The House Sitter

"So... have you actually contacted them?"

She looked at me quickly, then looked away. "Well... not exactly. I'm still thinking about the best thing to do. I mean, I don't want to get an invitation to go somewhere and tell them I'm coming and then realise I could go somewhere else which would be nicer, you know?"

"I suppose not," I said. "Though we did say the weekend, and that's not much time."

She speared the pasta again, and looked irritable. "I know! I'll sort something. I think this is ready. Can you set the table?"

She was right, her pasta wasn't bad at all.

Over the meal Natalie set herself to finding out more about me. She had the disconcerting ability of the young to ask quite direct questions with the minimum of embarrassment, which was both rather unsettling and rather sweet at the same time.

"So, why aren't you married?"

"I was," I said. "Until quite recently."

"Oh, I'm sorry. So, are you here nursing your broken heart?"

I smiled. "No. Not that bad. By the end I think we were both glad to get it all over with."

"How long were you married for?"

"Three... just under four years."

"No children?"

"No."

"So... why did you get divorced? Or am I not allowed to ask that?"

I twirled my pasta around my plate. "I don't mind you asking. I'm not sure I can really answer, though."

"Can't answer or don't want to answer?" Her voice was friendly. I looked up and saw she was looking at me quite seriously.

"A little of both, I suppose. I think I'm still... working it all out."

"Did you cheat on her?"

"No," I said.

"Would you tell me if you had?"

"Yes," I said. "I think I would."

"Well then... did she cheat on you?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"This is intriguing," she said. "At least for me. You must tell me to stop asking questions, if you want. Everybody says I'm terribly nosy. But sometimes I think we're all just so polite with each other, and we never say what we're really thinking and - well, I can't really see the point of that."

"Maybe to spare people's feelings?" I said, a little amused at her earnestness.

"Yes, I'm always being told to think about that. But I think people would rather that you asked them about things honestly, wouldn't they - at least most of the time?"

"Yes," I said. "I think most of the time... well, some of the time... they probably would. It's just... knowing when those times are can be tricky."

She gathered our plates together and scraped the leftovers into the salad bowl.

"So, you didn't cheat on each other. As far as you know, anyway. Did you argue a lot?"

"Towards the end," I said. "Towards the end we seemed to do nothing else."

"But you must have liked her to start with? More than liked her - I mean you must have really fancied her."

I had to laugh. "Yes... I did... I did really fancy her."

"What did she look like? Have you got a picture? Or is that too nosy again?"

I took out my phone, scrolled through some pictures and found her a picture. It was taken on our honeymoon, standing barefoot in the sand on a beach in the Caribbean.

"Wow... she's really... beautiful! I mean... gorgeous!"

"Out of my league, you mean?"

She tutted. "Don't fish for compliments. No, not out of your league at all." She looked at it more closely. "You look really happy."

"We were," I said. "And then suddenly you wake up a few years later and realise you're not."

She took one last look and then handed the phone back. As she did so my fingers brushed against hers, just for the briefest of moments, but we were both very aware of it. She coloured slightly and busied herself tidying things away.

I retreated to the living room and stared rather aimlessly at the television. Polly trotted over and settled noisily on my feet. My fingers still tingled from that brief touch.

Yes, the sooner she was gone, the better.

**

The next day I made a valiant effort to stick to my old routine. And it mostly worked. The words didn't come as easily but at least they came, and by lunchtime I was reasonably content with my progress. I reckoned I was two-thirds of the way through my first draft and already the ending was forming nicely in my mind.

I didn't see Natalie, I heard her very quietly go downstairs once but other than that it was as silent as I could have wished. When I went downstairs at midday, she was sitting on the couch reading a magazine, Polly lying beside her.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"Really good," I said, and I was touched when she looked pleased.

I patted my legs to summon Polly. "Come on Poll, time for our walk."

"Can I come?"

I must have hesitated.

"Oh... that's OK, you don't want me along."

"Sorry," I said. "It's just... this walk at lunchtime is the one I use to get the story straight in my head. I sort of... tell it to myself, and see what's working, and what's going to happen next. I think if you came...it wouldn't work as well for me."

"That's OK," she said, but I could see was a little hurt. She was still very young, I reminded myself.

