The House Sitter

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One summer, a house, a dog... and a girl.
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AnnasFriend
AnnasFriend
1,709 Followers

This is a gentler (and longer) story than what usually seems to come out of my head - so much so I was tempted to file it under the Romance section rather than Mature, so you might want to bear that in mind before you start. Rest assured there is some sex, but it takes its time to arrive. All characters are of the age of consent or older.

If you make it to the end, thank you, and let me know what you think via votes and comments.

Thanks to VM for some terrific proofreading and feedback.

**

It was, whichever way you looked at it, a great deal.

The house was positioned on the edge of the national park, perched on the lower slopes of a gentle valley with a stretch of garden that ran down to a small lake. It was over a hundred years old but had been carefully and tastefully modernised and restored. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large and well-equipped kitchen and a comfortable if rather cluttered living room. The nearest village was a 15-minute drive away. Mobile reception was a bit iffy, but there was a half-decent internet connection - good enough for web browsing and email if not for streaming TV shows. But that suited me fine. This was going to be the summer, after all, that The Novel finally got written. No binge watching for me.

Six weeks of perfect isolation.

Oh - except for Polly.

Polly was the reason the whole deal was on offer, really. She was a bouncy six-year-old black Labrador. I was more of a cat person myself, but when I was introduced to Polly she wagged her tail approvingly and I patted her head and Mrs James cooed that she seemed to like me very much. Mr James muttered something inaudible which sounded faintly scathing. I guessed he wasn't much of a dog person either.

Anyway, Mr and Mrs James were off on their long-promised world cruise after his early retirement. He'd sold his company, his children were off his hands, and I surmised that he'd run out of excuses not to give his wife the trip that she'd long been clamouring for. But Polly, of course, couldn't go with them. Hence the hurried if informal search for a house-sitter and dog-walker. Hence a friend of my uncle's making casual enquiries as to whether I was still trying to make a go of writing after quitting my teaching job. Hence me sitting there on that first evening in their garden after waving them off a few hours earlier, watching the sun go down while I sipped a cold beer.

Polly lay quietly beside me. She'd had her walk, a brisk hour through some local foothills that she'd enjoyed very much, scampering off in pursuit of various interesting smells and startled rabbits but always obediently coming back to me when I called her.

I scratched her head affectionately. Already she had won me over.

"Thanks Polly," I said. "I think this going to be a great summer." She lifted her head and looked at me and thumped her tail softly.

**

I soon worked out a routine. At eight in the morning I unplugged the internet connection in the garage and made my way to the study. There I worked pretty solidly through until eleven. Then Polly had the first of her walks, which took us up to an early lunch. Then I was straight back to it until around four in the afternoon, or until I'd done my four thousand words for the day, whichever came sooner. Then Polly, to her stunned delight, had her second walk of the day. On this second walk I was more adventurous, choosing footpaths and directions at random and relying on a combination of wonky signposts, intermittent Satnav readings on my phone, and Polly's sense of direction to get us back home again. Sometimes we were back inside an hour. Sometimes it was nearer three hours and getting perilously dark. Polly never seemed to flag, which is more than I can say for myself, but gradually my stamina increased. I was also eating more healthily than I had for some time, being limited to the extremely tasty but relatively limited foodstuffs available in the local village shop - lots of vegetables, fruit and eggs.

The days flew by. Fifteen thousand words became thirty and then forty and then fifty. More importantly, they were words I didn't hate when I re-read them. Perhaps this was the breakthrough at last. I made a promise to myself that if I ever made any good money out of my writing, I would buy myself a house here or somewhere very like it. It seemed to me utterly perfect. Memories of my short, failed marriage with its bitter ending seemed a lifetime away. If I wanted to chat, Polly was always willing to listen and always in complete agreement with whatever I said.

And then, towards the start of my third week there, I was awoken at two in the morning by the sound of somebody breaking in.

**

Of course, it was Polly who actually heard them.

Polly was supposed to sleep in her basket downstairs. This had lasted all of two nights - she'd looked so reproachful when I left her to go upstairs that I had caved in and now her basket was at the end of my bed. She snored slightly but rather charmingly.

And that night I woke to find her growling.

