LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Eight

      ‘Look, Wolf, I've told you – there's no one there. I thought I saw someone too – but it must have been shadows cast by the trees.’ Wolf turned a few more circles by the boot-room door, baying while he did so. ‘You've missed him, haven't you,’ Tess said, watching Wolf settle with a sigh. ‘I can't say I have because I don't know him at all, really. But that isn't to say I'm not looking forward to his return.’

      Because she was standing in the kitchen holding a knife, the dog assumed she was talking about food so he drooled and mooched over to his tin bowl, looking back at her imploringly. Tess shook her head. Daft dog. ‘Your master, you dumb hound. Joe? Daddy?’ He pushed the bowl with his snout and cocked his head to one side. Tess gave him the crust of the toast she'd been eating. She looked around the kitchen and felt quietly house-proud. She hadn't done it for Joe alone, but that did not preclude her keenly anticipating his response. Or looking forward to adult conversation and human company in the evenings.

      When Wolf started barking and charging around as if his paws were on fire, Tess wondered whether it was the phantom presence at the window again until, a moment later, she heard the car crunch onto the gravel. A zip of adrenalin momentarily immobilized her. Shit – the main living room was still a battleground of organized chaos, with books in piles waiting to be re-shelved, the cushions from the sofas airing outside in the garden, the rug hanging on the washing line after a thorough bashing. The room looked dreadful to the untrained eye. And so, for that matter, did Tess. She caught sight of her reflection in the window and winced at her hair hanging in limp tangles. She looked down at herself – baggy sweatshirt, shapeless leggings, bare feet with toenails in need of attention. As she made to dart upstairs, she suddenly remembered Em in the highchair in the kitchen. She raced back in there and out again.

      And so it was barefoot Tess looking slightly manic, and Emmeline with porridge or cement or something smeared around her face, and Wolf turning in a tizzy of barks and leaps, who Joe came across when he came through the front door. Fortunately for Tess, the dog hurled himself to the fore-front, craving Joe's attention as much as she slunk from it so she was able to just call, hi there! just going to change a nappy! while springing up the stairs with Em.

      Keep away from the front room, keep away from the front room, she chanted to herself while changing Em. Go to the kitchen, go straight to the kitchen.

      Quick, quick, quick.

      Socks. The good jeans. A clean black top. Hair tamed into a pony-tail. Baby fragrant, pink, cute, clean face.

      Slow down. Slow down. Silly to be so excited. Really silly.

      He was in the kitchen, with a cup of tea.

      ‘The French are very, very good at most things,’ he said, ‘but making tea is not one of them.’

      ‘Welcome back,’ Tess said and she glanced around the room. Has he noticed anything?

      ‘Everything OK? Did Wolf behave himself? He looks well.’

      ‘All's fine,’ she said. ‘How was your trip?’

      ‘Good. Productive. The project is progressing. I ate a lot of garlic. I ate horse. I argued with the concrete company, I assured the planners that there's been no change to the height, I persuaded the client it may be a little more expensive than we agreed. Oh, and I drank too early in the day – France is France.’

      Tess was nodding as if she'd been there. ‘Well, welcome back.’

       ‘Merci, mademoiselle.’

      ‘Must be nice to be home after hotels.’

      ‘Oh, I was in an apartment,’ Joe said and he wondered why he made the place sound corporate rather than Nathalie's.

      ‘Did you have a balcony? And cast-iron twirly railings, long thin French doors and wafting organza drapes?’

      He regarded Tess – by the look of her, she dearly wanted the answer to be yes. He recalled briefly Nathalie's ultra-modern pad. ‘Of course. And I drink my morning coffee out of a big white bowl.’

      He started to glance around his own kitchen, as if it was taking him minute by minute to reacclimatize to his surroundings. ‘It's all looking very –’

      Tess didn't want him to finish his sentence before he'd seen it all.

      ‘Let me show you!’ She rushed through the room, cupboard after cupboard, flinging open the doors and presenting the interiors like a showroom sales manager.

      ‘You've been busy,’ he said, flicking through his post. She realized she had hoped he'd jump to his feet, to inspect and marvel.

      ‘Just making myself useful. You don't mind, do you? It's the sort of job that's a shag to do yourself – but I thought it could be part of why I'm here.’ She was a fast fidget of words. ‘I'm making a start on the drawing room—’

      ‘– the where?’

      She reddened. ‘The grander sitting room – the one without the telly.’

      ‘Making a start?’

      ‘Just cleaning and organizing. Doing your books – you know, in alphabetical order. I could do your CDs in the other room too, if you like. You can decide the system – you know, whether Bruce Springsteen comes under B or S. If you have Bruce Springsteen.’

      His expression was illegible.

      ‘Your herbs were alive,’ she continued, ‘and you had stuff two years out of date. And no disinfectant. So I took the liberty – you know, out with the old, in with the new. But I did replace most stuff, at least store-cupboard essentials. And fresh food in the fridge, like you asked. Have you seen the fridge? A lemon cut in half put in the egg tray keeps whiffs at bay – my grandmother told me so.’

      She was tying herself in knots of trivial information and it amused Joe. He'd put his post to one side.

      ‘I can't pay you more,’ he said and he really didn't mean it to sound curt but it did – harsh even. And if she'd given him the chance to retract it and apologize

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