Chapter 7

Mrs Anderson's niece is slipping a bottle of perfume back into her rucksack as I walk into the lounge, and I almost choke on the heady mist. When she sees me, she gasps and shoots to her feet.

‘Oh, Mrs Harris, I'm so sorry to turn up like this but Auntie said she'd spoken to you about it earlier and it'd be fine.' I didn't say that. I said I'd be more than happy to consider her niece for the position if she contacted me to arrange an interview, not that she could turn up willy-nilly. On the face of it, she seems nice and has certainly made an impression on my husband. But turning up on my doorstep without an appointment on a Friday evening? It's just not on. ‘I'm so grateful for this opportunity, Mrs Harris. Mr Harris has explained all the duties and terms. I've only been here a fortnight. I really need –'

‘Woah, woah, slow down,' I say wearily, sinking into my grey, fabric, snuggle chair. I wave a hand. ‘Take a seat.'

‘Thanks, Mrs Harris.' Sitting back down, she gives me a watery smile, then gazes around the books in our library in awe, hands clasped together in her lap, nails short, unvarnished. She has a soft Irish accent, long red hair tumbling over her shoulders, and aquamarine eyes. There's something familiar about her, as in when you see a celebrity out and about before processing who they are. In this case, it's Mrs Anderson I see – a family resemblance.

‘It's Bella,' I smile. ‘Boy, your auntie's a fast worker,' I raise my eyebrows, shifting in my seat. Okay, Tom likes her and that's great but I can't hire her on his say so. She'll be working alongside me. It has to be my decision. I'm going to have to ask her to come back for an official interview. ‘Look, I'm interviewing –'

‘Gosh, auntie Tina called me right away,' she intervenes, cheeks pink, ‘said you were ace and that I should get my foot in the door before you hired someone else. I tried phoning but it went to voicemail.' The call from an unknown number while I was in the supermarket. I thought it was a cold call, so rejected it. I'd have saved her a visit if I'd picked up. ‘I had to knock on a few doors to find you, mind,' she says, crossing her legs at the ankles. ‘Auntie said you lived a few doors from number 24.' Her smile is broad and she has good teeth, straight, natural looking. Her skin is milky white, the kind that easily burns in the sun, and she has a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose. ‘I wanted to be your first applicant. Auntie said you were going to put an ad online.' Her eyes widen and I realise that I'm frowning at her. ‘Mr Harris said the job's mine if I want it. I hope that's okay.'

I admire her nerve and determination, and she's certainly enthusiastic, but no, it's not okay. I rub my lips. I hate letting people down, but needs must. ‘Um…Miss Anderson?'

‘It's Murphy. Daisy Murphy.' Her chest rises and falls against her white shirt and I notice a gold crucifix around her neck with a red ruby in the middle. It looks vintage. The kind of piece you'd find on a stall at Portobello Road market.

‘Daisy, I know Tom offered you the job but we do need to go through the process, yes?' She nods furiously. ‘Call it a second interview. The thing is, I'm running late and wasn't expecting you, so…'

Blood rushes to her cheeks. ‘Oh, godddd!!. I'm such a klutz.' She shoots to her feet, flustered, and then launches into a fit of apologies – it was a stupid thing to do, I probably haven't had dinner yet, must want to interview other applicants, ones who are far more experienced and suitable for the job, whatever was she thinking. ‘I'm sorry to have troubled you, I'll –'

‘Daisy, stop,' I say loudly, putting a hand out and feeling like a bit of a cow for making her feel so awful. I study her for a few moments. She reminds me of a younger me – vulnerable, desperate to please, yet full of passion, hungry for success. ‘Please, sit back down.' Maybe I should give her a chance. Tom likes her. I need a temp and can afford one now that I've sacked Frank. Hiring her will save me paying for an online ad, and time interviewing other applicants, many of whom will be completely unsuitable. ‘Tom has told you all about the job, right?' Daisy nods and watches me like an excited puppy. I can almost see her tail wagging. She can sense I'm changing my mind, that she's in with a chance. ‘Have you done anything like this before?'

‘Admin? Pfft, yeah, loads in Dublin. But I'm not gonna lie, I've never worked for a property photographer.' I like her honesty. ‘Sounds amazing,' she beams, sitting back down, eyes bright. ‘Going into all those people's homes, having a peek at their lives. Houses tell you so much about folk, don't they?' A girl after my own heart.

‘Have you got a CV?'

‘Sure.' Fumbling around in her rucksack, she pulls out an A4 sheet. ‘Sorry, it's a bit squashed.' Ironing it out with her palm, she hands it to me. ‘And my passport for ID.'

