all good.’ He grinned. ‘There’s a separate freezer for that.’
Good to know.
Cally put the chops on the draining board, then, remembering Doug, who had vanished the moment she opened her bedroom door, decided their dinner might be safer shut in the microwave.
Now what should she do? Heading out to the laundry, she emptied the dryer and started to put on another load of washing.
She poked her head back around the door. ‘Anything you’d like washed?’
‘Yeah.’ Putting the paper down, Ash scrambled up. ‘Hang on, I’ll bring it down.’
Cally carried the basket of clean laundry through and set it on the table. Gosh. Men’s underpants were quite tricky to fold. All those seams and curvy bits. Who knew? She lookedup to see Ash watching her, a pair of muddy jeans in his hand and a horrified expression on his face.
‘You don’t—’ He cleared his throat. ‘You can just leave those. I’ll do them.’
‘It’s okay, I don’t mind.’ Smoothing her folds, she hid a smile. For heaven’s sake, they were just underpants. It wasn’t as if he were in them. What was there to be embarrassed about? Reaching into the basket, Cally pulled out a pair of her own knickers, and rapidly changed her mind. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, furtively stuffing them back in, if they didn’t look like a junior version of his. What was she, a ten-year-old boy? What was wrong with lace and ribbons, for God’s sake?
There, a T-shirt, that ought to be safe. Cally smoothed it out on the table. Ash, she noticed, was still standing in the doorway.
‘Here.’ She held out her hand for his jeans. ‘I’ll throw those in the washing machine.’
With a little shake of his head, he moved at last. ‘I’ll do it.’
She finished folding the T-shirt. ‘Would you like these ironed?’ she called, shaking out a checked shirt.
‘No.’ Ash — back in the kitchen and closer behind her than she’d thought — seemed amused by the question. ‘Don’t worry about those.’
Carefully, she aligned the sleeves.
‘It’s supposed to clear up this afternoon,’ Ash said.
She nodded.
‘I was wondering,’ he added, ‘if you had time to give me a hand with Windy today. Later on, I mean.’
Surprised, Cally glanced at him.
Ash looked slightly embarrassed. ‘He likes it when you’re there.’
By Friday, Cally had finally worked her way around to tackling the homestead’s upper floor. Luckily, she’d done the master bedroom first, because Lizzie had turned up just after lunch, and she and Carr had promptly disappeared inside it.
Having made up a guest room for — what were their names again? Lizzie’s daughter and her boyfriend. Ella and Luke? — Cally arrived at Ash’s door. You’re supposed to be here, she reminded herself, pushing it open. It’s your job. He doesn’t mind. He’s not allowed to.
Oh! She was in the turret. How lovely — she hadn’t realised that was this room. The room Ash had grown up in, presumably, although there was little sign of that now. Staring at the beautiful stone windows, Cally smiled to herself. The perfect castle for a little prince. Until the wicked fairy stole him away …
Gosh, he was neat, though. The room looked like it had been readied for a military-style inspection. Which she felt sure it would pass. There was a South American-looking blanket tucked with great precision around the bed, and a couple of old oil paintings of horses on the wall, but otherwise Ash’s bedroom seemed about as personal to him as hers was to her; as if it had been cleared out once and never properly reinhabited. Reaching the bed, she bent to admire Ash’s hospital corners.
Fuck! Cally let out a yelp as something seized her ankle. Heart pounding, she looked down to see a set of furry paws. Bloody Doug! She took a step backwards, dragging the cat out from under the bed. Looking very pleased with himself, Doug rolled over and rubbed his face against her trainers.
‘Out of here,’ she
Good to know.
Cally put the chops on the draining board, then, remembering Doug, who had vanished the moment she opened her bedroom door, decided their dinner might be safer shut in the microwave.
Now what should she do? Heading out to the laundry, she emptied the dryer and started to put on another load of washing.
She poked her head back around the door. ‘Anything you’d like washed?’
‘Yeah.’ Putting the paper down, Ash scrambled up. ‘Hang on, I’ll bring it down.’
Cally carried the basket of clean laundry through and set it on the table. Gosh. Men’s underpants were quite tricky to fold. All those seams and curvy bits. Who knew? She lookedup to see Ash watching her, a pair of muddy jeans in his hand and a horrified expression on his face.
‘You don’t—’ He cleared his throat. ‘You can just leave those. I’ll do them.’
‘It’s okay, I don’t mind.’ Smoothing her folds, she hid a smile. For heaven’s sake, they were just underpants. It wasn’t as if he were in them. What was there to be embarrassed about? Reaching into the basket, Cally pulled out a pair of her own knickers, and rapidly changed her mind. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, furtively stuffing them back in, if they didn’t look like a junior version of his. What was she, a ten-year-old boy? What was wrong with lace and ribbons, for God’s sake?
There, a T-shirt, that ought to be safe. Cally smoothed it out on the table. Ash, she noticed, was still standing in the doorway.
‘Here.’ She held out her hand for his jeans. ‘I’ll throw those in the washing machine.’
With a little shake of his head, he moved at last. ‘I’ll do it.’
She finished folding the T-shirt. ‘Would you like these ironed?’ she called, shaking out a checked shirt.
‘No.’ Ash — back in the kitchen and closer behind her than she’d thought — seemed amused by the question. ‘Don’t worry about those.’
Carefully, she aligned the sleeves.
‘It’s supposed to clear up this afternoon,’ Ash said.
She nodded.
‘I was wondering,’ he added, ‘if you had time to give me a hand with Windy today. Later on, I mean.’
Surprised, Cally glanced at him.
Ash looked slightly embarrassed. ‘He likes it when you’re there.’
By Friday, Cally had finally worked her way around to tackling the homestead’s upper floor. Luckily, she’d done the master bedroom first, because Lizzie had turned up just after lunch, and she and Carr had promptly disappeared inside it.
Having made up a guest room for — what were their names again? Lizzie’s daughter and her boyfriend. Ella and Luke? — Cally arrived at Ash’s door. You’re supposed to be here, she reminded herself, pushing it open. It’s your job. He doesn’t mind. He’s not allowed to.
Oh! She was in the turret. How lovely — she hadn’t realised that was this room. The room Ash had grown up in, presumably, although there was little sign of that now. Staring at the beautiful stone windows, Cally smiled to herself. The perfect castle for a little prince. Until the wicked fairy stole him away …
Gosh, he was neat, though. The room looked like it had been readied for a military-style inspection. Which she felt sure it would pass. There was a South American-looking blanket tucked with great precision around the bed, and a couple of old oil paintings of horses on the wall, but otherwise Ash’s bedroom seemed about as personal to him as hers was to her; as if it had been cleared out once and never properly reinhabited. Reaching the bed, she bent to admire Ash’s hospital corners.
Fuck! Cally let out a yelp as something seized her ankle. Heart pounding, she looked down to see a set of furry paws. Bloody Doug! She took a step backwards, dragging the cat out from under the bed. Looking very pleased with himself, Doug rolled over and rubbed his face against her trainers.
‘Out of here,’ she
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