‘Oh, Lou, that’s so kind of you. But that’s not what it’s about.’ Jo thinks, trying to put into words what it is about. ‘Since the moment Will went, left, disappeared or died – call it what you want – I’ve kind of made a pact with myself. That I will survive. Sounds silly, perhaps, but it’s my chance to prove, if only to myself, that I’ll be OK. Will and I met quite young and I’d only had a short time on my own, really. It’s important to me to know that I can do this by myself. Does that make sense? I hate that I might have to ask my parents for help, and I’m praying I won’t need to.’ I’ll be buggered if I need to, she thinks. ‘But if I have to sell the house and get somewhere cheaper, or take on more work or another job, then so be it. I just want to know that whatever happens to me is because of me, and not someone else. Enough of that has happened already. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Louise says quietly, her eyes flickering warmth. ‘And you’re amazing,’ she adds. ‘You’re awesome with knobs on.’
‘So if I’m going to go on holiday, it will be because of me, and all my doing – even if it is clearing up someone else’s dog mess and guarding their house against burglars.’ Jo laughs, trying to lighten the mood. She’s brought it down for too long when the focus should be on Louise and her baby.
‘Show me that place you were hoping to house-sit and we can search for something similar that doesn’t have such strict criteria. I’ll help you. Norfolk is beautiful, as is Somerset. Have you thought about there, or Dorset?’
Jo hesitates before pulling her phone from her bag. She doesn’t want Louise to see the pictures of Will on the mantelpiece. ‘Thanks, Lou,’ she says, smiling. It doesn’t take long with Louise to make her feel better, for her positivity to rub off. They’ve done it enough times for each other over the years, and even after stints apart when Louise went off to study law and she went to art college to study fashion, the gap of time apart wasn’t enough to break their friendship.
‘Oh,’ Jo says, glancing through her notifications. The usual text and WhatsApp messages, plus a couple of alerts from Facebook. But at the top of the list is a message from House Angels.
SusiQ19 has sent you a message.
Without saying anything, Jo unlocks her phone and opens the app.
Hi, this might seem odd and thanks so much for your application. I have my criteria set to certain specifications, including automatically ruling out those with no feedback. (Been there and paid the price!) The app sends an auto-response for me. But I read your profile and it chimed with me. And, well, if I’m honest, I’m a bit desperate. I have a regular sitter but they’ve just let me down. I can’t leave my animals. Is there any chance you could house-sit for me at the end of the week for ten days? I know it’s short notice but thought I’d ask. All the best, Suzanne.
‘Oh,’ Jo says again, a puzzled look on her face which gradually turns into a smile, even though her heart is thumping.
Suzanne… so that’s what you’re called.
‘Looks like I got me a little holiday after all,’ she says, waving her phone in the air. ‘That house-sit came good.’
‘Wow, that’s marvellous,’ Louise says, pushing the last of her sandwich into her mouth. ‘Show me where you’re off to, then.’ She leans in.
Jo freezes. ‘Oh, there aren’t many photos,’ she says, shielding her phone before pulling up a shot of the front of the house, then one of the nearby beach, flashing a quick look to Louise. She’s careful not to show her any of the inside. ‘It’s near Hastings,’ she adds. ‘There are some lovely walks and pretty places to see nearby.’ Then she tucks her phone back inside her bag, asking Louise about her due date, her recent scan, if she’s all ready for her impending bundle of joy. Not mentioning the photos of Will at all.
Nine
The weekends are worst, Jo thinks as she walks slowly back to work after lunch. So perhaps taking off for the coast would be a good thing. Often she goes Friday afternoon to Monday morning without seeing or speaking to anyone. She fishes around in the bottom of her shopper for her umbrella as she feels the first specks of rain on her face, hoping Louise doesn’t get soaked heading back to the office. She rushed off in such a hurry – as much of a hurry as her size allowed – after receiving a text, making Jo wonder if there’d been an emergency.
‘Oh no…’ Louise had said, tucking her phone away again, her cheeks aglow. They’d been that way since she’d first found out she was pregnant. She’d looked radiant throughout.
‘Everything OK?’
‘There’s a work crisis. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.’ She’d reached out and touched Jo’s hand, a pitying expression sweeping over her. ‘I feel terrible, but there’s an important court case tomorrow and I need to liaise with counsel before he hits the golf course in an hour.’ Louise had rolled her eyes then.
‘Don’t worry, I understand. You’ve told me enough times what the barristers are like.’
‘A lot of them seem to think they’re part-timers. Don’t realise we’re not just at their beck and call. This one in particular,’ she’d said, draping her patterned scarf around her neck and gathering her jacket. ‘He’s good, one of the best, but along with that, he’s very…’ She glanced at the ceiling a moment. ‘Very demanding, shall we say.’
‘Go,’ Jo had said, completely understanding. ‘I’ll settle the bill. It’s my turn anyway.’
‘Rubbish,’ Louise had said, pulling a twenty-pound note from her purse without hesitation. ‘If I can’t buy my bestie a sandwich, then what’s the world coming to?’ She leant down and kissed Jo on the head, giving her a squeeze round the shoulders. ‘I’ll call you later. You can tell me more about the house-sit. And make sure you reply to the owner. It looks absolutely lovely.’
Jo had nodded, watching as Louise left, gathering up her own stuff as soon as she was out of sight after paying the bill at the counter. It was only a ten-minute walk back to work, down towards Jephson Gardens where Sew Perfect was tucked away in a pretty mews courtyard development, all brick and cobbles and once the stables to one of the big Regency town houses. There was an artisan bakery, a little art gallery and picture framer’s as well as an upmarket shoe shop in the out-of-the-way cluster of businesses.
Walking in the door, Jo smells the tantalising aroma of fresh sourdough. Margot or Beth must have been to the bakery across the way for their lunch. She shakes off her umbrella, leaving it in the stand, and shrugs out of her jacket. Once she’s settled back at her work table, she logs into the House Angels app, pulling up the message from Suzanne again. Thanks for getting back to me, she writes in reply. I’d be happy to house-sit for you. If you send me your address and any other details, I can be there by 9 p.m. on Friday evening. Let me know any special instructions. And she hits send before going back over the house photos for the hundredth time, just to make sure Will is still there. He is. Of course he is. Making her feel as if he’s almost back in her life.