The Truth Hurts Page 12

  Her book wasn’t on the bedside table, so she picked her way down the stairs. The hall was cold. Toward the bottom of the stairs, she heard an unfamiliar noise. She stopped, hand on the banister rail. Slowly, she turned to look behind her, not sure what she was expecting to see. Nothing. Empty space, just stairs and wall and banisters peeling up to the landing. Was there a noise? She strained her ears, searching for something, the skin on the back of her arms suddenly tight. There was a feeling. A strange, scratchy feeling, as if someone’s eyes were on her. Steadying herself, she stepped upward, taking the stairs one at a time. It was broad daylight. Nothing bad ever happened in daylight, she knew that. She’d watched thousands of scary films. She and her girlfriends at university had been obsessed with them, squeezing into a bedroom to terrify themselves with shadowy figures on someone’s laptop screen.

  The noise was coming from the bathroom, a determined, flat noise like running water. But she had turned the taps off. Unquestionably, she had turned them off.

  Poppy pushed the bathroom door open and saw the wide tap spewing clouds of steam and a thick column of water. She rushed forward; seeing that the bath was almost half full she grabbed for the tap. She squeezed it, trying to turn it, but it was stuck. Fuck, she thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She grabbed for a towel and wrapped the tap with it, trying to make it turn. Nothing. It was jammed. She reached into the bath, feeling for the plug, but the water was so hot she heard herself yelp with pain.

  Panicking, she reached for her phone and dialed Drew’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Darling?” he said.

  “The bath’s going to overflow,” she stammered. “I can’t turn it off. It’s so hot, I can’t pull the plug . . .”

  “Andrea,” she heard Drew say, his voice quieter. “I need an emergency plumber at Thursday House, immediately.” Even in her panic, even with her hair matted with steam and sweat she couldn’t help thinking how different they were, how Drew summoned someone to fix the problem while she panicked.

  “Is it overflowing yet?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Poppy?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s good.”

  Poppy said nothing, watching the huge bath fill higher and higher, almost two-thirds of the way full now. What room was she above? She pictured the house, trying to work out what was below the bathroom. Oh Jesus, was it the drawing room? Was the bath going to tip a ton of scalding water over the piano that Drew loved? She felt her chest tightening, breath coming shorter and harder.

  She pulled the towels off the towel rail, putting them on the floor around the bath in a futile attempt to soak up the water that would be spilling over in a matter of minutes.

  She went across the hall to the guest bathroom and pulled more towels from the rail. Was this going to help even at all?

  “Do you know where the stopcock is?” came Drew’s voice from the phone.

  “No.”

  “I’ll talk you through it. Go downstairs.”

  She took the stairs quickly, watching her bare feet.

  “You need to go down to the cellar,” said Drew. “I don’t know if you’ll get phone reception down there—it’s under the stairs.”

  As she reached the hallway, a red van pulled into the drive. The words Wilcock and Sons were painted on the side.

  “Drew, the plumber is here! I have to go—”

  “Poppy, before you—” she heard Drew say as she hit the red button on the screen. Shit. Should she call him back? There wasn’t time. He’d tell her later.

  “Hi!” she called to the man by the van. “I’m Poppy Spencer, thank you so much for coming so fast. Do you mind coming up? It’s just in here—”

  The man was slender. Poppy wished he were bigger. More reassuring to look at. He moved slowly, taking a toolbox from the back seat and then following her. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” she breathed again, steps two at a time under her feet. He didn’t reply, his face grim. But he followed her into the bathroom and, as the water started to spill over the lip of the bath, took a big metal thing from the box. He fastened it around the tap and gave it a sharp yank. The metal screeched, but the water came to a stop.

  “There,” he said, picking up his toolbox. “Old taps, those. Swell up when they get hot. Best not to leave them running unattended.”

  “I didn’t,” Poppy replied, too quickly. The plumber raised his eyebrows. “I really didn’t,” she repeated.

  He made a noncommittal noise and started to go downstairs. “Do you want a glass of water or something?” she said to his turned back. “Cup of tea? While you write me an invoice?”

  He shook his head, and pulled a pad from his pocket, scribbling numbers on it.

  “Has this happened before?” she asked. “With the previous owners?”

  The man fixed her with an expression of pure loathing, and then tore the paper from the pad. He held it between two shaking fingers. As soon as she touched it, he drew his hand away. She looked down. In wobbly blue writing the total at the end read “£800.”

  “Eight hundred?” she asked, horrified.

  He nodded. “I want it paid by the end of the week.” And with that he turned, yanked the front door open, turned his van around in a spray of gravel and was gone.

  Chapter 18

  Poppy dropped down onto the stairs and pulled her knees up to her chest. She pressed the screen of her phone. “Hey,” she said.

  “Are you all right?” came Drew’s calm voice. “Do I need to bring scuba gear home with me?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “I’m OK.”

  “Sorry, terrible joke,” he said. “Are you OK? You sound frightened.”

  “I turned the taps off.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t leave the taps on. I definitely turned them off before I went downstairs.”

