guest. Although nothing made me happier than watching someone stuff their face with my cake. It made me feel like I’d won the lottery or magically fitted into a size ten.
‘Not bad.’ Crumbs fell from his mouth and I felt an inexplicable urge to run my finger along his top lip, which was covered with the brandy buttercream icing. Not that there was any need as, seconds later, he slowly licked it off with his tongue. I touched my throat. No surprise that he didn’t use a napkin like Adam. Good, reliable, straightforward Adam, who knew my name was Kimmy and didn’t break into houses to cavort around with headless dummies.
‘Lily made amazing cakes,’ he said. ‘A rich fruity one with brandy was one of her specialities.’
I took a bite and then another. Mmm, great, the sponge was lovely and light, despite the mincemeat. The sugar soon worked its magic and made me think that maybe Luke wasn’t so bad after all. Another bite. I mean, here we were, drinking together, making chit-chat…
‘Yes – I’ve heard about her secret recipe book that some of her so-called friends have been trying to get their hands on,’ I said.
Luke picked up another quarter, leaving me the slice with the marzipan holly.
‘So, Miss Cake-baker, what’s the story? Why are you really here?’
I almost choked. ‘Pardon?’
He lolled against the back of the stool. ‘We both know you two girls aren’t housesitters.’
‘And what makes you say that?’ I said airily, and tried to keep my cool.
‘For a start, you’ve picked holly out of the garden and, along with that gaudy tinsel, decorated the house. Then I spotted a framed photo of you and some bloke out on show, in your bedroom. The first day here you’re baking and worried about a slightly dripping shower as if you hope to stay here for a long time. Then there’s that god awful dog sweater.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘You’ve even bought potpourri for the lounge. All of these things say to me that you see Mistletoe Mansion as some kind of home, rather than a job. Housesitters don’t become attached like that. They bring the minimum amount of stuff and leave half of it packed.’
‘I’m… a bit of a homebird,’ I waffled. ‘What’s wrong with trying to make a place cosy, especially at this time of year? Anyway, what is this? Oprah?’ His eyes flashed as he grinned and for some reason part of me enjoyed the banter.
He smirked. ‘Bet the reason you’re here involves a man. That guy in the photo?’
‘I’m a professional woman.’ I cleared my throat. ‘This job is not some knee-jerk reaction to Adam and me… It’s just another contract.’
‘Whatever you say.’
‘And anyway… This place, I can’t explain it… it’s got a good feeling,’ I said and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t feel empty. It feels like a home.’
He stared at me for a moment and ran a hand through his hair. Fighting thoughts of how I’d like to do that – just because, um, it would be pleasant sensation, of course – I stared fixedly into his eyes.
‘Best cupcake I’ve ever tasted, by the way,’ he said.
My chest glowed. ‘Thanks. Have another one.’ I still needed to ask him about the locked rooms.
‘Better not. Things to do. The summerhouse door needs mending – I’ve been putting it off for days, what with recent rain. It won’t take long and then I’ll be out of your way.’
Summerhouse? How cool was that! I grabbed my gold parka and followed him and Groucho into the back garden and hung back for a second as winter sun rays tickled my face. As well as Luke whistling, birds chirped and far away, young children giggled and shrieked. A distant aeroplane streaked the blue sky. I strolled past a large shed and impressive patch of wildflowers swaying gently. Further on, bushes bulged with white berries… This place was pretty enough now – in the summer it must look awesome. This was one huge garden. Surely if Adam were here, right at this moment, he would understand why I aspired to a life so much bigger and better than the one I had?
Luke’s whistling stopped as, towards the bottom of the garden, he examined the door of what looked like the poshest Wendy house, just in front of the poplar and apple trees. It was shaded by a weeping willow which was almost as big as the one in the front. I caught him up and peeked through the windows at a wicker table and two matching chairs with embroidered pillows. Talk about a private beach hut. I could just imagine myself lounging on the decking at the front, in designer glasses and eating a skinny ice cream… I could see the tabloids’ paparazzi photos of me sitting in the shade, reading some movie script, wearing shades and one of those Greta Garbo turbans, with Luke, topless, fanning me with a palm leaf…
‘Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the house? This isn’t a holiday park,’ muttered Luke, back to his former unfriendly self.
Daydreaming ruined and my sugar rush having worn off, I stared at him – why run hot and cold? Airily, I walked on a little, to admire a regimental-looking vegetable garden. A little overgrown, but… wow! Those looked like leek tops and various other lines of green leaves… Vegetarian Jess wouldn’t believe her luck.
With a glare at Luke, I made my way back inside. What was it with him? I was making an effort, even though we’d got off to a bad start. With a sigh, I walked through the kitchen, on my way picking up some nibbles I’d bought for the Games Room which I took in and stashed behind the bar. Dust covered all the bar’s glasses and with the sun shining on the panes, I could see that the inside of the windows needed a good scrub down.
However, riled by Luke saying I needed to start cleaning, I delayed and picked up the darts. One by one I threw them at the dartboard. Triple twenty! I hadn’t lost my touch. One of Mum’s boyfriends had been a pub team champion. I took three more shots.
Several goes later, I yawned, left the Games Room and went to check my shower, unable to face another sleepless night. As I went upstairs, I cocked my ear to listen for dripping water but instead heard a strange noise, like… a blowing gale. There it went again. I ran up to check in Jess’s room. Perhaps it was some of that New Age stuff she listened to, like the tide breaking or the mating call of whales. But there was no CD player; her iPod was missing. The office was very quiet too.
The spooky image from the night before jumped into my mind and within seconds my hands felt clammy. But ghosts didn’t haunt houses this modern, I told myself, sternly. You only had to watch Most Haunted to know they hung out in historical buildings and graveyards. I went into the ensuite in my room. The dripping had stopped. At least that Luke had done something right.
I came back out into the bedroom and picked up the photo of me and Adam. Sunday morning – normally we’d still be in bed, him reading the paper after I’d pinched the supplement to read the celebrity stories. Then we’d head over to his parents for a traditional roast. I’d take dessert. My chest tightened. Life with him was comfortable. I enjoyed chilling with him – enjoyed curling up cosily at night, with someone who accepted me for who I was.
I shook my head. Thing was, since yesterday, I’d been questioning whether that was really true. Adam asking me to leave confirmed what I’d refused to consider for a while now – he didn’t truly “get” the real me, who had ambitions and aspired to running a successful baking empire. Yet this realisation didn’t stop me missing my “Ex” – there, I managed to say that word without choking or going through a box of tissues. Perhaps I should
