by Jo Lovett
James pulled his jumper off over his head – incredible how much warmer it was now that it had stopped raining – and turned to walk back towards the house. Time to check out the interior. Maybe he’d unpack and then go for a swim if the weather stayed like this for the rest of the day.
Wow. He hadn’t focused on Cassie’s garden furniture on his way towards the beach. Now he was seeing it in its full psychedelic glory. On a patio outside double doors at the back of the house, which appeared to lead into the kitchen, were metallic chairs and a table in a riot of purple, orange and pink stripes merging into each other. Where could you even buy stuff like that? And why would you buy stuff like it?
The colour theme continued inside the house. Seriously. Cassie really loved her colour. The flamingo wallpaper was pretty muted by comparison to some of the rooms. No wonder she’d included mainly photos of the garden and its surroundings on the swap website. Too many up-close images of the interior could definitely scare some potential swappers off.
The woman also loved her books. There were full bookcases everywhere, with no discernible filing system. On one shelf alone she had Golf for Beginners, The Portuguese Cork Industry, Harry Potter, a couple of Mills & Boons, Charles Dickens and some modern fiction, with block-coloured spines and authors James didn’t recognise.
One shelf was completely clear, and very well dusted, presumably ready for him to arrange his non-existent collection of ‘Books I cannot travel without and have therefore transported from London to this island’. Even if he read more than about two non-fiction books a year – he’d read no fiction since school – he wouldn’t have brought them with him, would he? And didn’t most people have Kindles nowadays?
Upstairs, all three of the large double beds were made, with starched-looking white bed linen and bright – of course – velvet bedspreads. There were also piles of sparkling white towels on each bed.
Why hadn’t Cassie had the beds left stripped, as he had in his flat? He’d had his cleaner and the concierge company put all the flat contents other than furniture and kitchen basics into storage. Who wanted to sleep in someone else’s bed linen and use someone else’s towels?
James certainly didn’t. After a childhood in an often dirty flat, with grubby sheets, sometimes with unappealing strange men staying with his mother, he had an extreme aversion to mess, dirt, and sharing personal items with strangers. It was alright in a high-end hotel where they had industrial washing machines, but in a domestic home? Not so much.
Speaking of which, where were his parcels? Dee had ordered all the necessities he could possibly want for his stay on the island, and had texted earlier to say that they’d arrived and been signed for. Presumably it was Cassie who’d signed for them. He should have asked her. No way was he getting in touch with her again, though. He’d find them.
He’d noticed a couple of envelopes with his name on them downstairs. Maybe she’d left a note saying where she’d stored the parcels.
The first envelope, on a sideboard in the hall, next to a vase with big fresh orange and red flowers in it – thoughtful of Cassie, yes, but completely unnecessary – contained several typed pages.
Cassie was welcoming him to her home, as though he were a guest, and had made a list of instructions and suggestions. Like he was lacking in common sense and unable to use Google. Clearly a woman with time on her hands.
She’d listed ‘useful information’ about the house and the village and the island, and even the mainland, by category. She’d grouped things into an actual index. It looked like she’d included details about every conceivable part of life here, and also some inconceivable parts, like clubs – bridge, not night – and social events. There were a lot of events for such a small place. There were probably a lot in London too, for people who were bored enough.
James skim-read a couple of the pages.
The annual lawnmower race was taking place in a month’s time. Cassie imagined that James would like to go, and had included details on where her lawnmower was and how it worked so that he could join in. There were pages and pages of information. A lot of lists. The vast majority of it pointless.
She kept alpacas and chickens in the field at the end of the garden. What? She’d lined someone up to feed them but he’d be welcome to feed them himself if he liked. Nope. Obviously not.
He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed that he hadn’t made any lists for her. But they weren’t friends. They were effectively renting each other’s properties. Estate agents did not leave you lists of your neighbours’ telephone numbers or details on when the next full moon would be because night-time kayaking was blissful. Even if he wanted to, James wouldn’t have that kind of information to share. Like your average Londoner, he didn’t know his neighbours and he didn’t get involved in niche clubs and activities. He worked, he worked out, and he went out with his friends, not his neighbours.
He put the list back down on the hall sideboard and wandered into the kitchen. The other envelope he’d seen was on the kitchen table. What more could Cassie have to say?
‘Bugger me, the woman loves a list.’ He’d pulled the notes out of the second envelope and was flicking through them. It looked like these covered different aspects of life from the ones in the hall. Thorough wasn’t the word. Cassie had included so many things it would take him a week to digest all this information, if he wanted to. She had a master list. She had sub lists. She had sub-sub lists. She’d literally even pointed him in the direction of her cookery books. Which, unlike the ordering chaos of all her other books, she had arranged by cuisine and by genre of cooking (starters, meat, fish, Scandinavian, New England, French; the list could and did go on).
She’d also left him a fridgeful and a cupboardful of fresh food and he was welcome to anything he liked from the freezer. She’d stocked it with meals in one-person portions for him because he wasn’t likely to want to go shopping immediately, she thought.