I looked at her. "Listen... later each day I do the big walk. Two, three hours, all over the place. And that's when I really want to empty my head. Come with us then. You can... sing the entire soundtrack from Frozen, if you want."

"I'm not that much of a baby!" she protested, but she was mollified. "All right, I'll come later. And serve you right if I do sing all the way."

"I look forward to it," I said, and we smiled at each other and she went back to her magazine.

The afternoon writing also went well, though I was aware at the back of my mind how much I was looking forward to her company later. I knew this wasn't good, but I was a man and she was lovely and it would be silly to deny that I liked her very much. And she would gone in a few days, so I should make the most of her company.

When I went downstairs she was cleaning her walking boots that she'd found in a cupboard. She was in her jeans and a t-shirt with a man's shirt loosely over the top of it. It was a warm day but I knew it could get cool quickly.

"You'll need a sweater or a coat," I told her.

She rolled her eyes. "You sound like my Dad! I'll be fine."

I shrugged. "OK," I said. "Let's go."

I didn't get the soundtrack from Frozen, but I did get several numbers from Annie, Mamma Mia and The Sound of Music. She sang quietly to herself as we trudged along, me a few paces ahead of her, Polly alternating between bounding ahead to scope out the lie of the land and running back behind us to make sure we hadn't dropped anything.

I liked her voice, and I liked being out there, just the three of us.

We reached the top of the valley - the last few hundred yards to a rather breathless rendition of 'Climb Every Mountain' - and gazed down at the landscape below.

"It's really beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "I mean, that sounds... really feeble. But it is."

"It is," I agreed.

We stood like that for several more minutes. The sun was beginning to get low and though the view was stunning I was aware that we'd have to hurry to get back before dark. Beside me, Natalie suddenly shivered.

I had a spare sweater in my backpack and I handed it to her with mock disapproval. She took it meekly.

"Thanks... Dad."

"Come on," I said. "Let's get home. Lead the way, Polly."

When we got back - only a few minutes before it got really dark - I said it was my turn to fix supper. I was relieved to learn she wasn't a vegetarian, as I'd bought a couple of steaks from the village shop a few days earlier and I'd been looking forward to them. I cooked them medium rare with some chipped potatoes and another makeshift salad and felt rather pleased with myself when she wolfed it down and declared that it was the best meal she'd had in ages.

She had another glass of watered-down beer with her meal and we chatted more easily than the night before. There was still a hint of evasiveness in some of her answers about her time in Spain so I didn't push that and instead asked her about her time growing up here and her brother and other, safer topics.

When I asked her if she wanted coffee she grimaced.

"Better not... I can feel a tummy ache coming on and, well... coffee can make it worse."

I nodded.

"In fact... do you think we could go to the town tomorrow? I need to get some things. I don't really want to go, somebody might see me and tell my parents - it's such a small place... but I really think I'll have to risk it."

"Give me a list," I said. "And I'll get what you want."

She blushed slightly. "Really? You know the sort of things I'm talking about?"

"Of course. It's no big deal."

"Well... it's kind of embarrassing. Girl stuff is just the worst. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Give me a list," I said again. "And I will get what you need, and then we will never speak of it again."

She smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That's really nice of you."

I wanted to ask her if there was any more progress on finding somewhere to go, but I also suspected the answer was no. That argument could wait until tomorrow. Though tomorrow was Thursday, which was cutting it a bit fine. Ah well. It wouldn't be the end of the world if she had to stay until Monday, I supposed.

**

In town the next morning I got all her things from a pharmacy and topped up on various other supplies. I noticed I was buying different food than I would have if I'd just been shopping for myself. Things that I thought she'd like. Just in case, I told myself. If she did have to stay the weekend we may as well make it nice, and have some good food and a decent bottle of wine. And if she was gone, then I could still enjoy it on my own.

I returned to a rapturous welcome from Polly and a more subdued one from Natalie. I could see she was suffering a little so I just handed over what I'd bought for her and said I'd see her later - I was going to go straight back to work.

Sometimes the words seem determined to stay in your head and sometimes they can't get out fast enough. That afternoon they poured out of me and for the first time I felt confident that not only was I going to finish this damn book, it was actually going to be at least half-decent. Something I could be proud of.