  Drew’s voice was low and gentle. “It’s an ancient bath. You probably thought you had, or very nearly did, or something like that. It’s not your fault.”

  “I turned them off,” she repeated.

  “Was the plumber OK?” Drew asked, clearly trying to change the subject. He didn’t believe her. He thought she was lying; he thought she was trying to cover her own back.

  “He stopped the bath,” she said. “He massively over-charged us, though.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  “Eight hundred quid, Drew.”

  “Well, he did come really pretty quickly. Andrea probably had to offer that to get him to leave a job. Anyway, darling, I am so sorry but I’ve got to go into a meeting. You’re all right, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take you out for supper tonight. Cheer you up. You’ve not had the best week, I know that.”

  Poppy didn’t reply.

  “I love you,” he said, as he hung up.

  “I turned the taps off,” she said as his voice turned into a beep, telling her he was gone.

  Later that afternoon Poppy’s phone buzzed.

  “Gina? What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she said, clearly lying.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No,” she said with a little sob.

  “What’s going on?”

  There was another little whining noise. “Gina, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  “Bella found stuff in my room.”

  “What?” Bella was the littlest of the Winterson family. She was four and she adored Gina, who had worked there since Bella was a month old. “What did she find?”

  “Weed,” sobbed Gina. “It was in my drawer.”

  “Why was she in your room?” asked Poppy. It was a stupid question—it was obvious what was coming.

  “She wanted to play.” Gina’s voice had calmed a little. “She took it to show her mum.” Now her voice was strangled, as though she couldn’t get enough air.

  “Shit,” said Poppy.

&nb
sp; “Yep.” Gina half laughed, half cried.

  “Are you fired?”

  She heard Gina breathe deeply; she would be nodding into the phone.

  “Notice period?”

  “Nope.”

  “When do you have to leave?”

  “She said I could have until tomorrow to find somewhere to stay. Poppy, she was so nice about it, I thought she was going to cry too. She just kept saying that if Bella had got hold of it or eaten it or if it had been harder stuff, which is mad because you know I don’t do anything harder—”

  “Gina,” Poppy said, forgetting to sound sympathetic, overwhelmed by the genius of what she had just realized, “I have such a brilliant idea.”

  “What?”

  “Drew keeps nagging me to hire someone to come help me here, and I’m on my own a lot—why don’t you come down here for a bit?”

  It was perfect. Gina needed somewhere to go, and Poppy wouldn’t have to be alone if Gina were here.

  The other end of the line was quiet. “Gee?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gina. “Wouldn’t that be weird, me working for you?”

  “No!” said Poppy, getting to her feet. “It’ll be amazing. You can help me with the house and we’ll pay you whatever they were paying you and you can crash here until you find another job. We’ve got all of Drew’s mates coming to stay soon and I’ve got no idea where to start with getting the house ready or planning the weekend.”

  They could take on the house together. A strange feeling inside told her that the house wouldn’t dare fuck with Gina the way it did with her. No one ever did.

  “Are you sure?” Gina sounded a little bit happier.

  “A million percent,” said Poppy. She needed to sort Gina’s room out—and get her some keys cut. Her mind was racing with all the little things she could do.

  “If you’re sure you’re sure?”

  “Pack your stuff!” said Poppy. “Get a taxi from the station, on me.”

  “OK,” said Gina. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Darling?” Drew’s voice called out.

  “I’m out here.”

  Poppy was sitting on the terrace, wrapped in a blanket and watching the sun go down. Drew kissed Poppy’s forehead and pulled out a chair.

  “Do you want a glass of wine?” she asked.

  Drew nodded and pulled the bottle from the ice bucket. “Are you OK?”

  “Fine,” she said. The bath incident seemed like a long time ago. “Fully recovered. How was your day?”

  “Busy.”

  “Good busy?”

  “I suppose so, yes. I reckon next month I should be able to work mostly from here, maybe just go into the office a couple of times a week. Did you have a good day, apart from the obvious?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Productive.”

  “You seem happier this evening?” he said.

  “That’s because I am,” she replied. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise? I thought you weren’t sure about surprises?”

  “That’s getting surprises. Giving them, however, I am a big fan of.”

  “I’m a big fan of this dress.” He smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. “So, what’s the surprise?”

  “I hired someone!”

  Drew looked confused. “I know? The girl from Bath—she did a brilliant job with the kitchen.”

  “Well, actually I hired someone else.”

  “I thought you liked the Bath girl?”

  “Well, I did. But then the absolute perfect person became available.”

  “Who?”

  “My friend Gina!”

  Drew’s shoulders rose a couple of centimeters. “Your friend?”

  “Her family . . .” She paused. “. . . don’t need her anymore, she’s looking for work and I thought she could come and stay with us for a bit and help out.”

  “So, she’s staying as a guest?”

  “No, she’ll be helping out too.”

  “She’s going to work here?”

  Poppy could feel her happy glow fading away. “What’s wrong? I thought this was perfect? Gina can keep me company, and help me keep everything working properly, and it’s only temporary until she finds another job.” And I won’t have to be alone in this house anymore, she didn’t say.

