The House Guest by Mark Edwards(7)

Jack and Mona were rich. I didn’t know if they had earned this money themselves or if it was inherited wealth, but I had to assume it was mostly the latter. College professors don’t earn big bucks, and even though Mona had told me her business was lucrative, I found it hard to believe it was that lucrative.

‘We only bought this place last year and we’ve both been so busy we haven’t had time to fix it up,’ Mona had explained when they showed us around.

‘Plus we kinda like it as it is,’ Jack added. ‘It’s got character.’

‘I don’t even know how we’re going to fit all our stuff in here when we finally unpack,’ Mona said. ‘There are, like, thirty boxes full of stuff in the basement.’

‘Which is supposed to be the office,’ said Jack.

The basement apartment, the Cunninghams explained, had originally been part of the house, but at some point in the building’s history it had been turned into a separate dwelling with its own front and back doors, accessed via steps that led down from the front yard and the garden. Jack and Mona had bought the apartment too, and were planning to eventually reintegrate it. They told Ruth and me there was no need for us ever to go down there.

The house was tidier now than it had been when Ruth and I left this morning. The dirty dishes had been washed and stacked neatly on the draining board. The whole place appeared to have been vacuumed, and the previously overflowing recycling bin was empty.

Eden was seated on the rope swing, sunglasses on, reading a book. She was wearing shorts and her bare legs were stretched out in front of her. She pushed her hair – now it was fully dry, it looked much blonder, the colour of California sunshine – out of her face and must have felt me watching because she smiled at me and waved. ‘Hi,’ she mouthed.

I waved back then went out to see her.

‘Thanks for tidying the house. You really didn’t have to.’

‘Hey, you guys are letting me stay here.’ She closed the book she’d been reading. It was a battered copy of The Collector. ‘Plus I was bored.’

‘You didn’t go out?’

‘Hmm. Not really. The heat here – it’s different from out west.’ She got off the swing. Again, I was struck by the oasis-like qualities of this place. It was a long way from where I’d grown up in suburban Kent. I momentarily drifted off, picturing my own back garden – the square, scruffy lawn, the tall wooden fences that boxed us all in on the estate where I’d grown up.

‘How was your day?’ Eden asked, bringing me back to the present.

‘It was good. Great, in fact. Until Ruth got mugged in Central Park.’

‘Wait, what? You’re kidding.’

I told her what had happened.

‘That’s awful. I thought Central Park was meant to be totally safe these days.’

‘Yeah. Well, I guess nowhere’s totally safe, is it? The whole thing is going to be a massive pain in the arse . . .’

Eden smiled. ‘Sorry, it’s just I love the way you say that. Not “ass”. Arse.’ She impersonated my accent. ‘Somehow you manage to sound cultured even when you swear.’

‘And you sound glamorous even when you’re talking about housework.’

‘We’re even then. But I love your accent. It’s super-cute.’

Was she flirting with me? I suddenly became aware that Ruth was in the kitchen, watching us, a neutral expression on her face. Eden spotted her too and immediately hurried inside. I followed, feeling guilty and not quite knowing why.

‘Adam told me about your phone,’ Eden said to Ruth. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Ruth had calmed down in the Uber home. ‘It’s fine. It’s inconvenient, that’s all. I need to get a new one, right away, and then let everyone know my new number, and getting a contract over here will be impossible, I think, and I don’t have enough cash to buy a phone outright.’

She paused for breath and Eden jumped in. ‘I have a spare phone.’

We both looked at her. ‘Really?’ Ruth said.

‘Yeah. I got a new iPhone last month and the old one is still in my bag. I was going to sell it but it’s got a couple of little cracks in the screen so it’s hardly worth anything. You can have it if you like.’

Before Ruth could respond, Eden found her bag, rummaged through it and handed the phone to Ruth.

‘It’s hardly damaged at all,’ Ruth said. There were a few tiny cracks in the bottom corner.

‘Yeah, but it’s enough to wipe out its resale value. It’s yours, anyway. If you want it. Then you’ll just have to get a new SIM.’

‘I can’t take it from you. Can I just borrow it until I get a new one?’

‘Sure. I’m easy.’

‘Thanks, Eden.’

‘You’re welcome. You guys are doing me a big favour, so it’s the least I can do.’

She went back out into the garden, leaving Ruth and me alone in the kitchen.

‘I think there’s a place down the street where you can get a SIM,’ I said. ‘You should probably do that now.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’ She headed out.

In the garden, Eden was back on the swing, nose buried in her book. I went out to join her.

‘Mona told me about this place last time I saw her,’ Eden said, closing the novel. ‘She said a record producer used to own it. I guess that explains the jukebox. He must have left it behind.’ She shook her head. ‘Jack doesn’t even like music. He told me it does nothing for him. Can you believe that?’