Secrets. Freya North

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?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘How about this?’

      ‘No. It doesn't matter. It's not a problem. I brought DVDs that Em likes. If that's OK, I mean. If you have a DVD player? Oh – and if it's OK for me to use it?’

      ‘Sure. Why not. See here – and you need this remote control. Now, come through. This is another loo. And this is a room that – well – I just keep stuff like this in. Quite a useful room, really – though it's become a bit of a dumping ground. Now – upstairs. This is my floor – I'm down there. But I keep the hoover in this room here. Slightly extravagant – and actually, there's another hoover downstairs. But I'd say life's too short to lug a lone vacuum cleaner up and down all these stairs.’

      ‘Or to use either of them much at all, really,’ Tess remarked, eyeing fluff and stuff on the floors. She caught Joe looking a little taken aback. ‘That's what I'm for,’ she said brightly, ‘that's why I'm here, it's part of the job, isn't it – and I quite like hoovering.’

      Joe's expression was odd but he walked on ahead and up a flight of stairs before she could read too much into it.

      On the second floor were three further bedrooms and a large bathroom, floored in shiny black-and-white chequered lino. There was a smaller bathroom on the landing going up to the top floor where another two bedrooms, without beds, were in the eaves. There was more attic space too, he told her.

      ‘Take which you like,’ Joe said, walking back down to the second floor, ‘I don't mind. Mostly the house-sitters squirrel themselves away right at the top.’

      ‘Is that where I should be?’

      ‘I said – take which you like.’

      ‘Sorry.’ She paused. ‘Really?’

      He shrugged. ‘Of course.’

      ‘Could I take the front room on this floor?’

      ‘Sure.’

      Tess returned to it. A bay window. A window seat. A double bed, stripped to the mattress, with a dark wood bedstead. Nearly but not quite matching chest of drawers and wardrobe, both almost fitting into the alcoves either side of the fireplace. Cherrywood perhaps. A similar colour to the design decorating the tiles of the fireplace.

      ‘Which one for Emmeline?’

      And Joe had to repeat the question because Tess was looking into the wardrobe as if she could