Page 3 of The Temp

‘Sorry, got to get this.’ Taking a few steps back, he turns and faces Anna’s house, securing the carrier bag under his armpit. ‘I’m free next Wednesday afternoon,’ he says to his caller. ‘I can book the studio for three. Sounds perfect, yeah.’

A client. What about my client? Anger powers through me. I flick my wrist and my phone lights up – 17.45. If I don’t get a move on, Mrs Anderson will start ringing again. I’ve already changed our appointment twice today. I don’t want her to leave me a bad review on Trustpilot.

Frank, who is now sashaying towards his white VW Golf parked halfway down the road, laughs into his handset, and just then a thought slithers into my mind, risky and perilous like a cobra. If I can slip away while he’s on that call, he won’t get a chance to blackmail me. It’ll give me time to think, discuss it with my lovely friend Linda tonight at her dinner party, come up with a plan. Linda’s always had a problem-solving mind – even our school teachers said so. I point my remote at my car before I can talk myself out of it. The boot flies open.

‘I’m not spending two hundred quid on a pair of plimsolls.’ Anna’s raging voice tears through the air. ‘If you don’t get in the car by the count of three, I’m going to confiscate your phone.’

‘What?’

‘And your MacBook.’

‘Mum!’

‘And you’ll be grounded for a week.’

‘That’s child abuse,’ Ralf hits back.

And there was I thinking Valley Gardens was drama-free. Peering around the lid of my boot, I spot Frank, leaning against his car, his back to me. I pull out my tripod hurriedly and rest it against the back wing of my car, then squeeze my work bag between the clutter as Ralf threatens Anna with social services. Grabbing my tripod, I hastily shut the boot. But it’s too late.

‘Kids, hey?’ Anna yells, throwing a glance at Frank, who is swaggering back towards me like a runway model. ‘Anyway, better drop this lot off. Have a lovely evening, Bella.’ She says this in a have fun with your hunky visitor way and my face tingles.

‘Nice neighbourhood,’ Frank remarks as Anna pulls out of her driveway, wearing a huge pair of dark glasses, even though the sun went down hours ago. He takes in the length of me, hands in pockets, triceps bulging. ‘Are they always this noisy?’

‘They’re a lovely family, actually,’ I retort, berating myself for faffing about with my bag in the boot instead of making a quick escape. ‘Wasn’t it you who always said not to judge?’

‘Fair point. What are you going to do with that?’

‘It’s going in the back. No room in the boot.’

‘They make them tiny these days, don’t they? Here, let me give you a hand.’ Frank’s arm brushes against mine.

‘No,’ I snap, pulling away. ‘I can manage.’

Lifting his hands up, he says, ‘I was only trying to help.’ I scowl as I secure the tripod against the backseat.

‘Right,’ Frank says, as I slam the car door. ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared the air.’ He pauses, sticks a finger under his Gucci beanie hat, which rarely leaves his head, even during classes, and scratches. ‘So, we’re all good now, yeah?’

‘No,’ I interject, raising a palm. ‘You don’t get to gaslight me. If you think I was interested in you then you’re deluded.’ I flash a tight smile at the boy from number 25, who is walking his Siberian Husky. His pooch usually stops outside Mr Stanhope’s for a wee. I watch and right on cue, he cocks his leg.

‘Are you always this stubborn?’ Frank mutters, running a hand over his face.

‘For whatever reason you had.’ I point my finger at him as the lad and his dog shrink into the distance. ‘You wanted more from me.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘What was it, a bet that you’d get the ice queen into bed? Yes, I know what they call me at Serval. What did they do to motivate you? Tell you I was out of your league?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Count yourself lucky I didn’t report you to Jane.’ Jane, Serval’s Manager, with her honey blonde ponytail and rock-hard body, is pleasant enough, calls everyone darling, but she’s firm – takes no prisoners. You know the kind.

‘Where’s all this coming from?’ he asks. I laugh incredulously. ‘I think you need to calm down, Bella.’

‘And you need to leave. Now.’

‘Pfft, I’ve had enough of this crap,’ he says in that clipped whispery tone of his. ‘I came here today to have a civilised conversation, bury the hatchet, but look at you, you’re hysterical.’

‘If you’re so sure I flirted with you, that I was gagging for it, then why are you here, hmm?’ Now it’s my turn to play mind games. ‘Why are you worried?’

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