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‘Ryan’s not going to believe I’ve already got somewhere else to stay.’ She chewed vigorously for a moment. ‘Do you think Deborah will find us out?’
‘As what? We’re perfectly capable of looking after that place. I reckon we’ll do a good job. Here’s to living in the lap of luxury, I say.’ And getting that place sold; impressing Adam.
‘Has Deborah got a crush on this Luke or what?’ said Jess. ‘Did you hear her on the phone? No one should flirt with someone they could have given birth to.’
Now and again, Mum dated younger men. She even went off on holiday to Spain with one and left fourteen year old me alone, to look after my younger brother, Tom. Auntie Sharon had dropped in when she could, but wasn’t there when Tom twisted his ankle or the lights blew.
‘One had better put together a rota for the chores,’ I said, in a posh voice. ‘I’ll clean during the day. You garden after work. A cosy supper will be served at eight sharp. One will be expected to change. Mistletoe Mansion has standards.’
‘Idiot!’ Jess grinned at me. ‘It all seems too good to be true. There’s got to be a catch.’ Spit-spots of rain hit the windscreen. ‘Have we got time to stop off at Ryan’s to get my bike? There should be room for it if we put down the back seats.’
I nodded as the lights switched to green and we pulled away from the estate agents – from lacklustre Luton; from my life with Adam. I blinked quickly, thinking that only that morning we’d been curled up under the same duvet. Just as I steered around the corner, my sombre thoughts were interrupted by a shriek of ‘Wait! Stop the car! There’s something you should know!’ I glanced in my rearview mirror whilst Jess, oblivious to the shouts, fiddled with the radio dial. It was Deborah, running towards us, high heels in hand and cheeks purple!
Chapter 4 (#ulink_8137df74-6087-5beb-9147-cf76760bf12b)
‘Get ready to run for your life’ I said to Jess, as we drove onto Mistletoe Mansion’s drive. Badgers Chase was a T shaped cul-de-sac and our new home was right at the bottom of it. Lightning had just struck the middle of a field on a distant hill and disaster was imminent – if we didn’t get inside right this minute, the rain would turn my hair, still straightened from yesterday, into candyfloss.
Jess put the small Christmas tree in the back, next to the bike and our luggage. Wow. As we passed the well cute pond on the left, I gaped at the roman pillars. After parking up, I got out and was distracted from the amazing scenery for a moment as a juicy splat of water hit my head. I could count on one hand the number of people who knew my hair had a natural curl. My eyes tingled. Adam and I shared lots of secrets, like me knowing his bank pincode and him keeping schtum about my girl crush on famous chef Delia Smith.
‘Well established borders, aren’t they?’ called Jess, in gardening centre mode. She inspected the right hand side lawn and yanked out a handful of weeds from the borders crammed full of various shaped plants, with spikes and berries. Jess was muttering in Latin. How come only doctors and gardeners got to speak a classical language? I took a deep breath, feeling as if I was on some epic film set. Any moment now a voice would shout “action” and some heartbreaker hero – hopefully a clone of Adam – would appear, perhaps in classical dress. I would allow him to accompany me for a walk,then his love rival would turn up with a shotgun and… I sighed. This cul-de-sac oozed romance. The houses stood so far apart – whereas I’d never lived anywhere that wasn’t a bowling ball’s roll from a fish ‘n’chip take-away or betting shop. At the foot of the leafy, winding road which led here was the nearest bus stop, a thatched pub called the Royal Oak and a post box.
Despite the menacing clouds, I walked down the drive to join Jess. Woody scents filled the air. Where was the stink of exhaust fumes? Or the litter? Or the sound of Mrs Patel shouting at a late newspaper boy? Or the roaring engines of planes leaving Luton airport? I slowed down to a stroll and imagined the photo if paparazzi snapped me now. Maybe I’d look like some Hollywood star in one of those awesome perfume adverts, in some lush setting, the breeze blowing my hair… Good decision Kimmy, not to tell Jess about Deborah running after us. Nothing was going to stop me moving into this place. No doubt the estate agent had heard the weather forecast and was simply going to warn us about the storm.