I was so focused that I didn't even notice the time until there was a tentative tap on my door. I looked around and saw her standing there with a tray.

"It's nearly seven," she said. "And I don't think you've eaten anything. Did you even have lunch?"

I realised I hadn't and I was ravenous.

"I'm sorry," I said. "We'll have to skip our walk today."

"That's all right... I'm not really up to it anyway... but I bought you something. In case you wanted to carry on."

She'd done me a plate of pasta and meatballs which smelt wonderful.

"Thanks Natalie. That's really kind of you."

"That's OK," she said. "Carry on. But don't forget to eat."

She closed the door and I quickly gulped down the food, which was very welcome indeed. I smiled when I noticed she'd also put a glass of milk on the tray. A little in-joke between us. Or was that reading too much into it?

When I finished, I debated if I should carry on or go downstairs and chat to her. I'd just finish the chapter I was on, I decided. Just a few more minutes.

When I looked at the clock again it was a few minutes after ten. I felt drained but exultant. I had thought it was going to be touch and go to finish the book before the end of my time here - now I felt sure it would be done in the next week. Ten days at the most. An actual, real, full-length, honest-to-goodness book.

I took my tray downstairs to wash up and to see if Polly needed to go outside one last time. Natalie was asleep on the sofa. I saw she was wearing my sweater from the day before. Polly lay stretched out beside her, one eye watching me speculatively.

I quietly took the tray into the kitchen, let Polly out for a few minutes, then went up to Natalie's room. I took the duvet from her bed and carried it downstairs. Then I carefully arranged it over her. She didn't stir. Polly settled back down on the carpet. I left them both and went up to my bedroom, undressed, and was asleep inside five minutes.

**

"So," I said over breakfast. "What's the plan? Who's the lucky winner? The three lovesick boys or the nudist dad?"

She scowled. "It's easy for you to laugh about."

"Sorry. But that was our deal."

"I know." She sighed. "Gillian's away. So I guess it'll have to be the nudist dad."

"OK," I said. "What time do you need to leave?"

"Well... the thing is... you see... the problem is..."

I held up my hand. "Natalie - we had a deal! I don't want to hear about problems."

"I know, and I'm totally not bullshitting you. I swear. But... they're away until next weekend. And then they say I'm totally welcome."

Again, that note of evasiveness. She would never be a poker player.

"And when you say 'next weekend' - that means when, exactly?"

She looked down at the floor. "Well... they're back on Sunday night. And they have some house guests on Monday who are leaving on Tuesday. So, I could leave that Tuesday morning, and stay with them from Tuesday night."

"Next Tuesday... Natalie! That's... ten days away!"

"Well - so what? I've been good, haven't I? Tell me honestly - has your writing gone badly since I got here?"

She looked at me fiercely. I sighed.

"No... actually, it's gone quite well. But that's... not the point."

"Of course it is! You came here to write, and you're writing. And I can bring you meals, and tell you how marvellous you are." She was being mischievous now, but I was still annoyed.

"We agreed it wouldn't be appropriate for you to stay here with me!"

"Well, actually you said that, and I didn't agree with it. But it's worked really well so far. No inappropriateness on either side. And it's only ten more days. And then I'm gone. And then - you will Never See Me Again." These last words were delivered with a dramatic flourish. "Unless you want to. Perhaps when you're super famous I can come and get my copy of your book signed, and I can sort of look at you all dewy-eyed and you can write 'To Natalie, who made it all happen for me with her wonderful pasta and meatballs' and I can clutch it to my virgin bosom and..."

"Oh shut up," I said. I was trying not to laugh and only just succeeding. "You're... completely impossible."

"Mmm... That's just what Daddy says." Her blue eyes looked at me, sparkling.

I glowered at her, but it was pointless. She'd won, she knew she'd won, and all I could do now was concede defeat gracefully.

"Tomorrow, we're going to book your train tickets."

"OK."

"You're going to cook two out of three meals. And the only reason you're not cooking all of them is that I can't live on pasta."

"Agreed."

"And you're going to be quiet."

She ran a pretend zipper across her lips.

"And... and... well, you're going to... not really annoy me."