  Drew still didn’t look convinced.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked.

  “It’s just . . .” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. He had the same expression that Rafe used to get when he wanted to be comforted but he thought he was too old for it. “I don’t want you to hate me for saying this . . .”

  “But?”

  “But having a friend work for you can be difficult. Uncomfortable even. Is this about . . . what happened earlier? Because I know you’re shaken, and it’s been a difficult week, but I’m really not sure this is a great move.”

  Poppy squeezed her eyebrows together. “What? How?”

  Drew looked worried. “I understand you were frightened earlier, you don’t like being alone, you need a friend. But to be honest, Poppy, I had imagined hiring someone who’d come in during the day and then bugger off in the evenings and on the weekends so that we could have time together. Having your friend here 24/7, it just—”

  “Oh God, don’t worry about that,” interrupted Poppy. “Gina will have about fifteen million friends after she’s been here for a week. She picks people up wherever she goes. She adopted me on my first day at the playground. Rafe pushed another child and she lied to the other child’s nanny, said he fell. She’s the best.”

  “Unless you’re a recently pushed child,” said Drew.

  Poppy laughed. “You’re going to love having her here, I promise. She’s my urban family—like a sister I chose. I want you to get to know her.”

  Drew didn’t look convinced, but that didn’t matter. He would only have to meet Gina and he’d adore her. Everyone did. It was one of the many wonderful things about her. She was too loud and too tall and far too much, but just when you started to think she was a little bit annoying, she’d do something so ridiculously funny or generous or kind that you’d fall irrevocably in love with her.

  Chapter 19

  Saturday was drizzly and gray, the first day of bad weather since they had moved in. Soon the leaves on the trees across the garden and into the valley would be crisp and orange. The swimming pool would need to be closed up. She’d have to find out how the central heating worked. If it worked.

  Poppy pulled on a pair of jeans, stiff and new, and one of Drew’s sweaters. Her winter clothes, the ones that Ralph had arranged to have rescued from the Hendersons’ house, were in three neat boxes in the wardrobe, taped and labeled. Out of interest, she pulled the tape off the top of one of the boxes. They were perfectly folded. Would she ever feel normal about being someone who had their clothes folded for them, rather than the person who did the folding? She pulled a sweater, pale pink and acrylic, from the box. It smelled different. A mixture of the Hendersons’ preferred brand of fabric softener, a perfume she had left behind in Ibiza and a very faint note of damp from her old bedroom.

  Maybe she should have left Mrs. Henderson to throw them away, or more likely whoever Mrs. Henderson had replaced her with. But she hadn’t wanted to seem profligate. She couldn’t bring herself to unpack them; they were a reminder of a world she had left behind. But nor could she get rid of them; she was still that person even if her surroundings had changed. She kicked the box back under the bed.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked Drew, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper.

  “Yes,” he said, looking up. “Do you want coffee?”

  Just another tiny way that Drew didn’t realize how gilded his life was. Coffee was never granules that foamed as you added hot water, always espresso from a fancy machine. She poured herself a cup and then slid down onto the cracked leather kitchen sofa. “Let’s go for a walk after breakfast,” she said.

  “It’s raining?” />
  “You’re quite right.” She smiled. “It is indeed raining.”

  “You don’t want to wait until it cheers up outside?”

  She shook her head. “I like rainy walks. And anyway, Gina is coming later. Let’s go out together before she gets here.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Anything you want, my darling. God, you look beautiful.”

  Poppy squirmed away, uncomfortable. “Stop it,” she said.

  Drew gave his little half smile. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, “am I not supposed to tell you that?” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, kissing her neck and laughing. “It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be so bloody gorgeous.”

  An hour later, they pulled their wellies on and started through the garden into the field. Poppy’s borrowed boots from the back door were a size too big, even with the thick socks she had nicked from Drew’s sock drawer.

  “Those look familiar,” he had said as she pulled the boots on.

  “What’s yours is mine now, remember?” she’d told him.

  Drew walked quickly, taking long confident strides. “I think we can go up there,” he said, pointing across the garden and into one of the fields, “and down into the woods, then if we follow the footpath it’ll loop back around.”

  Poppy had no idea if any of what he said made sense, but he said it with such confidence that it didn’t occur to her not to follow him.

  “Maybe we should get a dog,” she said to Drew, whose gaze was locked on the treetops.

  He seemed surprised to find her next to him. “What?”

  “A dog. We should get a dog.”

  He smiled. “That’s an idea. What makes you say that?”

  “Look at all this.” She held her arms out, palms facing up to the rain. The sky was still gray but the green of the grass and the trees and everything around was so lush and aggressively alive. “Perfect for a dog.”

  “What sort? Not one of those silly little lapdogs. I’m always worried I’m going to step on one.” He made a face, with his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Drew wasn’t silly often. There was something magical about it when it happened.

  “Definitely not.” She laughed. “A proper dog. A black Lab or something like that.”