Secrets

Nice doggy, he could hear her saying in a voice that was for the baby's benefit and not Wolf's, nice doggy. He heard the infant attempt to emulate her mother's words. It was a very odd sound to hear in the house. Joe had been the last baby here. And that was forty-five years ago.

He thought of the bustling Mrs Dunn from the agency, and her doughy forearms. In comparison, this Tess was a slip of a thing. The flagstones would surely defeat her. The flag-stones were not baby friendly. The flagstones alone could be a deal breaker, to say nothing of the draughts. The rickety banister. The occasional whiff of gas that no one had been able to find or fix. The water that sometimes ran brown. The pipes that bickered loudly. The mutant spiders. Wolf. The wasps that returned to the eaves each summer and fell about the house drunk, drowsy and aggressive each autumn. And then Joe thought how Mrs Dunn would not have tolerated any of this and he looked over his shoulder at Tess standing there in his entrance hall, all wide-eyed in inappropriate teenage clothing. Her baby: wild curls, rosebud mouth and beautifully, perfectly, appropriately dressed. And Joe thought that there was something about Tess's poise and the fact that she'd taken the job without it being offered and had made the long journey in that old red jalopy at a moment's notice, that suggested to him she was here to stay. That it would take more than wasps and a Wolf and water that runs brown to see her off.

‘Tea? Coffee?’

‘Tea, please,’ said Tess.

‘And the – what's your daughter's name?’

‘Em.’

‘Full stop? Or, as in –?’

‘As in Emmeline.’ She saw Joe raise an eyebrow. ‘You were thinking Emma or Emily like most people. She's named after my grandmother.’

‘And was Granny known as Em?’ It came out wrong, Joe could hear it. It implied no lady of that generation would tolerate such a diminutive of the name. ‘I just meant – it's unusual. It's pretty. Shame to shorten it.’

‘Well, you can call her Emmeline,’ Tess said a little tartly. ‘I like to call her Em Full Stop.’

‘OK, I will,’ he said. ‘Emmeline, what would you like to drink?’

‘She's eighteen months old.’

‘Don't they drink at that age?’

Tess paused. It was like the Pedigree Chum remark and she was unsettled to feel simultaneously annoyed yet amused.

‘Emmeline,’ he said very slowly, ‘what would you—’

‘It's OK, I have –’ and Tess contorted herself to keep the child on her hip while she delved around the large holdall dragging on her shoulder. ‘Somewhere in here –’ Finally, she retrieved a colourful beaker with a spout. ‘She's fine.’

Joe looked from mother to daughter. Silently, he agreed with Tess. Emmeline was fine. The house might be fine too, with the two of them. Certainly, the set-up wasn't what he'd had in mind, what he'd had before, but if Tess agreed to Wolf, then he'd agree to Emmeline.

‘Doggy.’

The adults swung their attention to the child.

Clever Em, he heard Tess whisper and there was pure joy in her voice.

The tea was good.

‘Builder's tea,’ Joe said. ‘We don't do gnat's pee in this house.’

They sat opposite each other, with more than just the expanse of a particularly large farmhouse table between them. On it was a veritable mountain range too, complete with landslides and crevasses fashioned from books and mail and newspapers and documents and something scrunched up that appeared to have foodstuff on it. Tess eyed it all.

‘What exactly does a house-sitter do?’ she asked. ‘Am I to tidy and clean then?’

Joe tapped the side of his mug thoughtfully and Tess sensed he wasn't thinking of an answer, he was thinking of the best way to make it known. ‘Well, it's not really a defined role like house keeping. For me, I need someone here for times when I'm gone – and I'm away for work a lot for varying periods of time. In the past, I've had people stay for a few weeks – and that hasn't really worked. That's why I want someone who can stay long-term. I don't want you buggering off after a month. You need to really learn the ways of this house. If lights aren't switched on, they soon enough don't come on at all when you need them to. If rooms are left untended, a staleness hangs in the air that is troublesome to clear. The water, especially, needs to run. The freezer tends to frost up. The sofas go hard and lumpy if they're not sat on. At this time of year, some of the doors can warp and can't shut or others can't be opened. So, unlike some house-sitting jobs you may have done, I don't designate quarters for you. And so – yes, a little light cleaning is part of the deal. And you're OK about the pay?’