"Hey Poll... what is it?" I asked sleepily. She growled again, then was silent. I listened.

Downstairs, very faint but definitely audible. A window scraping open. I recognised the sound as I'd opened it myself only a few days previously. A thump, then another. Unmistakably man-made sounds.

I looked quickly at my mobile. No signal, of course. There was no landline in my room - there was only one handset in the house, which was downstairs. Nor, my mobile informed me, had I remembered to turn the Wi-Fi back on after our second walk. So, no emailing or Skype calls for help either.

I guessed a house like this was an obvious target. Fairly remote, obviously well to do. Break a window, get in, grab as much as you can and be gone in twenty minutes. Even if it was alarmed it would take the local police a good half an hour to make it out here. Maybe closer to an hour.

The sensible thing to do would be to lock my door and wait for them to go. But I had a sense of responsibility. I'd been hired as a house sitter and it seemed rather feeble to just cower in my room. Plus - I was angry. Everything had been going so well. The last few weeks had been the happiest, most productive I could remember for a long time and now one or more lazy, unimaginative low-life criminals were spoiling it. I was going to damn well tell them what I thought of them.

I took hold of Polly's collar. Her fur was bristling. She was obviously of the same mind.

"Come on Polly," I whispered. "Let's give these fucking bastards the fright of their lives."

I took hold of a poker from the fireplace in the other hand then threw open the door.

"WHO'S DOWN THERE?"

Polly barked furiously.

There was a loud and very feminine shriek from downstairs.

Polly barked again, but in a different tone. Before she was angry. Now - in the space of an instant - she was excited. She pulled away from me and I lost my grip on her collar. I noticed as she shot down the stairs that her tail was wagging.

"POLLY! What are you doing here?"

"Who's that?" I called again, still very worked up.

"Well, who's that?" said the voice, rather nervous. "And what are you doing in my parents' house?"

**

I made my way somewhat cautiously down the stairs, still clutching my poker.

In the living room, just visible from the light coming through from the kitchen beyond, was the slight figure of a girl. Polly was prancing around her, clearly delighted. The girl was trying to pat her with one hand, while clasping an ornamental letter opener in the other. This she was brandishing rather unconvincingly at me. I could see she was young, no more than eighteen, and I relaxed a little though I was still pumped with adrenaline.

"Who the hell are you?" she said.

"Me? I might ask you the same question!"

"This is MY house!"

"So... why the window? Where are your keys?"

"I've... lost them."

This didn't sound terribly convincing. But as I came closer, I thought she began to look familiar. I'd seen her somewhere before. I glanced at some of the pictures on the fireplace. She was younger in those pictures, probably only thirteen or fourteen - but it was definitely her. The daughter who'd been sent off to stay with relatives in Europe. Or apparently not.

"So, this is you?" I said, pointing. She nodded.

"You're supposed to be in Spain for the summer," I said, somewhat accusingly.

She looked a little shame-faced.

"Yes... I was going to be. But I've come back."

"Well... didn't your parents tell you I was staying here?"

"No... they, er, didn't."

There was definitely something shifty about her answers now.

"When did you last speak to your parents? Do they even know you're coming here?"

A slight pause. "No... I thought the house would be empty. So, I just... came here."

I looked at the clock and something else struck me. "How did you get here? Have you got a car?"

"No. I... got a train. Then I walked from the station."

"The station! But that's miles away! The last train would have got in... what, around midnight?"

"Yes. Just before, actually."

"You've been walking through the dark for the last two hours?"

She nodded, and suddenly looked very young, and very tired. My anger faded, replaced with a mixture of irritation and sympathy.

"OK," I said. "You must be shattered. Just... get to bed and we'll talk in the morning. Do you need anything to eat?"

"No... I ate on the train... I'm very thirsty though."

"Glass of water? Or some milk?"

For a moment a glimmer of a smile was visible. "I was going to say a beer, but actually, some milk would be nice."

I put down the poker and went through into the kitchen and got two glasses of milk. Polly followed me hopefully but I told her firmly that she was out of luck and there was no way she was having anything. Then I opened the cupboard and gave her a dog biscuit.

I gave the girl her glass of milk and she looked at me over the rim of her glass as she took a big gulp.

"Are you in the blue bedroom? My brother's?"

