I feel a tear escape my eye and drop into the bathwater. No. Enough of that. This is strictly a no crying bath. I’m supposed to be warming up and relaxing, making the most of being stuck here.
I wish I’d remembered to bring my phone with me. I left it downstairs. I do like a soak in the bath but I don’t like being alone with my thoughts for too long. Between my tendency to dwell on things, and my overactive imagination, the conversations I have with myself can get pretty out of hand pretty fast. I’ll think about things that have happened in the past – and that covers everything from things I did five minutes ago, to times I embarrassed myself when I was a kid and everything in between. I’ll think about things. I’ll have hypothetical arguments with people – and I won’t always win them, which is insane, you’d think my own imagination would let me win.
I just feel like I have so much on my mind at the moment. More so than usual. We all carry stress around with us but there’s only so much that can be carried around before it starts to feel heavy. On top of the usual life stresses, I’ve got the drama with my sister and now being stuck here in my boss’s house. I yoyo between almost having a lovely time and being terrified of getting caught here, and I’m not even sure they’re different feelings sometimes because, for a girl like me who has never really put a foot wrong, something about being kind of bad for the first time in my life feels weirdly good.
I have always been a good girl. The naughtiest thing I did as a teen was sip my mum’s drinks while she wasn’t looking (interestingly, my sister and I would only ever take sips – it’s like we wanted to be “bad” but we didn’t want to actually get drunk) and occasionally staying up late to watch movies after bedtime. That’s it though. I was good as gold throughout uni – I wound up with a job in the legal profession, for crying out loud, you don’t really get more straight-laced than that, do you?
This might be the only time, in my entire life, that I ever do anything wrong. As things go it’s pretty spectacular – although I can’t take credit for the wildest part of it. Still, I’ll be able to look back at this and feel like I did something out of line, for once in my life, and hopefully it will be a happy memory – something my grandkids can laugh at. Wait, no, I can’t exactly tell my hypothetical grandkids about granny’s one one-night stand, can I? My grown grandkids, perhaps. If I’m lucky enough to get that far in life.
I’d love to have grandkids – kids first, obviously – but a family, that’s the goal. Well, a family and one of these big baths with the jets. Then I’ll know I’ve made it.
Chapter Eight
As I reach the bottom of the stairs two things hit me. First of all, it’s the gentle sound of music, drifting into the hallway from another room, loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough that I can’t quite identify it from here. Next, the delicious smell of something cooking hits me. I couldn’t possibly tell you what but I get a sort of warming winter meal vibe from it. It reminds me of Sunday dinners at my parents’ house in the winter months. The delicious smell of a roast dinner, the cosy room, the steamed-up windows. It’s a real nostalgia kick, a throwback all the way to my childhood, and it makes me miss my family – even my infuriating sister.
I find Chris in the kitchen, busying himself around the hob, a tea towel over his shoulder to show that he means business.
‘Ah, perfect timing,’ Chris says.
He has two plates in front of him which he is loading up with mashed potatoes. He turns around to pull something out of the oven.
‘Go through to the dining room, I’ll bring this through in a second,’ he says.
Chris turns around to face me, oven dish in hand, takes one look at my face and freezes on the spot.
‘Don’t worry, I only used foods they had lots of, that no one would miss – we have to eat,’ he says.
I don’t know what the look on my face is like right now but I think that’s what Chris is reacting to.
‘Oh, I’m not worried about that,’ I insist.
Chris stabs a sausage with a fork and places it on one of the plates. He’s about to do it again when he freezes on the spot, the stabbed sausage hovering above the plate.
‘Oh no,’ he says. I can see his jaw tightening as panic takes hold of him. This is the first time I’ve seen him lose his cool since we got here. ‘You’re not a vegetarian, are you? Or worse, a vegan? Not that being a vegan is bad, but not one bit of this meal is suitable for a vegan. Maybe the gravy – I’d have to check, but you’re not going to havejustgravy, are you?Are you?I don’t know any vegans.’
I can’t help but smile. It’s nice to see a version of Chris that is not so sure of himself. Even earlier, when he showed me his emotional side, he was so comfortable doing it, which I really like, I’m all for men sharing, but his confidence never faded. It’s nice to know that he does worry about somethings.
‘No, no, I’m not vegan,’ I say quickly. ‘Or a vegetarian. I’ll eat almost anything.’
‘Phew,’ he says. I see the relief wash over his face, relaxing his muscles. ‘You were just doing a face.’
‘It just surprised me, to come down here, and see you cooking dinner for us,’ I say. ‘I didn’t have you down as the type to cook.’
I know he made breakfast earlier, but everyone can make breakfast, right?
‘Yeah, I’ve been eating for most of my life, so the need to cook has cropped up now and then,’ he jokes.
‘You know what I mean,’ I insist.
‘I do,’ he replies. ‘Well, we’re having bangers, mash, cauliflower cheese, gravy – I even found some Yorkshire puddings in the freezer. Again, don’t worry, they had loads. You could live in their freezer if it wasn’t, y’know, a freezer.’
I smile.
‘Sounds amazing,’ I tell him. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yes, you can get out of my kitchen,’ he jokes. ‘Head through to the dining room, I’ll be through with these in a minute.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I reply, doing as I’m told.