‘Ooh, nice.’ Jess said and pointed to a border running along the fence, right near the house.
I admired the plant, with its sprinkling of small, cream flowers.
‘Lonicera fragrantissima – unusually it flowers in winter.
I shrugged.
‘Winter honeysuckle to you,’ she said and grinned.
I headed over and plucked a small spray of the flowers. Mmm, what a lovely sweet scent. I tucked it behind my ear.
‘Not as festive as holly,’ I said and jerked my head towards a prickly plant next to the honeysuckle, ‘but less painful.’
Jess shook her head at me and then gazed around. ‘We’ll have to get some white wine vinegar to get rid of all these weeds.’ Jess didn’t believe in chemical products, something she kept from Dana, her sales-mad boss at the garden centre.
Another splat of rain landed on my head and I hurried back to the car and grabbed my pink case and Christmas tree. I’d pull Jess’s bike out of the hatchback later. There’d be room for it in the massive double garage. Like an evacuee from a city, I hovered in front of the cylindrically carved white pillars either side of the front door. There was a brass lion’s head knocker right in the middle. On the red brick wall to the right was a fancy gold plate, saying Mistletoe Mansion. My eyes ran over the classy Georgian windows and moss-free grey-slated roof.
‘Come on,’ I called, ‘let’s get in before this rain does more than spit.’ On cue, thunder rolled. The car door creaked as Jess fetched her rucksack. Seconds later she stood beside me and took the keys out of her pocket.
‘Maybe we should knock first,’ she said and chewed her gum slower for a moment. ‘I thought I saw someone at an upstairs window. That Luke might be inside.’
‘Hopefully filling the fridge,’ I said and realised all I’d eaten today was that cranberry and orange cupcake. I smoothed down my hair, grasped the knocker and rapped hard. The sky was charcoal-grey now and a shiver ran down my spine. Maybe I should have rapped quietly in case some giant dog really lived here. Yet there was no barking, just the pelting of rain. I reached for the knocker once more.
At that moment, the door swung open but no one appeared. Prompted by a small yap, Jess and I glanced to our feet.
‘Aw, what’s your name, buddy?’ said Jess and knelt down.
You had to be joking! Who could be afraid of this tiny brown and white mutt? With those chocolate button eyes, it wasn’t the slightest bit fearsome. In fact, it would have looked well cute in a little tartan jacket.
‘Scoot, Groucho,’ said a flat voice. From around the side of the door appeared the man from the photo, wearing a lumberjack checked shirt with fawn cords.
I rubbed my ear as my eyes swept over his frame. Cords and a checked shirt? That was the uniform of granddads. Except he somehow made them look fashionable, and as for his chestnut bedroom hair and half-shaven face… A frisson of something stirred in my belly. Huh? That had to be a hunger pang. I’d only just broken up with Adam. It couldn’t be anything else.
I hauled my case over the doorstep and he watched me drag it into the ginormous hallway, unlike Adam who would have insisted on carrying it for me. His almost old-fashioned manners were one of the things that had attracted me in the beginning – the way he’d always be the first to buy a round at the pub; how he’d offer to drive, if he and his workmates went out on the razz. I took in the arrogant stance of this Luke, with his hands shoved in his pockets. Would I ever meet another bloke like Adam?
‘Groucho’s an unusual name,’ I said, as Jess followed me in. At least there wouldn’t be any poop-scooping up after a Great Dane. I gazed around. Oh my God. That staircase was amazing. You’d build up an awesome speed, sliding down those banisters.
‘Walter Carmichael – Mike Murphy’s deceased uncle, the guy who used to own this place – he bought Groucho at the turn of the millennium, the year he gave up the evil weed,’ said Luke. ‘It was his idea of a joke.’
Groucho… Marx. Of course, that ancient comedian with a bushy moustache and eyebrows, and a fat cigar always between his lips… Must love G… So, I was right, those red scrawled notes were about the dog, but the G stood for his name, not his breed. I looked down as he cocked his head sideways. What possible harm could this Groucho cause, especially with those little grey hairs sticking out from his chin?
