I didn’t breathe again until I’d checked the lock on Henry Halliday’s door for what felt like the twentieth time, and was leaning against it, eyes closed, heart going nineteen to the dozen. The window cleaner who’d just left a message on the answer phone would never know what a fright he’d given me. I’d been so sure he was someone from the local Neighbourhood Watch, suspecting someone was in here and waiting to see if they’d answer the phone. First night in and I’d already been caught red handed. Except, thank God, I hadn’t.
Talisker trotted down the stairs and meowed in greeting, completely unaware of my state of near panic. He head-butted my shin and I slid down the door, nudging my Asda carrier bag across the floor so I could stroke his head. He then decided to take an interest in my shopping and I had to stop him staking a claim on my chicken salad.
‘I don’t think so, mister,’ I whispered to him, getting up and taking my dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast through to the kitchen. I put the salad and Greek yoghurt straight in the fridge. ‘You’ve got your own food. This is mine.’ I took the carrier bag holder and laid it against the bottom of the door again like last night and went into the utility room to give him a snack. It had been my intention to get him something as a treat while I was in Asda but, in deference to my new budget restrictions, I’d been seduced by the lure of following a member of staff with a reduced-price sticker gun while of course, pretending to be doing no such thing, and I’d forgotten. I’d have to get him something from Lidl, or Aldi, or The 99p Shop. There’d be no more food shopping in Waitrose for now.
I tipped some fresh biscuits into his bowl and left him crunching away while I took my shoulder bag upstairs. Not wanting to look like I was taking a lot of stuff in with me, I’d managed to cram a clean T-shirt and undies for tomorrow, a pair of pyjama bottoms, basic toiletries, and a book into the thankfully roomy bag. I’d padded the clothes around my little laptop. It’s a good thing that in my job, neatly ironed clothes aren’t a necessity.
The sofa had been great for one night, but I’d decided if I was going to be using the spare room’s bathroom, I might as well sleep in the spare bed. The thought of using Henry Halliday’s bedding made me feel a little uncomfortable, but it was warm for October and if I took the fancy bedspread and extra pillows and cushions off, I’d be more than comfortable with just a sheet over me. I could wash it with the bottom sheet, pillowcase, and towel the day before he was due back.
I drew the heavy curtains across the window and turned on the bedside lamp. The little travel alarm clock on the bedside table read half past seven. It couldn’t still be that early. I’d really taken my time at the shopping centre and sat for ages over my coffee. But one glance at my watch confirmed it. I wondered what I was missing on EastEnders. And wasn’t Waking the Dead on tonight? All the times I’d cursed the programme schedulers for showing repeats all the time and right now I’d happily give my past-its-freshest chicken salad for a couple of hours as a couch potato in front of the telly. Not that I’d take any of it in, but there was something comforting about the familiar, wasn’t there?
Emptying the contents of my bag onto the chair by the dressing table, I picked up the book I was halfway through. Talisker wandered in through the door and rubbed his head against my ankle. He looked very pleased with himself, as he prepared to jump onto the bed. Of course, the door to this room was usually kept shut, I remembered. This was usually forbidden territory.
‘Come on, Tal.’ I picked him up and carried him out of the room with me and down the stairs. ‘Don’t you think cat hairs are going to be a bit of a giveaway?’ His purring indicated his complete lack of concern in the matter.
Downstairs, I took my salad out of the fridge. It looked a lot less appetising than it had in the shop.
Half past seven. Much as I loved reading and playing computer Solitaire and Minesweeper, I was going to have to find a better way than this to spend the evenings. If I didn’t, the alternating cine-film flickering through my head – one reel flashing up memories of Alex and I together, the other making up trailers of him in Dubai having a fantastic time without me – possibly with someone else – would drive me insane.