‘Bugger me,’ he said again. Clearly they’d had different ideas about what a house swap entailed.
‘Language,’ said a woman from somewhere behind him. From inside the room. She sounded elderly, very Jessica-Fletcher like.
He turned round, clocking as he went some copper saucepans hanging from the timbered ceiling. Just on the off chance he needed a weapon.
The woman on the other side of the kitchen did look as though she’d stepped out of Murder, She Wrote. Elderly and very small, although upright, and wearing a red twin set. And holding what looked like a cake tin.
‘Hello?’ he said. It didn’t seem like the copper saucepans were going to be necessary. A map might be, though. Had she wandered in here by mistake?
‘I’m Laura. I live next door. I brought you a blueberry pie and I have packages for you at my house. They were delivered this morning. Cassie was out running last-minute errands, so I took them in.’ The cake tin wobbled in her hands. James stepped forward and took it and put it on the table. A fruit pie? He didn’t eat dessert.
‘Hi, Laura. Thank you. That’s very kind.’ She wasn’t moving. In fact, she looked like she was eyeing up a kitchen chair, like she wanted to sit down and chat. ‘Shall I come and get the parcels from you now?’
‘Any time you like.’ Still not moving.
‘Now would be great if that’s alright by you. I have some necessities in there.’
‘Of course.’ Laura started to make her way slowly out of the room. ‘We can get to know each other on the way.’
Really?
James’s phone beeped as he and Laura emerged from the house. He took it out. Matt. After he got back with the parcels, he should take a photo of the view from the garden and the beach and send it to him.
Several other messages pinged in at the same time as the one from Matt, which was either a big coincidence or a sign that James didn’t have a great signal inside the house. He really bloody hoped that wasn’t the case. It was one thing choosing to leave London for a while, another having an enforced digital detox.
&
nbsp; Laura wasn’t joking about getting to know each other, and there was ample time for it. Next-door neighbour here was not the same as next-door neighbour in London. Even at James’s pace it would have taken a good ten minutes to get to Laura’s house. At her pace, it took nearly half an hour, and she put that time to good use, definitely capitalising on the fact that from James’s perspective it felt off being short with an elderly person. She had a lot of questions, and James struggled to avoid answering them.
‘So you’re thirty-five. Any children?’ Laura was asking as they finally got inside her house.
‘No children,’ James said. ‘I should take my shoes off.’ He bent down and made a big performance out of the shoe removal, to try to shake her from her interrogation.
‘Would you like to have children?’ Seriously.
‘No plans,’ he said. Did she really think that he was going to discuss things like this with her? He’d already had to evade questions about his family.
‘Future plans, though? Are you looking for a wife?’ Yes, seemingly she really did think that he was going to talk about these things with her.
‘No plans at all. Not on my agenda. I should really pick up those parcels. Thank you again for holding on to them for me.’
‘Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea?’ Laura said, making no effort whatsoever to point him in the direction of his parcels.
‘I should really get back,’ James said.
‘Are you busy?’ she asked. No evident snideness, just – a lot of – interest. Was he busy? Not really, but he wasn’t keen to be interrogated any further.
‘I have some work to do,’ he said. ‘Been on the road a long time. No opportunity to get anything done.’
‘But you said you worked in finance? Is that a weekend job?’
‘It kind of is,’ he said. ‘Never stops.’ Laura nodded. He smiled at her, hoping that the questioning wouldn’t re-start.
‘Okay, then. I’ll get those packages.’ She started moving, painfully slowly, towards a room at the back of the house.
‘Why don’t I help you?’ James moved to follow her.
‘That’s kind, but there’s no need.’
‘Okay. Thank you.’
James looked around her hallway while he waited. It was like a scene from an old-fashioned TV show. In fact, it could be Jessica Fletcher’s hallway. There was even a dial phone on a little table, complete with notepad and biro. As a child, he’d always wished that his home was like that. Half the time they hadn’t had a phone line at all, because his mother hadn’t paid the relevant bill.
‘Here we go.’ Laura was lugging parcel after parcel into the hall. He should have driven here. If he took them back on foot, he was going to have to go back and forth at least twice. ‘What do you have in here? Some of these are heavy.’ Christ. Astonishing curiosity. Who asked you about the contents of your shopping? For all she knew, he could have sex toys in there, rather than towels and outdoor clothing.
‘You know what? I think the best thing is for me to get my car and drive them back round.’ He bent down to pull his shoes back on. ‘I’ll put them all outside and then I won’t need to disturb you.’
‘There’s no need to do that. You won’t be disturbing me.’ Very kind of her, but he’d had a long day and he really just wanted a bit of time to himself to settle in.
When he got back with the car, Laura was right there, waiting, questions at the ready.
‘Thank you so much,’ James said over the questioning. ‘I’m incredibly grateful. I’m sure I’ll see you again.’ Hopefully not too soon.
‘My pleasure. You just let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.’
James nodded and smiled his way into the car as fast as he could. He checked his mirror when he got to the gateway to her drive. Yep, she was watching from her doorway.
The woman was far too friendly, possibly for her own good. What if he’d been an axe murderer or similar?