‘Does he, um, behave himself?’ I asked, as the white-tipped tail vanished around the side of the staircase.
‘He’s toilet-trained and doesn’t bite, if that’s what you mean,’ said Luke, staring at the flower in my hair. ‘But he’s a Jack Russell – nosy; always into everyone’s business.’
‘You must be Luke?’ said Jess and smiled as she closed the front door. ‘I’m Jess and this is Kimmy.’
She held out her hand but he shoved his hands deeper into his trouser pockets, which irked me as it made me focus even more on the great things about Adam I was missing.
‘There’s milk, eggs and bread in the fridge. Help yourselves to anything else you find. The last housesitter quit this place in a hurry.’ He smirked. ‘The kitchen cupboards still have some food in them.’
I set my Christmas tree down on the laminated floor, next to a mahogany coatstand, and took a good look around. The winding staircase really was well impressive, with its oak banisters and burgundy carpet. At the top it branched out, to the left and right, past several glossed white doors with gold handles, on both sides leading around to the front of the house. On the cream walls hung brass-framed paintings – I squinted – of foxhunts and deer and fishermen. All this place needed was a tinselled pine tree much bigger than mine – it would be the perfect family home to live in during the festive season.
‘Wow. Impressive,’ I muttered, head back as I gazed up towards the high ceiling and a waterfall effect crystal chandelier. Downstairs were more paintings and to the right, a watercolour of Mistletoe Mansion, in the far corner, above a door – perhaps that was a loo. On the same side, near the front of the house, was an open door leading to the poshest lounge. I walked over to peek in and admired the sage green armchairs and sofa, the long oak coffee table, matching dresser and mega fireplace. On the mantelpiece was a photo of a friendly-looking old couple.
‘Mr Carmichael liked his paintings,’ I said and came back into the hallway. Jess was still gazing at the chandelier.
‘Yep. Murphy’s already sold some of them off.’ Luke stared at a portrait, to the left of the lounge door. It was of an old man, serious looking apart from a twinkle in his eyes – the man from the photo on the mantelpiece.
‘That’s him? The uncle?’ I asked.
He nodded and then pointed to behind the staircase. ‘Groucho’s gone to the kitchen. The patio doors in there lead onto the back garden and there’s access to the dining room which is at the back of the lounge.’
Not really listening, I looked out of the front windows and the torrents of rain. Wind rocked the honeysuckle and the weeping willow shimmied like… like seaweed caught in a stream. Listen to me – I’d gone all high-falutin, thanks to this place. It was even more impressive than I’d expected and felt homely – kind of lived-in, not grand or imposing. Not what I’d expected for the empty house of a dead man. My chest felt lighter than it had since me and Adam split.
‘What’s through there?’ asked Jess, looking left to a heavy mahogany door, next to a white hallway desk.
Luke consulted his watch. ‘See for yourselves. I’m off.’ He tugged his thumb towards the desk. ‘Murphy’s phone number’s in an envelope on there, along with other stuff like a daily “to do” list with my phone number on, and things like how to work the boiler. Also there’s the remote control to open the garage.’ He grabbed a thick jacket from the coat stand and opened the front door. An earthy, musky smell of aftershave wafted my way – so different from Adam’s favourite fragrance that smelt like clinical air freshener. ‘Just one more thing – a couple of bedrooms are locked. Don’t try to force them open.
‘As if we would!’ protested Jess.
‘They’re full of the Carmichaels’ personal stuff,’ he continued. ‘Murphy hasn’t sold much of that yet. He won’t sort through it until he has to, I reckon, when the house sells. So, just keep out.’
No “Nice to meet you” or “Good luck, I’ll pop in tomorrow to check you’re okay.” Adam would have at least told us to lock the windows at night and taken us through a fire drill. Not that I needed a man to look out for me, but his attentive ways made me feel all fuzzy inside. After a childhood spent practically fending for myself, Adam’s caring nature had initially dazzled me.