She looked sorrowful. "Have I annoyed you? Really?"

"No... I'm just saying... don't start. OK?"

"Deal," she said. "Come on Polly. Let's go for a walk." She looked at me. "Do you want to come with us?"

"No," I said. "I'm going to go upstairs and kick things and pretend that they're you."

"Ooh... so masterful! See you later then."

She headed off across the living room. I watched her go. Her bottom rolled cheekily in her jeans. It seemed very exuberant and very pleased with itself.

"Damn it!" I said under my breath to the empty room. I had been totally out-manoeuvred by a teenage girl.

But I knew, deep down, I wasn't sorry at all.

**

To her credit, she did try and branch out from pasta. But her omelettes were not a great success and she set off the fire alarm trying to make savoury pancakes so in the end we agreed it was better that we stayed on the tried and tested. On Monday night I made her a chicken stir-fry that once again she devoured and I allowed her to try the wine that I'd bought a few days previously.

"I hope you're not trying to get me drunk," she said primly.

"No," I said. "You're having half a glass and that's it. What do you think?"

She sipped again. "Umm... a slight understated hint of blackberries with a wonderfully crisp tang of apples?"

"Oh Christ."

She giggled. "Sorry, I read something like that in one of Daddy's magazines. I'm running out of things to read. He's in their wine club, or something."

"So, what did you really think?"

"I thought it was pretty gross, actually. I think I'll stick to beer and lemonade."

"OK," I said. "I hereby end my attempts to broaden your horizons."

She widened her eyes. "Really? Is that what you were doing? Gosh, what a lucky girl. What else is on your list for me?"

There was a playful invitation in her eyes, a little more confidence that hadn't been there previously. She was daring me. But I didn't think she really meant it, and I didn't intend to find out.

"Doing the washing up," I said. "And properly this time. Come on Polly. I'll take you down to the shore and back."

She pouted but didn't say anything more.

As I walked down to the lake in the evening gloom I reflected on that exchange. Ever since she'd won her battle to stay on for longer there had been a slight shifting in our relationship. Before there had definitely been a sense of a clear boundary, between what we could say and how we'd act with each other. We'd never touched each other, for example, apart from that one time our fingers brushed together. We'd kept a certain amount of physical space between us as we moved around the house. Now those spaces seemed to be shrinking... I noticed she'd started standing a little closer to me. I caught traces of her perfume now, and I wondered if that was because of her greater proximity or because she'd started wearing it. If so, why? She'd definitely upped the flirting too.

Part of me wondered if she was even aware of it. Pretty girls can sense their power over men before they begin to consciously understand it. They can use it without meaning to. It would be dangerous to read too much into it.

I just had to last a week, that was all.

The consolation was that at least the writing was still going well. I thought might even finish before she left. That would still give me a couple of weeks to just really enjoy myself out here. Perhaps even borrow one of their tents and go hiking a little way for an overnight stay in the woods. I hadn't done that since I was a boy. Or take a canoe from the boathouse and do a trip to the top of the lake. Do some fishing. Heck, maybe even start some notes on a second book.

I realised suddenly that I was trying to think of things to do once the book was done and Natalie was gone. The book being finished - subject to revisions and minor rewrites after it had sat in a drawer for a few months - would feel wonderfully strange, but in a good way. Natalie being gone would feel... well, the thought of it made me feel empty.

**

On Tuesday I came downstairs at lunchtime to find Natalie siting at an artist's easel in the garden. She was dabbing at a canvas in a very intense, focused way.

"I didn't know you were a painter," I said.

She jumped and twirled around. "God, you startled me! No - I'm not, at all. You're not to look."

She stood up and placed herself protectively in front of her picture. I held up a hand.

"That's OK," I said. "Show me when it's done. If you want to. But I think it's a great idea. I wish I could paint. But I've never been able to draw even a straight line."

"Oh... well, I'm not much good really. I used to like it. And I always thought I'd like to try it again sometime. Then I thought today, well, why not now? I'd like something to sort of... well, remember this time by. Being here, with you and Polly. It's been... really nice."

"Yes. It has. That's a lovely thought. Whatever you do, I hope you'll let me take a photo of it too. I'd like to remember this time as well."