Despite how long he’d spent with Laura, there was still enough light for a quick swim before dinner. The water was bracing, but a great temperature once he’d got going, and the views were fantastic.
He felt less positive when he got back inside and remembered that he was going to have to make his own bed. Better to do it now, before dinner, so that he could relax while he ate. Stripping all Cassie’s sheets from one of the beds and wrestling on his own new ones took a fair amount of time. He’d better make sure a cleaner would be coming regularly.
The steak and veg he’d bought earlier in the day on the mainland were good. The lack of phone signal and apparently wavering Wi-Fi signal were less good. He hadn’t thought through how little there’d be to do on a Saturday evening somewhere quite remote without any of your friends. Well, there were outdoor activities and business opportunities and he’d get a lot of work done while he was here. It wasn’t forever.
Jetlag was a bugger when you had a relatively empty day ahead of you. Sunday. 4.30 a.m. Wide awake.
James might as well get on with some work now. Catch up from the couple of days’ holiday he’d taken for the coastal drive up here. He could go for a swim later on, and then maybe for a long run this afternoon, explore the island.
As the day went on, the clear skies gradually clouded over, and a few minutes into his afternoon swim the heavens opened. James didn’t mind swimming in the rain, but it wasn’t to everyone’s taste. And it wasn’t that pleasant trying to wrap yourself in a soaking wet towel that you hadn’t had the forethought to leave somewhere sheltered. He’d need to take the weather into account when he was thinking about tourism opportunities in the area, and check out rainy day activities.
God, the towel was absolutely sopping. There was no point in using it at all. He put his feet into his sliders, squeezed some water out of the towel and slung it over his shoulder and started back towards the house.
‘Oops, sorry.’ Cassie was immediately recognisable due to her enormous coat and blue-edged hood. What was she doing here? Hadn’t she said she was leaving today? Where had she sprung from? They were walking in the same direction so she had to have come from the end of the garden rather than up the drive.
‘I was just saying a wee goodbye to the animals,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
He did mind. But excellent news that she’d been saying goodbye.
‘Not at all. What time’s your flight?’ Just to make sure.
‘Eight this evening.’
Perfect. She’d have to be on the ferry soon.
‘Have a good one,’ he told her.
‘Thank you. How was your night? Is everything alright? Did the notes make sense?’
Kind of her but she really didn’t need to behave as though they were friends.
‘All good, thanks. Have a great journey.’ He nodded at her and gave her a small smile and took a couple of steps towards the kitchen door, turning his back slightly as he went.
‘Thank you. Bye then. Obviously call me or email me if you do have any problems. And we’ll no doubt speak soon.’
‘I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine, thanks, and I think everything in the flat’s pretty self-explanatory. Enjoy your stay in London.’
‘Thank you.’ And off she and her coat went round the side of the house. Finally.
Six
Cassie
‘Oh my goodness,’ Cassie said to Dina, as the ferry that was going to take her away drew closer. ‘This is so scary. I don’t know if I can do it.’ It was like the island and her friends here were a cocoon, a comfort blanket. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t ready to venture back to the UK and to city life.
‘Well, two things.’ Dina pulled her into a big hug. ‘One, you kinda have to, because there’s a strange man living in your house now.’
Strange hot man, Cassie thought, remembering him in his swimming kit. And strange grumpy man, she thought, remembering everything else.
‘And two,’ continued Dina, ‘you totally got this, babe. You’re going to h
ave an amazing time in London. In fact, you’re probably not going to want to come back.’ She squeezed Cassie hard. ‘Please do come back.’
‘Of course I’m coming back. I’m missing you and the rest of the island already.’ She wasn’t joking. This was going to be hard.
The great thing about a very long journey was that it did transition you from one location to another and lessen the shock of the change.
By the time Cassie had driven a hire car down to Boston and endured all the airport checks, she was just desperate to get on the plane. And after an almost entirely sleepless flight with poor bathroom facilities, she was just desperate to arrive at the flat, so her arrival at Heathrow kind of passed her by. She’d expected it to be weird being surrounded by mainly British accents again, driving on the left-hand side of the road, seeing British architecture, but she didn’t really register any of it.
She did take in her surroundings when she finally got out of her taxi outside James’s building. The road was amazingly peaceful for somewhere in the middle of a big city. It was a quiet cul-de-sac, between Notting Hill and Kensington High Street, ending in a footpath leading to Holland Park. This was a fab location. For this, she could forgive James’s unfriendliness.
The contemporary mansion block in front of her was the one. Cassie picked up two of her suitcases and moved forwards. She buzzed on ‘Reception’, per James’s instructions, gave her name, the main entrance door clicked open and, as she pushed it, a man – dressed in what looked like an actual uniform bordering on livery – came towards her through the foyer.
‘Good morning. Can I help you with your bags?’
Yessss. The thought of schlepping up and down with them by herself at the end of what had been a very frazzling journey had not been appealing.
‘Yes, please,’ Cassie said. ‘Thank you so much. I’m very grateful. I’m Cassie.’ She stuck her hand out.