Whereas my initial impression of Luke was the complete opposite of considerate Adam. Whistling, the handyman upturned his collar and slammed the door as he left. Groucho appeared and after several minutes of tickling jumped up as if to say “I’ll show you the place,” but a sharp crack of thunder saw him skedaddle under the white desk. Jess picked him up and he licked her nose.
‘Let’s take a quick look behind that mahogany door and then find something to eat.’ She turned the handle and we went in. Wow: this was the Games Room with… I couldn’t believe it! Only what I could describe as a mahogany throne in the corner! That was it. From now on, in my head, this room would be named after my favourite show of the moment, Game of Thrones! I’d have to plait my hair to enter and create a cocktail called Sex in Westeros!
Polished, rich brown panels covered the left and far side walls, with the rest painted racing green. In the middle stood a full size billiards table and on the right was the small, but well stocked, bar. There was lager, and cola, and a professional-looking line of spirit bottles hung in front of mirrored tiles. As the mahogany door creaked shut behind us, I tiptoed across and bent over the bar. This would be perfect for Adam, I thought, gazing at the different shaped glasses, the small sink and silver ice bucket. After a hard day at work he was often too tired to go to the pub.
Jess pointed to a dartboard at the end of the room, fighting to keep hold of Groucho whose legs pedalled mid-air. Eventually she put him down and yapping, he ran back to the door. ‘I don’t think I’m the only one who’s hungry.’ Jess threw her gum into a small bin.
I walked over to a window. It was almost dark now and rivers of rain down the glass warped the view. I pulled on a cord which closed the curtains.
‘Picture us,’ I said, ‘sipping fancy drinks, eating Pringles… And getting handyman Luke answering our every beck and call.’
Jess pulled a face. ‘He’s hardly Lady Chatterley’s lover.’
‘What, our bit of rough?’ I grinned. ‘His manners are almost as bad as my brother’s.’ Tom never ate with his mouth closed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Mum let him do what he wanted – eat pizza in bed, not tuck his shirt in for school, drink juice straight from the carton.
We went back to the hallway and I stopped by the desk, impressed at how the sound of rain resounded around the big hallway. A dog lead lay curled up, next to a bunch of letters and I flicked through, looking for the “to do” list Luke had talked about. A scrap of paper caught my eye and I pulled it from the pile. Scrawled across the front in red it said “IMPORTANT! NEW HOUSESITTERS READ THIS ASAP!”
Lightning flashed again and Jess pulled the hall blinds shut. I unfolded the piece of paper – the words looked as if they’d been written in a rush. With the chandelier light now flickering, I read the note out loud:
“Leave now. Don’t stay a single second. If I told you why, you wouldn’t believe a word. Just trust me; this is the worst job I’ve ever had – especially when it’s dark.”
‘It’s probably a joke,’ shrugged Jess.
‘Must be,’ I said and smiled brightly, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck as I thought of Deborah chasing us, purple in the face. As if on cue, an ear-splitting clap of thunder rang out and all the lights went off. Groucho’s claws, on laminate, scratched and skidded to a halt, no doubt under the desk.
‘We need to work out where the fuse box is,’ Jess shouted.
Thunder clapped again, as I felt my way into the lounge and looked out of the windows. Forks of lightning lit up the garden – the bushes looked like crouching figures and the weeping willow like hanging rope. Perhaps a zombie-like White Walker from my fave show might appear…
‘Any luck yet?’ I called and searched the shadowy lounge. When I got back to the hallway, she’d opened the blinds but there were no nearby streetlamps to help. Jess switched on her phone and, using it like a torch, headed towards the Games Room.
‘Wait! Did you hear that?’ I hissed, my skin prickling from head to toe.
‘What?’ she said and hurried over to me.
‘That thud?’ There it was again – from upstairs. My heart raced as Jess switched off her mobile.
Arm in arm, we stood at the foot of the staircase. Now, through the rain, I could make out a dragging sound. It was too early in December for Santa, dragging his sack, I told myself, trying to keep my mood lighthearted. However, thoughts of zombies flashed into my mind again and I swallowed. At least in Luton I could blame any strange noises on the flatmates above.