‘Great photo, ' I say, flicking through her passport. She's photogenic. I look like a troll in mine, and Tom looks like one of the Kray twins. The one with the glasses. I scan the CV and read nothing. I look at my watch – 20.08. Linda's going to kill me. ‘Right, I'm going to go out on a limb here. My husband likes you and so do I. We need someone we can trust, someone reliable, and as I know your aunt, you're hired.' Daisy's jaw drops open. ‘When can you start?'

‘Now!' Daisy stands up, sits down, half stands, sits, face on fire. ‘I can start immediately. I'll work really hard, Mrs Harris. I mean, Bella.' I laugh lightly, tell her I will need a couple of references and she reaches for her bag again, pulls out a manila envelope and hands it to me, and in that moment it occurs to me that each time she hands me something, a blend of stale sweat and perfume dances under my nose. I thought it was me to begin with, but it only happens when she moves. Perhaps she came straight from the gym, hence the manic perfume spraying and trainers.

‘I haven't got time to go through them now,' I say, taking the envelope from her hand, ‘but I'm sure everything is in order. I'll see you Monday at nine.'

Daisy gets to her feet and shoulders her rucksack. ‘Brilliant. Bella, I can't thank you enough for this opportunity. I promise I won't let you down. I'll do anything – your washing, ironing, I'll even scrub the loos.'

‘You won't have to do that,' I say, shepherding her into the corridor, all the while hoping that I've done the right thing, acting on impulse. She is a bit chatty, like her auntie.

In the hallway, she tells me a little more about herself – she's thirty-seven, has two brothers, both older, married with grown-up kids, parents have passed, she was engaged to be married but it didn't work out, Mrs Anderson is the only family she has in London, so knocked on her door. ‘And I'm so glad I did because now I have this job.' I remind her that it"s only for a few weeks – six, tops. ‘That's perfect. It'll give me time to find something else. I've always loved London.' Daisy gazes around our large square hallway as if she were standing in Buckingham Palace. ‘There's just so much to see and do.'

In my peripheral, I see Tom pouring another drink, phone pressed against his ear. He's going to get pissed tonight. ‘Are you staying with the Andersons?' I ask to the ear-piercing sound of Tom's laughter. Daisy stiffens, then yanks the door open.

‘I was but it didn't work out. Ben's a bit of an arse.'

A knot forms in my stomach. I hope he didn't try it on with her. ‘So where are you staying?' Folding my arms to keep out the evening chill, I follow her eyes to a blue Peugeot estate parked across the road. ‘In the car?' I gasp, hand flying to my throat.

‘It's okay, Bella. I'm fine. It's surprisingly comfortable in the back. Rupert uses it for camping, said I could borrow it for as long as I liked.' Mrs Anderson's son, the one with the gorgeous wife. ‘Auntie lets me freshen up when Ben's not there and feeds me. I'll find somewhere to live soon. I've got this job now; things are on the up.'

‘Oh, Daisy, I am sorry. Couldn't your aunt put you up in a BB?' Daisy shakes her head, tells me Ben has frozen all her cards. I shake my head – tell her he's a cruel bastard, and she laughs, agreeing. ‘If you don't mind me asking, Daisy, why come to London if you had nowhere to stay, no job, no money?'

Daisy exhales deeply. ‘Had a row with my fella and he chucked me out. My brothers never liked him and made it clear that I'd made my bed. I had nowhere else to go.' What a piece of shit. How could he make her homeless? ‘It's okay,' she smiles, almost as if she knows what I'm thinking. ‘It was all my fault. I ran up a bit of a debt on my credit card and sold my engagement ring to pay it off – said I'd lost it when he asked, then he only spotted it in the pawnshop. It was his grandmother's and it's a small town. Reckoned we couldn't start a married life based on lies.' I look at her, stunned, but not for the reason she's thinking, I've done far worse. I don't deserve Tom. I don't deserve this life. ‘I know, I know, honesty is the best policy. We might've still been together if I'd fessed up.'

My skin prickles. ‘I'm not judging you, Daisy. We all make mistakes, wrong choices.' Daisy smiles at me kindly. But she's right. If I'd been honest with Tom things wouldn't be as they are now. Unlike Daisy, I've still got time to fix this. I'll tell him everything – tonight.

‘I'll see you on Monday, then, Bella. Bye, Mr Harris,' she calls out over her shoulder. Tom appears next to me on the doorstep, refill in hand. Slipping his arm around my waist, he nestles his head on my shoulder.

‘Did I hear right, is she sleeping in the car? he asks as Daisy walks down the path.

‘Afraid so.'

‘So, she's homeless?'

‘Yeah,' I say, then I look at him and our eyes lock. ‘Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

‘Just until she gets on her feet. We've plenty of room.'

I race to the end of the driveway. ‘Daisy, wait.'