"Yes," I said.

"I'll use mine then," she said. "It's the yellow one, opposite. I think I could sleep for a week."

She finished her milk and I took her glass and put it in the sink.

She yawned and stretched and I stole my first proper look at her. She had been walking for two hours, and travelling for god knows how long before that. She was very pale. There were big dark smudges of tiredness under her eyes and her shoulder-length blond hair was straggly, a little greasy and rather unkempt. Her clothes were scruffy and unremarkable: blue jeans and a grey sweater under a dark green hoodie. I thought she was quite breathtakingly lovely.

She suddenly looked at me, and I noticed her eyes were clear and deep and blue. And very serious.

"Don't tell my parents I'm here," she said. "Not until we've spoken in the morning, anyway. Please?"

I nodded. "OK," I said. "Let's speak then."

The noise I'd heard was her large rucksack landing on the floor after she'd pushed it through the window that she'd forced open. Now I carried it upstairs for her, Polly trailing behind us. At the top of the landing I followed her into her room and rather self-consciously put it beside her bed.

"I'll say goodnight then," I said. "Polly - you coming?"

But Polly was already curled up at the foot of her mistress's bed. She gave me an apologetic look but it was clear where I now stood in the hierarchy.

"Sorry," said the girl. "But I always used to sneak Polly up into my room. She's used to it when I'm here."

"That's fine," I said, and wished them both good night and went out, shutting the door. I realised I was a little jealous that I had been replaced so easily in Polly's affections. I think that's what it was.

It was only when I got back to my own room that I realised I hadn't asked the girl her name.

**

Polly woke me up by scratching at my door and whining. I padded over and opened the door and she bustled in, tail wagging and cheerful, happy for me to be her best friend again now that it was breakfast time. I looked across the hallway. The girl's door was slightly ajar - Polly must have nosed it open to get out - and I could just see a rather small, motionless lump under the bed clothes.

I pulled her door closed, got dressed, and went downstairs. I decided I would have to write off my usual routine for today at least, so I busied myself catching up on some other chores: tidying away some of my things and having a general clean up, chopping up and bringing in some more firewood from the shed for the wood burner and clearing out some gutters.

She came downstairs just after 11, still in her pyjamas but wrapped in a startlingly pink dressing gown that I guessed she'd had when she was much younger. Polly rushed over to meet her and the girl bent and scratched her ears fondly.

"Dear Polly," she said. "At least somebody's glad to see me."

She looked at me quizzically. "Have you spoken to my parents?"

I shook my head. "I said I wouldn't. But I think I should, at some point today. Don't you?"

The girl shrugged a little helplessly. "I suppose so."

I asked her if she wanted coffee and she nodded. I made us a cup each and then gestured to the living room. Somewhat reluctantly, she followed me. I sat down in one of the armchairs and she settled herself into the sofa opposite, legs tucked up underneath her. Polly lay down on the carpet directly in front of her, rather protectively I thought.

"So," I said. "You didn't like Spain then?"

She sighed. "I never really wanted to go. But mum said it would be good for my language skills and I thought it sounded rather... glamorous and exciting. But the reality was it was just all the same people as here, all ex-pats living in their own little bubble, going to each other's villas every night to drink too much wine and laugh at the same old jokes. And some of the men..."

She shuddered. "Honestly, I was the youngest person in the area by about fifty years. And all these awful middle-aged men were making any excuse to put my arm round me and give me a squeeze and make jokes about how if they were twenty years younger ha ha ha... yeuch!" She shuddered melodramatically.

"So - you just left?"

She looked down. "Well, the thing you must understand about my family is that there's lots of us, and there's lots of feuds and grievances and the whole thing's a minefield really. I just told Aunty Sue that I'd heard from Uncle Tim that his wife wasn't well, and I know she can't stand her and Uncle Tim never speaks to her either, and so if I said I was going to stay with them there was no way she was going to check with them. So... I just texted them yesterday to say I'd arrived safely when of course I was... always planning to come back here."

There was something a little evasive and rushed about the way she spoke that made me doubt this was the whole truth, but I also sensed now was not the time to push for it.

"What's your name?" I said.