‘It could be a tree brushing against an upstairs window,’ said Jess, uncertainly.
Lightning flashed once more and lit up a shape, at the top of the stairs.
Did I scream? I wasn’t sure. All I could focus on was a man. He was carrying a body over his shoulders. Thunder muffled something he was trying to say as he dumped his load and made his way down. What I wouldn’t have done, right then, to have had a Great Dane to protect us, big poops or not. Thanks to another flash of lightning, I spotted my little Christmas tree and grabbed it. Javelin had been soooo boring at school, but then I’d never had the incentive of warding off some murdering lunatic.
The figure came nearer and with a deep breath, I drew back my shaking arm. One, two, three… now or never… I hurled the tree as hard as I could, towards the bottom of the stairs.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_027f3b61-11aa-59cb-a799-28ecf135261c)
‘What the…? Why the hell did you do that?’ shouted a male voice.
‘I’ve found the fuse box,’ hollered Jess, and apart from the chandelier, the lights flicked back on. Dim rays filtered through from the kitchen and Games Room. Rooted to the spot, I squinted back at the bottom of the stairs, finally able to make out this freak’s face.
‘You?’ My clenched fists uncurled a little.
Luke glared at me and rubbed his head. Jess came over from a cupboard behind the hallway desk.
‘Careful,’ I muttered to her and stepped backwards, as we didn’t know him well.
‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Who do you think I am? Some Rural Ripper? This is sleepy Harpenden, not the East End.’
He wanted to try living in Luton, where crime practically began in the crib. Only last week the bloke living below us caught a nine year old, snooping through his flat, armed with nothing but a stink bomb and Star Wars sabre.
My heart raced as I pictured the tabloid headlines, if I was famous: “Courageous Kimmy Scuppers Stalker.” Well, Luke had met me briefly, and that’s all it took for those weirdoes to become obsessed. A story like that would win Adam back. The magazines would feature our reunion. The police would provide me with panic buttons and a cool bodyguard…
‘Who were you carrying?’ I said in a half-whisper.
‘Why don’t I show you,’ said Luke with a sinister grin.
Groucho could have at least bared his teeth or found a phone and punched in the number for the police, with his titchy paw. My mouth went dry as Luke went back upstairs and dragged the body along the landing. He flipped it over his shoulder and came back down. I gasped, took a larger step backwards and prayed that my legs wouldn’t give way. My fists clenched tight once more. What kind of monster was he? That body was headless.
‘Let’s go!’ I screeched to Jess. Startled, Groucho scampered into the kitchen and let more light into the hallway as he pushed the door open.
‘Kimmy, wait a minute,’ said Jess.
More visible now, Luke stood at the bottom of the staircase. Blood trickled past his eyebrow and one arm was draped casually around the shoulders of…
‘A dressmaking dummy?’ My mouth fell open.
‘Who’s the dummy now?’ he scoffed.
His smug look made me almost wish it had been some murder victim instead.
‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ I straightened up and folded my arms.
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘That your way of saying sorry?’ He wiped the blood from his head.
‘What are you doing with that thing? Whose is it?’ said Jess.
‘It belonged to your predecessor. I agreed to pick it up for her – she refused to come back to Mistletoe Mansion.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
His mouth twitched. ‘Pleasurable as this has been, ladies, it’s time I was off.’
‘Try knocking next time,’ I said, blocking out thoughts wondering whether it would scratch to kiss his bristly face. No, I wouldn’t apologise for his injury. He was to blame. And so were his sexy hair and sardonic smile, for making me think the unthinkable – that, in time, there might be other men out there who could turn my head. No, I wouldn’t consider that. Adam and I were meant for each other and this… this arrogant, rude, unfriendly handyman just proved how important it was for me to win back my decent man.
‘Didn’t want to disturb you.’ He shrugged. ‘Thought I’d be in and out. It might have been safer, though. Didn’t know I’d come face to face with such a drama queen.’
