since her absconding. Because she'd cut up her SIM card, she'd made herself uncontactable but had inadvertently severed many links too. Initially, it had all felt liberating. Now it felt hasty and stupid. There had been no need, over recent years, to commit phone numbers to her own memory when the wonder of the SIM card could take its place and store more. She reckoned she might just be able to recall Tamsin and her sister's numbers – but she couldn't face phoning either just yet.
Stop thinking about it.
It doesn't matter at the moment.
Concentrate on Joe's spice jars. They're filled with little wriggling things burrowing amongst the flakes of herbs.
She chucked out the contents then disinfected the glass containers with boiling water. They looked pretty; dazzling clean with their scruffy labels washed off.
Stickers . She wrote the word on a new shopping list.
Parsley.
Sage.
Rosemary.
Thyme.
Scarborough is around here somewhere, she thought, singing Simon and Garfunkle during which Wolf left the room and Em woke up. With the baby and the dog snaffling rusks, Tess put the empty jars away in their new position in the slim wall cupboard nearest the cooker. Seven of them. She racked her brains but was pretty sure Paul Simon had specified only four. She returned to her list.
Basil .
Coriander.
Etc.
From the hallway, Wolf suddenly started barking. I'm only humming, Tess protested but the dog skittered over the stone floors from kitchen to front door and back again, turning circles while yowling at the top of his voice.
‘Hush.’
But he wouldn't so Tess went over to him and looked through the spyhole. ‘No one there, Wolf,’ she said and she went out into the drive to prove it. She looked down the street too but apart from an elderly lady walking downhill, the road was empty of cars and pedestrians.
‘Some guard dog you are,’ Tess laughed at the sight of Wolf simultaneously barking but cowering on the front doorstep. ‘There's no one there, Wolf. In you go, you daft dog. There's only us here.’
But two days later, Wolf started again. And a split second beforehand, Tess did think she caught a glimpse of someone passing by the living-room window (she was busy alphabetizing the books). But when she ventured outside, there was no one and she felt an idiot. She scolded Wolf for – well, for crying wolf.
‘When the real baddies come – I won't believe you.’
But she did quietly wonder to herself whether she was imagining things; perhaps conjuring people to populate her world that currently had in it only a dog and a child for company. One week in, she thought again of Tamsin, of her sister; she needed both for very different reasons. But she didn't know what she needed to say to the former and she didn't want to have to say what she needed to the latter.
She'd been here just short of two weeks. Joe was expected back, briefly, in a couple of days. She'd quite like to finish the larger living room in that time – to beat the hell out of the rug and pummel life back into the cushions, to complete her work on the books, to dust them down and put them back up from A to Z. The kitchen was now spotless but forlornly bereft of supplies. For all she knew, Joe liked to cook up a storm on his short returns. She decided she ought to put the living-room books on hold and complete the herb section in the kitchen instead. Stock up on a few basics, too. Ensure there was fresh produce in the fridge for him, as requested. She looked in her wallet as if she expected it to have spontaneously filled since she last opened it, but discovered less than she remembered. Might Joe pay her when he was back? She knew she'd be too shy to ask. She really should phone her sister, swallow her pride and just dial. She folded her sole banknote and slipped it into her back pocket. She told herself she should have cut up her bank card, rather than her SIM card, because it was the former that was really of no use
Stop thinking about it.
It doesn't matter at the moment.
Concentrate on Joe's spice jars. They're filled with little wriggling things burrowing amongst the flakes of herbs.
She chucked out the contents then disinfected the glass containers with boiling water. They looked pretty; dazzling clean with their scruffy labels washed off.
Stickers . She wrote the word on a new shopping list.
Parsley.
Sage.
Rosemary.
Thyme.
Scarborough is around here somewhere, she thought, singing Simon and Garfunkle during which Wolf left the room and Em woke up. With the baby and the dog snaffling rusks, Tess put the empty jars away in their new position in the slim wall cupboard nearest the cooker. Seven of them. She racked her brains but was pretty sure Paul Simon had specified only four. She returned to her list.
Basil .
Coriander.
Etc.
From the hallway, Wolf suddenly started barking. I'm only humming, Tess protested but the dog skittered over the stone floors from kitchen to front door and back again, turning circles while yowling at the top of his voice.
‘Hush.’
But he wouldn't so Tess went over to him and looked through the spyhole. ‘No one there, Wolf,’ she said and she went out into the drive to prove it. She looked down the street too but apart from an elderly lady walking downhill, the road was empty of cars and pedestrians.
‘Some guard dog you are,’ Tess laughed at the sight of Wolf simultaneously barking but cowering on the front doorstep. ‘There's no one there, Wolf. In you go, you daft dog. There's only us here.’
But two days later, Wolf started again. And a split second beforehand, Tess did think she caught a glimpse of someone passing by the living-room window (she was busy alphabetizing the books). But when she ventured outside, there was no one and she felt an idiot. She scolded Wolf for – well, for crying wolf.
‘When the real baddies come – I won't believe you.’
But she did quietly wonder to herself whether she was imagining things; perhaps conjuring people to populate her world that currently had in it only a dog and a child for company. One week in, she thought again of Tamsin, of her sister; she needed both for very different reasons. But she didn't know what she needed to say to the former and she didn't want to have to say what she needed to the latter.
She'd been here just short of two weeks. Joe was expected back, briefly, in a couple of days. She'd quite like to finish the larger living room in that time – to beat the hell out of the rug and pummel life back into the cushions, to complete her work on the books, to dust them down and put them back up from A to Z. The kitchen was now spotless but forlornly bereft of supplies. For all she knew, Joe liked to cook up a storm on his short returns. She decided she ought to put the living-room books on hold and complete the herb section in the kitchen instead. Stock up on a few basics, too. Ensure there was fresh produce in the fridge for him, as requested. She looked in her wallet as if she expected it to have spontaneously filled since she last opened it, but discovered less than she remembered. Might Joe pay her when he was back? She knew she'd be too shy to ask. She really should phone her sister, swallow her pride and just dial. She folded her sole banknote and slipped it into her back pocket. She told herself she should have cut up her bank card, rather than her SIM card, because it was the former that was really of no use
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