might make things difficult,’ she said, crisply. ‘Most landlords are looking for long-term tenants.’
‘Tell me about it.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Finding somewhere to live, in between jobs, is one of the few downsides to being housesitters – like occasionally being made homeless.’
She leant forward a little.
‘I know – it’s unusual work,’ I continued, innocently. ‘Most people don’t know the half of what’s involved.’ Ahem, including myself.
‘I’m familiar with the job spec,’ she said and tapped her biro again. ‘Aren’t you rather young for such a–’
‘Responsible position?’ interrupted Jess. ‘That’s what the agency thought when they gave us our first job.’
Go Jess!
‘But they were so impressed with Jessica’s gardening skills,’ I interrupted, wondering if housesitting agencies really did exist, ‘and my… um… housekeeping experience. You should have seen our last place. Overrun with mice,’ I whispered. Well, it was true about Ryan’s pad.
Her brow smoothed out a little. ‘I bet you’ve seen some sights.’
‘Ooh yes, um, fleas under the sofa and mushrooms in the carpet.’
Plant expert Jess shot me a puzzled look, but Mrs D lapped it up.
‘And the house before that had been well trashed,’ I continued.
‘What happened?’ The estate agent put down her biro, no longer sounding as if we were a nuisance.
‘The previous sitter had, erm, secretly arranged a party and advertised it on Facebook,’ said Jess. ‘People stubbed cigarettes out on the walls and broke toilet seats. Personally I think those social networking sites are a danger to society.’
Her last sentence was in no way a lie – Jess d
idn’t even have a Facebook account. I kept quiet about my four hundred and sixty-three Facebook friends and the group I once formed, “Ashton Kutcher for President”. That reminded me, I hadn’t got Adam’s laptop to borrow now, which was just as well – I wouldn’t know whether to change my relationship status to single or simply post that Adam and I were… had… Oh God, eyes going all blurry again, must switch subjects in my head.
Ow! Jess had kicked me hard. She was busy playing garden doctor.
‘… and don’t prune them until next month, Deborah,’ she was saying, ‘otherwise you’ll get fewer flowers next year.’
Ooh, they were on first name terms already. “Deborah” straightened a pile of paperwork and stared at us.
‘I’m curious,’ she said. ‘There’s no money in housesitting; it’s normally a job for retired people who simply fancy a change of scene.’
‘The agency does insist we get paid a nominal fee,’ I said, not catching her eye. ‘Just enough to cover food. They tell clients it’s worth it to get in people they can trust.’
‘Kimberley’s trying to set up her own business, you see,’ interrupted Jess. ‘Making cakes. Housesitting gives her the free time she needs. And the smell of home cooking always helps sell those properties we look after which are on the market.’
‘True – everyone loves cake.’ Deborah smiled and sucked the end of her pen for a moment.
‘What’s your favourite flavour?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, um…’
‘How about Madagascan vanilla cakes, with strawberry buttercream icing and marzipan ladybirds?’ I said, spying a photo of two little girls on her desk. ‘Or I make a mean peanut topping, decorated with toffee teddy bears. Plus currently I’m celebrating the festive season – how about figgy pudding scones? I could drop some in.’
Mistletoe Mansion Page 3