She looked surprised. "Oh yes - of course! Silly of me. I'm Natalie... Tilly, most people call me. At school, I mean."

"I'm Matt," I said. "Or Matthew, I suppose, but nobody calls me that."

We regarded each other for a moment.

"I don't really know what to do," I said. "This is your parents' house, they're not back for another four weeks or so... and I feel I should tell them that you're back here. And obviously, if you want to stay here... I'll have to find somewhere else."

"Why?"

"Well... it just wouldn't really be... right. And... well, I'm trying to get a book written."

"Really? You're a writer?"

"No," I said. "I can't call myself that until it's finished, published and at least one person has bought it. But... an aspiring writer, at least."

"Well, you can keep writing. I'll stay out of your way. I'm really very quiet, you know."

"Hmmm," I said. "No, I think I should probably try and find somewhere else. Maybe there's another cottage nearby I could rent, or something."

"But that's crazy! This is a big house, there's lots of room. And I promise I'll stay out of your way."

I considered. She looked at me a little helplessly.

"I really don't want to be here on my own."

I looked at her sceptically. "And so, when you broke in last night... you were planning to maybe... invite some friends up to stay, perhaps? Have a bit of a house party for a few weeks?"

She flushed scarlet. "No! Nothing like that!" But again, I sensed I had struck a little closer to home than she liked.

I pondered. I didn't really want to leave. But I also couldn't imagine explaining to Mr and Mrs James that I'd spent the summer shacked up with their young daughter, no matter how innocent it all was.

She could see me thinking it over.

"Look," she said. "This is my fault. I've the one who's spoilt it. I've got an idea - will you at least agree to this?"

She took a deep breath.

"I'll text a few friends. See if I can find somewhere else to stay. It might take me a few days, but I promise I'll be gone by the weekend. And... don't tell my parents I was ever here. They still treat me like I'm fourteen and it'd just be... well, I'd never hear the end of it. Please?"

She looked at me beseechingly. I looked at her, then at Polly. Polly's eyes also seemed to be pleading.

"Fine," I said. "Just until the weekend."

Polly's tail thumped.

**

That afternoon I tried to get back to the writing but it wouldn't flow, so I gave up early and took Polly for her walk. Natalie was in her room, door shut - I guessed she was still catching up on her sleep.

We had a good ramble along one of our favourite routes, along the shore of the lake for a few miles and then back again. It was a glorious day, sunny but cool. Polly splashed around happily in the shallows, and I threw her the occasional stick to fetch but I was a bit fed up. I hoped Natalie would find somewhere to go, and soon. I knew that, despite her best intentions, she'd be a distraction. There is all the difference in the world between an empty house and a house with somebody else in it, no matter how quiet and discreet they're trying to be.

And, if I was honest, she was too attractive to feel relaxed and comfortable around. Already I found myself thinking about those quick glimpses of her figure that I'd seen underneath her dressing gown. Her blue eyes looking into mine. I didn't want to become another one of those leering older men that she'd had too much of in Spain.

No, sadly, the sooner she was gone, the better.

We made our way back and I dried Polly off with an old sack before letting her back into the house. There was the smell of cooking. Natalie was standing by the hob, peering into a saucepan and prodding something with a fork.

"I'm making pasta," she said. "It's about the only thing I can cook, but everybody says it's pretty good. And I've done a sort of salad. Hope that's OK."

"I've been cooking for myself for two weeks," I said. "I don't care if it's just a cheese sandwich, as long as somebody else made it." I got myself a beer from the fridge and poured myself some into a glass. She looked at it.

"Can I have some of that?" she asked, a little shyly.

"Would that be legal?"

"Of course! Well... in lots of countries it would be. And I promise I won't tell on you."

I poured her a small glassful and then topped it up with lemonade. We chinked glasses.

"Thank you," she said. "For the drink... and letting me stay a few days."

"Any luck finding somewhere?"

She returned her attention to the pasta. "No, nowhere yet. Maybe my friend Gillian, she's the best bet. She's got three younger brothers though, and they just... gawp at me all the time. Like they've never seen a girl before. Or Ashley, I've stayed with her lots of times. Her father's a bit odd though. Swims totally nude every morning in their pool, so you have to be careful."

AnnasFriend
AnnasFriend
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