LITMIR.BIZ

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her wagging her finger at him. He gave an imaginary backhand and forehand with the racquet before shrugging and returning it to the heap.

      Tess thought, I really ought to wipe this grin off my face.

      ‘Paint.’

      ‘I'll start immediately, Mr Saunders.’

      But she knows he doesn't mean it as a command; he's holding out two tins so she says thank you and takes them off him and through to the boot room.

      ‘No problem,’ he says, following her and he doesn't say, actually, it was a bloody problem finding the sodding stuff.

      She feels a little hyper, nervy; she wants to show him what she's done – the utility room, the downstairs loo, the start she's made on the den as he calls it though she's taken to calling it the snug. She wants to ask him about Wolf's tail. She wants to tell him all about ‘wol’. She wants to say, shall we have a cup of tea? and then make it good and strong, served in her own cups and saucers. She wants to say, it's nice to see you, Joe. She wants to say, I'm going to cook us up a treat this evening.

      ‘I'm putting a wash on – do you have any darks?’

      And though Joe would rather have been asked if he wanted a cuppa, in a peculiarly domestic way the emotion behind her offer feels much the same.

      ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I'll just unpack, then.’

      And as he goes upstairs to his room to sort out his darks for the wash, Tess calls after him.

      ‘Cup of tea?’

      And he smiles, which she can't see. She can only hear his pause. But then he says, lovely. And she exhales a sigh of relief that she hopes he hasn't heard.

      She knows she feels disproportionately happy. But so what, she says to herself. So what.

      She'd overcooked the fish and was furious with herself. If she hadn't apologized over and over and if she'd taken her eyes off his every mouthful, he would have enjoyed the dish more.

      ‘Anything's better than room-service,’ he said lightly. ‘That came out wrong,’ he added, not wanting to incite her stroppy side. Not tonight.

      Tess acquiesced. ‘Was your trip good, then?’

      ‘Busy,’ Joe said. ‘France, Belgium, London since I last saw you.’

      ‘Do you like London?’

      ‘Love it.’

      ‘Friends there?’

      ‘A few – clients and colleagues, mostly, but they're a good bunch.’

      ‘Are you wined and dined, then, in the evenings?’ and she knew she wanted to hear him say, no, I just chill out on my own in the hotel room and order room service.

      ‘Mostly,’ he said.

      An emotion swooped down on her so suddenly it was like a fishbone caught in her throat. She wondered about its provenance as she tried to sip away its sharpness but the wine tasted a little sour. Was it envy? Did she envy him his trip – the wining and the dining and the throb of London or Belgium or France? But what did this say about her newfound affection for here? Hadn't this place nourished her, provided her with a very literal breath of fresh air? Hadn't it nailed the coffin closed on city living? Lonely she might feel up here, some evenings, some afternoons, whole days too, all on her own, but she hadn't felt stir-crazy. Yet it seemed Joe enjoyed a perfectly good time away from here. And then it struck her that it wasn't Joe she envied, at all. It was whoever was showing him the bright lights and exciting times; she envied them their time with him. Faintly ridiculous, really, that this could cause her discomfort, but she couldn't deny the emotion. And, as she drained her glass, it occurred to her that actually, it might not be envy, pure and simple. There might be insecurity in there too. How could she hope to compete?

      ‘Can't remember the last time I went out at night,’ she muttered. ‘Pre Em, that's for sure.’

      ‘I'll bet you the library has notices about babysitters,’ Joe said helpfully. ‘You should treat yourself.’

      Tess shrugged.

      ‘Have you met anyone, made any friends, since you've been here?’

      That lovely Lisa whose invitations Tess had thus far not responded to – what would Joe make of that? She felt a bit pathetic. She could have said Mary. But actually, she couldn't – it would be contentious and untimely and she'd decided to keep Mary to herself a while longer. She could say Laura but that would be complicated and it wasn't exactly true.

      ‘Seb,’ she said, knowing she'd have to be brief because there was so little she could add.

      ‘Seb who?’

      ‘Seb the surfer.’

      Joe's look lasted but a split second, but when Tess saw his eyes darken and focus she wondered if she recognized something – a single shot of unease.

      ‘Seb the Surfer, eh?’ Joe said lightly though he wondered whether Seb the Sodding Surfer had managed to lure Tess onto the beach, for a frolic in the waves. ‘Anyway, I'm back for a week or so now.’ To both of them, this came out sounding as though she should be at his beck and call. ‘So – if you – well, supper and stuff.’

      ‘Oh, OK.’

      ‘I'll be going into the Middlesbrough office most days, but I'll be working from home sometimes. So perhaps lunch too – on those days.’

      ‘OK.’

      ‘A week or so,’ Joe repeated, ‘maybe two.’

      They took inordinate interest and time with the fruit salad.

      ‘Do you want me to ease off the renovations when you're in the house?’

      ‘I don't see why you should – you don't strike me as a noisy labourer.’

      ‘You haven't heard me singing along to the radio.’

      ‘And I suppose this is when Emmeline and Wolf are asleep? So it's a case of the lesser of two evils, then? You caterwauling – or them howling and squawking.’

      If it wasn't for his wry wink, Tess would have taken offence and made it known.

      ‘Hey,’ she objected, ‘I can hold a tune. And Em's vocabulary is increasing daily – she knows the word for owl.’

      ‘Isn't “owl” the word for owl?’

      ‘You may think so,’ Tess said, waggling her knife at him, ‘but I think you'll find it's “wol”.’

      ‘She's very sweet, your little 'un,’ Joe said and Tess had to physically sit on her hand because it would be so easy to touch his arm. ‘Very sweet.’

      ‘And actually, your dog's not so bad,’ Tess said and she tipped her chair back a little to look under the table and give Wolf a nudge with her foot. ‘I've grown rather fond of Wolf.’ She could so easily have said, and I've met your mum and she's a very nice lady. But not tonight. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that, thought Tess, scrunching her toes into Wolf's coat.

      ‘I'm knackered,’ Joe said. ‘Thanks for dinner – I'll do the honours tomorrow, if you like, if you're around.’

      ‘Of course I'll be around,’ Tess said. ‘Where else would I be!’

      Joe thought about this as he cleared the plates away. She could've said, where else would I go. But she phrased it where else would she be. It wasn't that there was nowhere she could go; it was that there was nowhere she'd rather be. Or was it all just semantics? And why was he analysing his house-sitter's turn of phrase? And why was he wondering again where Seb the Surfer fitted in?

      ‘I really am tired,’ he said. ‘Goodnight.’

      ‘I'm going to have an early night too,’ Tess agreed, though she sat at the kitchen table a little while longer, gazing at the space Joe had left.

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