Mistletoe Mansion. Samantha Tonge

of cake; moved the hole-punch. What was written down there?

      ‘Mice, fleas, mushrooms… Nothing much fazes you, am I right?’

      ‘We’re professionals,’ I said, evenly. ‘Nothing has ever made us quit a job.’ And let’s face it, what could possibly make life difficult at Mistletoe Mansion? Too many party invites from loaded neighbours?

      ‘Why didn’t the previous sitter see the job through to the end?’ asked Jess.

      ‘Oh, erm, personal circumstances.’

      ‘How long has it been on the market, then?’ I said.

      ‘About six months – it went on just after the uncle died.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Times are hard, so that’s not unusual. When could you start?’

      ‘Tonight,’ we both chorused.

      ‘Really?’ said Deborah.

      ‘We’re always keen to get started on a new job,’ Jess gushed and put back the plant.

      ‘Fair enough. If you’re sure. Just let me make a call. Delicious cupcake, by the way,’ she said, and disappeared out the back.

      I eyed the hole-punch. Maybe I could just nudge it, accidentally on purpose, to see exactly what that red writing said.

      ‘Mushrooms in carpets?’ hissed Jess. ‘Don’t you feel just a teensy bit guilty about making all this stuff up? It’s a bit over the top. Her boss won’t be happy with her if it doesn’t work out. We’re bound to be rumbled.’

      ‘Look, they need a housesitter. We need somewhere to live… And we’re going to do our best to sell that place. No one’s going to lose out.’ I reached for the hole-punch. ‘And I’m sure we can persuade this Mr Murphy guy to let us stay there for Christmas week, even if it happens to sell super-quick.

      ‘What are you doing now?’ whispered Jess.

      ‘She’s hiding something; if I could just read what’s underneath.’ Carefully I pushed the hole-punch across. Scrawled in red biro, surrounded by smiley faces, it read, “Must love Gh–”. Deborah’s heels click-clacked back into the room. Damn! I hadn’t managed to read the last word. What could it say? “Gherkins”? Perhaps “Ghosts”! A haunting could be wicked if it involved me and Adam, Whoopi Goldberg and a sexy potters’ wheel. I must have misread the writing – maybe it said “Gn” and the previous owner had a hideous collection of gnomes.

      ‘Well, ladies,’ Deborah said, sitting down, ‘Mr Murphy is delighted to have you on board. Normally he’d be more particular about references, but seeing as the situation is urgent he’s agreed – on the understanding that I drop by now and again, to check things are running smoothly.’

      ‘Awesome!’ I said. ‘I mean, that’s great. And he’ll pay our… expenses?’

      ‘Yes, but he’s impatient for a sale now, so he’s relying on you. So am I.’

      ‘We won’t let you down,’ said Jess and wiped her nose.

      ‘I hope not – Mr Murphy has been quite fair. He’s agreed to pay you a nominal sum to cover food. He’ll add it on to the weekly budget he gives you for cleaning materials and butcher’s bones.’

      ‘Bones?’ Jess and I chorused.

      ‘Didn’t I mention his old uncle had a dog? Mr Murphy isn’t sure what to do with it, so…’

      ‘He just left it there?’ said Jess. ‘What happens when there’s no sitter?’

      ‘Luke Butler calls in. He used to be the uncle’s handyman and has helped us maintain Mistletoe Mansion.’

      Of course! “Must like G…” That red writing had to be about a breed of dog.

      ‘This Luke… Is he the half-naked guy in the photo?’ said Jess.

      Deborah blushed. ‘Yes. It was a very hot day. I didn’t like to ask him to put his shirt back on.’

      Can’t say I blamed her. He’d looked pretty hot. Not that I’d be interested in another guy for a long time.

      ‘Why doesn’t he housesit?’ I asked.

      ‘Initially Luke moved in but didn’t… how can I put it… have the best manner when showing prospective buyers around. And I don’t think housework was his forte. So he agreed to keep an eye on the place from afar and do general maintenance until the place sold.’ A small sigh slipped from her berry red lips. ‘Have to say, he is very good with his hands…’ Jess glanced at me and I bit the insides of my cheeks, trying not to laugh.

      Deborah slid over some paperwork. ‘Here’s the address, Mr Murphy’s phone number, and a comprehensive list of your duties. The house is in Badgers Chase, a private cul-de-sac. It’s very picturesque.

      I glanced at the papers. Badgers Chase was on the St Albans side of Harpenden, near where Jess worked. Harpenden was a well posh village with continental cafés and fancy boutiques – the complete opposite of Luton.

      ‘I haven’t been to Harpenden for ages,’ I said. ‘Mum used to take us there to play on the common.’ Or rather, left us there whilst she met her fancy new man in town. Once she spotted comedian Eric Morecambe, its most famous resident. Not that celebrities impressed her. “Lucky buggers who didn’t live in the real world,” she called them.

      ‘The nearest bus stop is about half an hour’s walk away,’ continued Deborah. ‘It’s a very exclusive area, not far from a golf club. Isn’t Nuttall’s Garden Centre also that side of Harpenden, Jess? The one with the large bronze acorns outside?’

      ‘Yes. Getting there should be easy. I cycle everywhere – unless it snows.’

      The estate agent tapped her pen on the desk. ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to delay moving in until morning?’

      We shook our heads. She hesitated. ‘Okay. I’ll call you a taxi.’

      ‘I’ve got a car,’ I said. ‘But doesn’t someone need to show us around?’

      ‘I’ve only been to Mistletoe Mansion a couple of times. It’s not strictly within my duties. Lovely place though. Luke can answer all your questions. If you just wait a minute I’ll ring him. He’s very flexible. I’m sure he’ll be able to pop round tonight.’

      Her eyes dropped to the hole-punch and that writing. It was clear that whatever the prospective housesitters “Must love”, she didn’t. I racked my brains for breeds of dog beginning with G: German Shepherd, Golden Retriever, Greyhound… Oh my God! Perhaps it was a Great Dane! And come to think of it, that second letter after the G did kind of look like a fancy R. Wow. There was no need for Jess to know. You’d need a dustbin bag for the poop you scooped and giant dog hairs might prove as irritating for her as pollen.

      We moved our stuff to the window, whilst Deborah made us a coffee and got distracted by trying to sell a one bed mid-terrace to a young couple with twins and three cats. The toddlers were well cute and liked the baubles on my little tree. They were even more interested in my box of cupcakes, and I was going to offer them one until their mum looked daggers at me. Eventually they left and Deborah rang Luke. He was out. She left a message and finally he called back to say he’d drop by the house.

      Jess waited whilst I collected my hatchback from the small car park behind Adam’s block of flats. I tried not to look up at his window, but couldn’t resist, irrationally hoping he’d be there, beckoning at me to come back. With a sigh, I got into my car. It was white with flecks of rust and not remotely glamorous. I’d done my best inside, to Adam’s disgust fitting a furry pink steering wheel cover and matching dice. I pulled up outside the estate agency and beeped the horn, hoping the police wouldn’t pass by and see me parked on double yellow lines. When Jess came out, I left the engine running to help her haul our luggage into the boot. The sky had darkened to slate and the air had slightly warmed. Perhaps it was going to rain.