casually against the doorway of the bathroom just a foot or so away. But it is easier to be harsh on herself, lecturing herself as she lowers her head and rubs Em dry that she is here for a very different purpose than sewing seeds of friendship or being charmed by a member of the opposite sex. She's been rubbish at so much else over recent years, but this house might provide the fabric for her at least to be an excellent mummy and a fine house-sitter. And that'll do. That'll really do. She is not going to ask for more than that.
‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘but I'd better not. I'm a bit headachy. I'm going to have an early night.’
Chapter Five
When Joe shut the front door and Tess watched, unseen, as he drove away at eleven o'clock the next morning, she mourned the glass of red wine that had never been. But then Wolf sauntered by and headbutted her and Em was squawking and Tess told herself to get a grip and get on with it.
‘What'll we do, gang? Fresh air?’
Wolf, it soon transpired, would be taking Tess and Em for a walk. She didn't dare let him off the lead so he plunged and strained, dragging her and the buggy in his wake. The steep downward gradient of the hill on tarmac was onerous enough but when Wolf led them into the woods and the path became an uneven assault course of hairpin bends, it was quite terrifying. How safe she'd been in London – nothing more than the occasional raised paving stone to negotiate.
‘Wait!’ she said. ‘Halt!’ she said. ‘Sit!’ she said. ‘Stop, you great oaf, just stop .’ They stood in the dappled lilac-green light of woodland. Em and Wolf looking expectantly at Tess. With her composure and breath back, and Wolf having to walk with a peculiar high-stepping slo-mo gait, Tess became leader of the pack. The steep woodland suddenly opened out and levelled off in a little dell of meticulously organized Italianate design. Raised flower beds in intricate quatrefoils and curlicues currently nurtured embryonic planting that would no doubt proliferate as the weather grew warmer. Running in straight lines around the beds, a pathway plotted with regularly placed benches and punctuated by stone columns currently skeletal but which, by the summer, would be cloaked in extravagant floral displays. It was eerily quiet and though Tess tried sitting, she soon moved away.
They walked on until again the woods gave way to open meadows and a river over which catkins trickled off branches and there was a Poohsticks bridge. She found a bench for herself, plied Em with rice cakes and threw sticks for the dog. He seemed unable to track any of them but was eager to belt off in the approximate direction, bounding back to Tess as if to say, again! again! again! It made Em laugh. And it made Tess consider how pleased she was that Joe hadn't said anything about a dog because if he had, she wouldn't have taken the job. But the dog's character had won her over; his doleful mismatched eyes and soppy head-cocking were so appealing that she was now immune to his bizarre appearance. It was a novelty, having a pet part-time. And it was going to be a good thing for Em, Tess justified.
‘Fetch,’ she said, though she sat on her hands. Wolf looked at her in confusion. ‘Fetch,’ she said, hurling something imaginary which Wolf bolted off for. Daft bugger. She stroked him affectionately when he came galloping back. His ears felt like the rags she had in the back of her car. They were of a similar colour, and just as frayed. ‘Dog-eared,’ Tess laughed. ‘Come on, let's go home and get you two some lunch.’
Pushing the buggy uphill as it dinked and lurched over the pathways, while having to haul an exhausted Wolf lagging behind her was a slog and Tess decided she wouldn't be pitching quite so many imaginary sticks for the dog tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow she'd venture a little further – not afield, but into town again. Today it felt enough to have walked and walked in the woods, to have found the Italian Gardens
‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘but I'd better not. I'm a bit headachy. I'm going to have an early night.’
Chapter Five
When Joe shut the front door and Tess watched, unseen, as he drove away at eleven o'clock the next morning, she mourned the glass of red wine that had never been. But then Wolf sauntered by and headbutted her and Em was squawking and Tess told herself to get a grip and get on with it.
‘What'll we do, gang? Fresh air?’
Wolf, it soon transpired, would be taking Tess and Em for a walk. She didn't dare let him off the lead so he plunged and strained, dragging her and the buggy in his wake. The steep downward gradient of the hill on tarmac was onerous enough but when Wolf led them into the woods and the path became an uneven assault course of hairpin bends, it was quite terrifying. How safe she'd been in London – nothing more than the occasional raised paving stone to negotiate.
‘Wait!’ she said. ‘Halt!’ she said. ‘Sit!’ she said. ‘Stop, you great oaf, just stop .’ They stood in the dappled lilac-green light of woodland. Em and Wolf looking expectantly at Tess. With her composure and breath back, and Wolf having to walk with a peculiar high-stepping slo-mo gait, Tess became leader of the pack. The steep woodland suddenly opened out and levelled off in a little dell of meticulously organized Italianate design. Raised flower beds in intricate quatrefoils and curlicues currently nurtured embryonic planting that would no doubt proliferate as the weather grew warmer. Running in straight lines around the beds, a pathway plotted with regularly placed benches and punctuated by stone columns currently skeletal but which, by the summer, would be cloaked in extravagant floral displays. It was eerily quiet and though Tess tried sitting, she soon moved away.
They walked on until again the woods gave way to open meadows and a river over which catkins trickled off branches and there was a Poohsticks bridge. She found a bench for herself, plied Em with rice cakes and threw sticks for the dog. He seemed unable to track any of them but was eager to belt off in the approximate direction, bounding back to Tess as if to say, again! again! again! It made Em laugh. And it made Tess consider how pleased she was that Joe hadn't said anything about a dog because if he had, she wouldn't have taken the job. But the dog's character had won her over; his doleful mismatched eyes and soppy head-cocking were so appealing that she was now immune to his bizarre appearance. It was a novelty, having a pet part-time. And it was going to be a good thing for Em, Tess justified.
‘Fetch,’ she said, though she sat on her hands. Wolf looked at her in confusion. ‘Fetch,’ she said, hurling something imaginary which Wolf bolted off for. Daft bugger. She stroked him affectionately when he came galloping back. His ears felt like the rags she had in the back of her car. They were of a similar colour, and just as frayed. ‘Dog-eared,’ Tess laughed. ‘Come on, let's go home and get you two some lunch.’
Pushing the buggy uphill as it dinked and lurched over the pathways, while having to haul an exhausted Wolf lagging behind her was a slog and Tess decided she wouldn't be pitching quite so many imaginary sticks for the dog tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow she'd venture a little further – not afield, but into town again. Today it felt enough to have walked and walked in the woods, to have found the Italian Gardens
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