Mistletoe Mansion. Samantha Tonge

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 congealed 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