Page 52 of The House Swap

Was this the answer to one of her mysteries?

‘That might explain some things,’ she said, mostly to herself.

Martin spared her another glance but didn’t ask her to elaborate. Instead, he gave her a terse nod, heading to the wall panel near the kitchen. He crouched down and opened it with his tools.

Poppy closed the door and followed, wondering if she should offer him a drink. She had done so yesterday, but he had turned her down. Still, it felt rude not to offer again.

‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked.

He didn’t even look up this time, focused on the fuse box with its timer controls and neatly arranged wires.

At first, she thought he hadn’t even heard her, but then he muttered, ‘I’m good.’

She watched him work in silence for a minute. Strong, slightly roughened hands, with another white scar across one knuckle. Was it connected to the one on his face? Perhaps some kind of accident? His fingers moved deftly as they removed components.

As if sensing she was behind him, he asked, ‘You all right?’

The way he asked it prickled a little.

Trying not to take offence, she went over to the table and unplugged her laptop.

Twenty per cent charge. It was enough.

‘Give me a shout if you need anything,’ she told him.

He made a barely audible grunt in response.

Poppy didn’t fancy going outside. The wind was rattling against the open patio doors and billowing the curtains. Instead, she took her phone and laptop, heading down the hallway to her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Although she pushed the door to for privacy, she left it open a crack so she could hear him.

She had never been good at having tradespeople in her space, finding it difficult to concentrate. And it was no different now.

The laptop was back down to 5 per cent by the time he had finished, and Poppy jumped, hearing a knock on the bedroom door, before it swung open.

She hadn’t heard his approach and quickly got off the bed.

‘Should be fine now,’ he told her, already turning to head back into the living area.

She followed after him.

‘That’s good. So the broken timer was making lights come on randomly then?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s fixed now?’

‘It’s meant to be.’ He bent to pick up his toolbox. ‘If the lights come on unexpectedly, tell me.’

‘Actually, they already did.’

Her mouth was dry. She hadn’t planned on talking to him about what had been happening, but the words escaped anyway.

‘It’s all little stuff,’ she said, after telling him about the broken wine bottle and the other things she had noticed.

He was watching her carefully, the expression on his face composed, though she suspected he thought she was paranoid.

Perhaps she was.