It struck her that he presumed she'd house-sat before – whereas she'd always assumed house-sitting was more a brief opportunity than a profession. A stopgap. But he said that this position was potentially long-term. She hadn't thought of that. Perhaps she should have packed more. And then she thought she might make quite a good house-sitter. She thought how there might be muck and mess in her life but she'd always kept her surroundings tidy and clean. She thought back to the flat at Bounds Green that she'd left just that morning and as she did, she felt a plug of lead plummet straight through her, buckling her a little and causing a blear to glaze her eyes. Landlord, nasty man, breaking and entering. Finding her gone. Chucking her stuff out with the rubbish in disgust, even though she'd left her TV set behind in the vague hope it might go some way towards the outstanding rent. Perhaps he'd called the police.

‘Excuse me, are you OK?’

Tess looked up from having been miles away, 250 miles south, and she was momentarily surprised to see Joe and not Landlord, nasty man, sitting there. She nodded and kissed Em, over and over. She gave Wolf an energetic rub, discovering that his coat was far softer on the hand that it was on the eye.

‘I'm just tired – it was a long haul to make my way here.’

‘Well, here you are – and I have work to crack on with so how about the guided tour?’ And, as Joe led the way out of the kitchen, into the utility room, through to the boot store before retracing the route back to the expansive entrance hall, he thought to himself that there was something gently peculiar about all of this, something oddly compelling. However, his prevailing feeling was that it was OK for Tess and the child to be here, for the knackered red hatchback to take up a little patch of the sweeping driveway alongside his Land Rover. For a baby's voice to enliven the stillness of the old house, adding variety to Wolf's low woofs and whines. For a woman's touch to dissuade the dust. For Wolf to have company. And, on the occasions he himself was to be home, for Joe to have company too.

‘Am I allowed to watch your TV? I had to leave mine in London. Do you have a record player and am I allowed to play it?’

Joe stopped and turned. ‘Most house-sitters I've known bring their own stuff – but if you want to watch my TV or play my music, or play your music on my equipment, you are welcome.’

Though he was friendly and obviously at ease, Tess found him slightly detached; he met her questions with a quizzical expression, a rather aloof response. Tess's mind scurried over possible rules that a more experienced house-sitter might want to establish.

‘Should I keep my food separate from yours? Is there a shelf for me in the fridge? Are there times when the heating or hot water isn't to be used?’

‘Start running a bath early,’ Joe advised, ‘the hot water takes a while. And I'd much rather you availed yourself of whatever's in the fridge or cupboards – as long as you restock when I'm due back.’

It occurred to Joe that this woman had never done this before. Some previous house-sitters had even brought their own compact fridges. Most brought their own televisions. They didn't enquire about his hi-fi. They all but stipulated private cupboard space in the kitchen. They usually marked up their food with stickers. And then he thought to himself that, if she didn't really know what was expected of her, then he could change the rules and alter the conventional set-up. He quite fancied doing things a little differently. He was rather amused by the idea of coming across her watching something on the box that he'd planned on viewing himself anyway.

There were times – they were infrequent and it had taken some time for her to feel comfortable in acknowledging that they existed – when Tess really would rather not have Em around. Not permanently, of course, but just for those moments she'd prefer to be on her own. Meeting this marvellous, vast old house was one of them. Room after room where she craved time by herself to drink it all in, see the view from that window, look back into the room and regard it from this aspect or that corner. Run her hands over the wood panelling. Feel how cold, or warm, the marble mantelpiece was. Let her fingers bounce along book covers – the way she used to bounce a stick along the wooden fence which ended at the wall heralding her grandmother's house. Instead, she found herself having to assess rooms in a glance, attempting to absorb what Joe was saying while trying to be low-key and even-toned when repeating, don't touch, Em, don't touch. Come back here. No, no – put that back. Careful!

It wasn't that Tess actually minded Em touching or exploring; rather, she didn't want anything to jeopardize this job being hers. This job now seemed more than the answer to her present predicament; it seemed to be the embodiment of long-held dreams. This house was a haven, if a slightly unkempt one.

And if I look after it, it'll care for me.

‘Sorry?’ Joe was looking at her.

Tess, appalled that she might have spoken out loud, quickly turned to her child. ‘Em! Mummy said be careful.’

‘This is the other sitting room,’ Joe was saying as he led them into a room whose walls were dark red, with two sofas of well-worn brown leather, curtains half drawn. Tess wondered, if you sat still enough, whether no one need know you were there at all.

‘When do you use this room?’ she asked.

‘TV,’ Joe said. ‘I know it's naff – but look.’ He opened a cabinet door to reveal a sizeable flat-screen set.

‘Do you have CBeebies?’

‘What's that?’

‘It's a kids’ channel,’ Tess said, brushing the air as if her question was unimportant and an affirmative answer was no big deal.

‘Probably,’ said Joe and he zapped at the remote control. ‘Is this it?’

‘No.’

‘This?’