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I whipped my head around. ‘Rectory?’
‘Yes, it’s been converted. Well, partly. We bought it as a doer-upper, but it’s grade II listed. So there’s a ton of things you can’t do. It’s more of a don’ter-upper.’ He chuckled at his own joke.
‘How long have you lived there?’
‘About four years.’
I couldn’t believe it. He lived in a rectory. What were the chances? Hopefully, he didn’t have a whip as well!
Not too long after, we drove up a gravelled driveway to a two-storey white-brick house covered with ivy. It was like something off a chocolate box.
‘There you go. Small, but perfectly formed—just how I like my women,’ Jeremy quipped.
Cheesy, I thought. But at least he was attempting to flirt.
‘It looks lovely,’ I said, peering through the rain-smeared windscreen.
‘Let’s go in. I’ll put the kettle on and show you the artefact. I think it’s something you’ll like.’
Oh yes, the artefact. I grinned to myself, wondering if it would resemble the clay specimen I’d lovingly crafted. Thomas’s face, his eyes closed in pleasure, popped unbidden into my mind. Dammit, I shouldn’t have replied to his message. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about handling his artefact!
‘You’ll have to excuse the muddle. I’m still sorting things out from a recent antique haul,’ Jeremy said, turning his key in the white-painted door.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, following him in. ‘I do a bit of antique shopping myself.’
I was expecting a few vases or some such to be lying around. But the sight that met my eyes when we passed by the lounge was more than a few vases. It appeared that Jeremy hadn’t shopped for the odd item—he’d practically bought the whole store! I paused and stared.
The low-ceilinged room with oak beams was stuffed to the brim. Grandfather clocks, tables holding crockery and china, cabinets jammed with glassware, boxes of knick-knacks, framed paintings propped on chairs, and books (so many books) stacked everywhere. You couldn’t see the floor. Well, you could see a small corner of a Turkish rug, but that was it.
Jeremy abruptly pulled the door shut, and I felt relieved the mess was hidden. ‘As I said, I’m still sorting things out. Kitchen is this way.’ He sounded a bit embarrassed.
‘Oh, right.’
I followed him down a narrow hallway with blue-flowered wallpaper to the back of the house. The kitchen must be the tidy sanctuary where he hangs out, I thought. But upon reaching the kitchen, I was disconcerted to see that it wasn’t a sanctuary or tidy in the slightest. There was a leaning tower of dirty plates in the sink, open pizza boxes on the table, various electronics, stuff all over the bench, and a general feeling of fusty grime.
Jeremy swept the pizza boxes off the table and dumped them by the overflowing bin. He gestured for me to sit down while he switched on the kettle. I picked my way across the sticky floor, avoiding a brown sauce-like stain that had been oozing its way across but had since dried and hardened.
‘Tea?’ Jeremy asked.
I nodded mutely.
‘White?’ He opened the fridge to get out the milk, and a distinct smell of rotting vegetables hit my nostrils.
‘Black is fine, thanks,’ I said faintly, trying not to breathe in the fumes.
Feeling a bit shocked, I looked around as it slowly sunk in. Jeremy actually lived like this. Should I say something? Or ignore the white elephant in the room? Part of me was a bit annoyed that he’d invited me round when his house was so untidy. Even if he hated housework, surely, he could’ve made an effort? I wasn’t a clean freak by any means (OK, I was a little bit of a clean freak). But if he’d been coming to mine, I would’ve at least done the dishes and put out the rubbish. Even Thomas’s flat was better than this, and his loo was passably clean for a guy.
But what could I say? This was the man I cared about; and if you loved someone, weren’t you meant to accept them, warts and all?
Jeremy bustled around at the sink, sourcing mugs and cleaning them out. How could he look so groomed and exist in utter shambles? He was a walking dichotomy.
Bringing over our mugs of hot tea, he sat down opposite. I tentatively took a small sip. I was reluctant to drink too much in case I needed the loo. Something told me Jeremy’s toilet might not be that hygienic.
I tried to be diplomatic and kind.
‘How has it been living here since you separated from your wife?’ I asked.
‘A bit up and down, to tell you the truth.’ He scratched his forehead. ‘I found it really tough at first.’
