Page 7 of The Temp

‘I’ll know where to go if I need a cake. Shame you haven’t got family to help out, though. I know how tough it can be.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ I explain. ‘I’ve got an assistant. Maggie. More of a goddess, really.’ Mrs Anderson laughs knowingly, tells me she had a Maggie once when she ran her own cleaning business after she gave up nursing, and this time it’s my turn to be impressed. ‘So, you didn’t use your English degree?’

‘I wanted to be an actor,’ she says wistfully, ‘but my parents wouldn’t have it, said it wasn’t a proper job. So, nursing it was,’ she declares. ‘Which I loved but had to give up when I had my son. At Ben’s insistence. But I couldn’t just sit at home with a baby all day, so I set up my own cleaning business from home. I’ve always liked a clean house. To my surprise, it took off and I had to hire staff, including an assistant.’

‘Maggie goes above and beyond the call of duty. She’s a saint. But she’s on maternity leave at the moment. So, it’s pretty full on for me.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame. For you, I mean, not her, obviously.’ Mrs Anderson pulls out a tissue from the pocket of her shorts and dabs her petite nose. ‘Have you considered getting a temp in to cover for her?’

‘Yes, but life has been a bit hectic. I’m actually going to post an ad online tomorrow,’ I say, and she nods, wishes me luck. ‘Right. All done. I’ll email you the images once I’ve done an edit and completed the floorplan. If you need any help uploading them onto the agent’s website, give me a shout, and as I said, I know someone who can do the EPC check for you – very reliable and reasonable rates, too.’

‘Oh, that’ll be brilliant, Bella. I’ll be in touch, and I hope Maggie comes back soon, or you find a short-term replacement.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, crossing my fingers.

‘Actually, can you hang on a moment? I’ve just had an idea.’ I throw a glance at my watch as she disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a notepad and pen. ‘My niece has just moved here from Dublin and is desperate for work, even something temporary. Is your office local?’ I tell her I work from my garden office on Valley Gardens, Whetstone.

‘Very nice,’ Mrs Anderson says. ‘I knew someone who lived there. Number 24, moved to Northampton to be near her son. Husband got dementia. Poor love. They were a lovely couple. You might know them – Charles and Dorothy.’

I shake my head, tell her we only recently moved to the area, but number 24 is a few doors away from me. ‘Aww, never mind. Anyway, pop all the details on here, hours etcetera. I’ll have a word with my niece and, if she’s up for it, I’ll tell her to get in touch. She’s very good at admin, very organised, and will accept minimum wage. Good with children, too. And pets, if you’ve got any.’

‘No pets – yet,’ I say, scribbling down the duties, the hourly rate and my number, even though Mrs Anderson already has my mobile and email address. ‘Although my daughter is badgering me for a cockapoo,’ I smile, handing her the pen and notebook.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Fifteen.’

Mrs Anderson nods knowingly. ‘A difficult age. I’m glad I only had the one. Thanks for coming over and doing this at such short notice, love. You’re a lifesaver. Mind how you go.’

And as the front door closes behind me, it occurs to me that Mrs Anderson didn’t give me her niece’s name. My finger hovers over the doorbell, and just then my mobile buzzes with a message.

Linda: Can you grab a couple of reds? (two red wine glasses emojis). Zelda texted saying Keiko doesn’t drink white x

Keiko’s my sister’s latest squeeze and her plus one for tonight. Tom won’t be happy. He’s already bought the wine for tonight. I’m going to be ludicrously late now, thanks to Frank’s impromptu visit and Keiko’s aversion to white wine. He’s already annoying me. I’ll grab two bottles of Merlot from the offy when I stop off for Mr Stanhope’s bribe gin. Another text pings through from Linda:

And a dessert please. My sponge collapsed! (crying emoji).

I look at my watch 19.03. And now I’ve got a supermarket stop-off to do. Bloody brilliant. There’s no time to waste. I’ll put an ad on Elite Jobs tonight. Mrs Anderson was probably just trying to be helpful. I’ll never hear from her niece.

Chapter 6

Fatigue hits me by the time I get home, but it’s nothing that a quick shower won’t fix. I can’t let Linda and Zelda down. They’ve been looking forward to this dinner party all week.

The house is still, dark, apart from the wall light projecting into the hallway like a spotlight. Georgia must’ve forgotten to turn it off before going to her mate Tilly’s.

Dropping my gear by the front door, I slip the Waitrose bag next to the stairway. Then, as I shrug out of my jacket, there’s a creak on the floorboards and then I’m illuminated in a flood of bright lights.

‘God, you frightened the shit out of me,’ I gasp, heartbeat soaring. ‘What are you doing here?’

Tom’s face is deadpan, blue eyes fixed on me. He’s cleanly shaven and smelling gorgeous in black chinos and a white button-down shirt. His greying, mostly white, hair is slicked back with gel. ‘I live here, remember? Where the hell have you been?’

I’m speechless for a few moments, not liking his accusing tone one bit. ‘I was working,’ I hit back. ‘Where do you think I’ve been?’

‘At this time?’

‘Yes, at this time. What’s with all the questions, anyway? Are you checking up on me?’

The accusation in my voice irritates him. ‘And why would I be doing that, hmm?’ He turns up the cuff of his sleeve angrily. Tom’s cool by default, but I’ve lived with him long enough to know when something, or someone, has rattled his cage. Was it Frank? Did he wait for him outside and grass me up after all?

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