Well, you saw the clip
Hill stands in front of the back door to the house. He turns around and looks at the red Peugeot 205 parked next to Roger’s ancient Volvo estate. The Peugeot has mismatched replacement bodywork and a large opaque sticker that reads GTI on the rear window.
‘Paul Walker Never Forget’, Hill thinks.
The back door would have been intended as a staff entrance when the house was built in the latter half of the eighteenth century; wide, low, the panelled oak now painted fern green with heavy, black door furniture Hill’s mother bought from a local auction house. Hill looks down and sees a doormat with ‘Seize Opportunity’ written on it in a large red font.
Roger, Hill thinks.
Reaching into his pocket for a key, Hill notices one already in the lock. He sighs, turns the large door handle, and walks inside.
The utility room is essentially a long corridor with a strip of reclaimed worktop running on one wall from the back door up to the kitchen door. Underneath the worktop are old boots, Roger’s umbrella reserves, stacks of roughly chopped logs. Walking up the corridor towards the kitchen, Hill feels his stomach twist and cramp. He turns to face the wall and places the pet carrier on the worktop, pressing his face against the metal grid.
Let me in, Hill thinks.
Hill!
Hill pulls back from the pet carrier and looks towards the woman standing in the kitchen doorway. She is wearing an oversized navy cable-knit sweater, grey skinny jeans, barefoot. A brindle boxer is pushing its head between her thighs, panting, struggling to get out of the kitchen.
Are you Roger’s carer? Hill says.
Um, yes? Trudy, she says. I was expecting you earlier, Hill.
They lost my suitcase, Hill says.
I thought that flight was carry-on only? Trudy says.
Is that your dog? Hill says, pointing at the boxer, a thin line of drool now hanging from its mouth.
Yeah! Well, Roger loves him too, so, Trudy says.
Hill shrugs his shoulders.
It’s not problematic him being here is it? Trudy says, looking down at the dog. I mean, it is Roger’s house.
‘Problematic’, Hill thinks.
‘Roger’s house’, Hill thinks.
***
Hill looks around the kitchen. The Aga is filthy, dry pasta sauce crusted on top of the hobs, spilling over onto the adjacent work surface. There is a Hudl on the table, a stack of Financial Times in the corner, and a half-empty bottle of Evian next to the large butler sink. The room smells of burnt saucepans and burning vegetables.
Yeah, I’m pretty big into cooking these days, Trudy says. I found this recipe, totally incredible, for a Turkish ratatouille. Roger loves it, has no idea it’s vegan. He wants it every day. So compulsive. Sorry, I didn’t ask – how was the flight?
Fine, Hill says, sitting down at the table. He watches as Trudy picks up a wooden spoon from the kitchen worktop, lick it clean, and use it to stir the ratatouille.
Are you a qualified carer? Hill says.
I met Roger in the Co-op, Trudy says. Isn’t that how everyone gets these jobs?
Trudy picks up her phone from the worktop, holding it above her head for signal as she walks over towards the window where she then stands, her back turned to Hill.
I have a voicemail but no reception to listen to it, Trudy says. Is that somehow profound?
Roger said that you were cutting your hours? Hill says.
I have more PhD stuff to deal with now, Trudy says. Basically you’ll be doing the Co-op run twice a week.
Is there a list, I won’t be able to do it from memory, Hill says. I mean I don’t know what he likes. He emailed me an article about avocados a few months ago, something ‘insane sounding’ maybe.
That’s funny, Trudy says. You, right now, you’re literally Roger. Somehow. I don’t know, you look nothing like him, but. Yeah. I saw a clip from your … film? Something you’d emailed Roger. I’d like to ask you about it… Roger said it’s a comedy?
Well, you saw the clip, Hill says.
Trudy stares at Hill and momentarily tilts her head to the side. She is tall, at least the same height as him, her hair shoulder length, a little greasy, blonde with prominent dark roots. Trudy nods and smiles, then holds her phone up above head height, tilting the screen away from the light. Hill watches as she moves onto tiptoes and touches the phone’s screen.
Okay, I need to go now, Hill, Trudy says. I’ll text you a shopping list; Roger gave me your number. I have to meet my, um… I’ll be back for five, but it could be six or half six, conceivably seven. All this ratatouille needs is stirring. Maybe turn the heat up again in five minutes?
Trudy walks around Hill and picks up a pair of grey and black Berghaus walking boots from the radiator behind him.
God, Trudy says, inhaling. Problematic shoe situation.
Hill feels himself flush red.
Please don’t be embarrassed for me, Hill, Trudy says. Anyway, maybe seven this evening or a bit later? Unless you could be on Roger-Watch? He doesn’t need it, but I like to stay over sometimes just in case. I don’t know. Is that okay?
Yeah, that’s fine, Hill says, making an awkward thumbs up gesture.
What, Hill thinks.
Okay, Hill, ‘thumbs up’, Trudy says.
Hill watches as Trudy squats down and tucks the laces down the side of each boot, the dog clumsily squeezing past her, barking as it runs down the corridor towards the back door. Picking up an unbranded backpack and a Co-op bag full of clothes, she calls out to the dog and shuts the kitchen door behind her.
‘Thumbs up’, Hill thinks.
There is a loud engine noise and the sound of gravel churning, then quiet. Hill looks inside the fridge, takes an unopened bottle of Brecon Carreg and places it on the worktop.
No bad thoughts, no thoughts at all, Hill thinks.
Hill picks up the bottle of Brecon Carreg and begins reading the label. He looks over to the washing machine and sees a grey sports bra and single lime green sock on the floor in front of it. He looks at a framed photo of Roger and the old family dog Jess standing on the Menai Bridge pier and tries to remember whether he took the photo. He holds his phone in front of the photograph and takes a burst of images, close-ups of the dog and the large military ship docked at the end of the pier. He moves away from the photo and takes an apple from the fruit bowl. He reads the label on the apple and places it back in the fruit bowl. He walks over to the Aga and stirs the ratatouille for a moment. He picks up the Hudl and looks at a pair of second-hand mom jeans for sale on the open Depop app.
Mom jeans, Hill thinks.
How would Trudy dance, Hill thinks.
What, Hill thinks.
Hill sits down on the floor, leans his back against the warm oven front and sets up a first to fifteen match against the Hudl backgammon app.