‘Probably a fox or a cat,’ Jason said, glancing out at the darkness after the alert ended and the security lights had gone out. ‘I bet those people in number thirty-six have a cat. They look like cat people. They’ve probably got a great fat thing called Tiddles or some stupid name.’
Emily said, mischievously, ‘Or it could have been the neighbourhood weirdo?’
They lay on the wide, soft sofa, their arms around each other, their bodies pressed tightly together for warmth against the cold draught that blew on them. ‘Well, if it was, we sure gave him a good show!’ Jason said. ‘I think Cold Hill village would have felt a small earth tremor.’
‘A small one? I’d say ten on the Richter scale.’
He frowned at her. ‘Only ten?’
She kissed him. ‘Probably higher!’ She kissed him again. ‘I love you so much. I love our new home.’
The sharp female voice rang out again, loudly, right behind them.
‘What’s to love about it?’
Emily broke free of his arms and sat up with a start. ‘What was that?’
Jason, naked, stood and ran to the kitchen. To his amazement, the television was on again, at a loud volume. The same couple arguing.
‘What’s to love about it? I’ll tell you what’s to bloody love about it!’
Jason strode over to the command box and pressed the green button. Instantly it turned red.
He grabbed the remote from the glass-fronted cupboard below the television, which housed the Sky box and DVD player, and switched the television off. Then he went back to Emily.
‘I think that bloody command thing has a mind of its own. It must have some setting I haven’t figured out and put the television back on. I’ve switched the bloody thing off.’
‘It didn’t sound like the television,’ she said, shakily. ‘It sounded like she was right behind us.’
‘It did, I know. Maybe it got relayed through that speaker up there.’ He pointed at the wall. He lay down beside her again, slipping his arms around her, and kissed her. ‘Amazing, we’re finally here, in time for Christmas.’
‘We need to buy a tree tomorrow, and a load of decorations – all the ones we have are going to look a bit lost here,’ she said.
‘Yep.’
They had previously lived in a two-bedroom terraced Victorian house in the North Laines district of central Brighton. It was tiny compared to this one and now seemed even tinier.
Jason momentarily disentangled himself from his wife, stood up, filled their glasses on top of the packing case, passed one down to her then rejoined her on the sofa. ‘God, so much to think about.’
‘Like, what we’re going to eat tonight – I’m starving,’ Emily said.
‘Me too. Ravenous.’
‘Mum brought us over a pasta dish and salad, which are in the fridge.’
‘I fancy a curry – or a Thai. Why don’t we order one in?’
‘Nice idea, except we’re not in Brighton now – we’re in the bundu. I doubt anyone’s going to deliver.’
‘Good point. Hmm. Let’s go out for dins tomorrow – or how about for Sunday lunch? Maybe check out the pub in the village? See what they do? I saw it advertises home-cooked food.’
‘We can go there in the morning and see if we can book – if we like the look of it.’
‘And ask the shop to deliver papers – the estate agent said they would.’
They lay still. Jason, exhausted, closed his eyes. Even though it was a brand-new sofa he began fretting about bugs. Panic started to set in. Shit, how had he become so carried away?
Suddenly, Emily prodded him in the chest. ‘How amazing to do that spontaneously rather than by constantly calculating the right time of every month.’
‘Totes!’ He nodded and kissed her.
‘Right, up – we’ve work to do. I’ve got to get my catering area in the garage sorted. I’ve that twenty-fifth wedding anniversary for eighty people to cater for in two weeks’ time, and you have to get your studio set up.’
Getting to his feet, in a hurry to head up to the bathroom to shower, he said, ‘Don’t you think it was a bit ambitious taking on something like that so soon after moving in?’ He shrugged. ‘Just saying.’
‘We need the money,’ she reminded him. ‘And he’s a big television personality, on that antiques show. It could open all kinds of doors for me in the county. I discussed it with Louise, and she can prep a lot of the stuff at hers.’
Louise Porter was her partner in the catering business.
She prodded him again. ‘Go on – up, work! No slacking!’
‘I know.’
He had two commissions, both portraits of clients’ dogs, one in oils and one a pencil drawing, to deliver before Christmas. He planned to do both of them over the weekend and Monday, then rush them to his framer. It was going to be tight, but they needed every penny at the moment. And he would have no let-up over the Christmas break – the gallery in London, the Northcote, which had brought him his success that had helped them to buy this house, was putting on a one-man show of his work starting on 8 February. He had promised them twenty-two paintings, the standard number for an exhibition. So far, he only had twelve that were completed and framed. He was going to have to work flat out for the next ten weeks.
‘Do that, my love, and I’ll get to work on everything else,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve got to start unpacking – like sheets, pillows, and our clothes. I’m fine with the catering, but not sure it was such a smart idea to invite my parents for Christmas lunch.’
‘I’m not sure it’s ever a good idea to invite your parents to anything,’ he murmured, under his breath.
Emily looked cross, suddenly. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, darling.’
‘You did, your lips moved!’
‘I just said it’ll be lovely having your parents here for Christmas Day.’
A female voice shouted out from the kitchen, ‘No you didn’t!’