troubled her, but before she could put her finger on it,
another wave of guilt had started to works its way into her body, curdling the
hot anger marching through her veins.
Why
had she flipped out at Rich? She wondered again.
She
seemed incapable of being her usual cool self around him. He had nothing to do
with The Daily’s story and could hardly be blamed for Phillip spewing
his pathetic lies to the trashy tabloid. She would have to apologise, Jules
thought with a sigh of resignation. But for now she had her house to herself
for the first time since arriving in Cottinghale and an unending supply of hot
energy to expend.
Despite
her dark mood, Jules felt her spirits lift as her eyes scanned the progress
they’d made. In the four days since she’d woken up with Max’s tongue slobbering
in her ear, the old living room ceiling had been torn down, and just as Terri
had promised, her brother had plastered the lot, hiding any trace of the hole
that had been there only last week.
Even
the majority of the dust had gone, thanks to Dan and Jason’s endless sweeping.
Tomorrow
she would pack up her belongings from the guesthouse and finally get the peace
she’d longed for since the first time she’d set foot in the house. Even with
the beautiful landscape stretching around it, Cottinghale had taken on a
suffocating feel. She seemed incapable of taking two steps out of Mrs
Beckwith’s front door without someone stopping for a friendly chat.
With
Terri’s help also coming to an end, she could finally be alone again.
The
feeling of relief did not last long. Jules soon found her mind jumping back to
Philips story about her. She didn’t know why Philip would do it, or how Guy had
arranged it, but she knew Guy was behind it somehow. There was no level that he
wouldn’t stoop to in order to boost his career, she thought as the anger and
frustration wound its way around her body in a tight grip.
It
hardly seemed real. The millions of people that would be reading about her, not
to mention staring at her picture as if she was just as famous as Guy; and yet
every time she allowed herself to relax, to believe the newspaper had moved on,
another story appeared.
For
the first time since it had began, Jules allowed herself to wonder if another
story would follow. A sliver of fear embedded itself under the surface of her
thoughts like a splinter. Jules pushed it away, shifting her focus back to the house.
Scanning
the empty rooms, she searched for something that would release the hot energy
bouncing through her. If only she had a spare wall to knock down, she thought.
Then
her gaze fell onto the dirty grey carpet that covered the hallway and the stairs.
She’d never taken up a carpet before, but how hard could it be? Jules wondered,
eyeing the disgusting threadbare wool, which she suspected was the cause of the
lingering stale smell that flooded her nostrils whenever she entered the house.
Springing
into action, Jules jumped up the creaking stairs and dived into the bathroom.
In less than a minute, she had swapped her jeans for the loose freedom of her
overalls and was back in the living room, a Stanley knife in hand.
Gripping
the knife in her clenched fist, she drove the blade into the carpet, dragging
it the entire length of the room. She wanted to picture Guy’s face, or even The
Daily’s bright blue logo underneath the sharp gleam of the blade, but she had
to stay in control or she risked damaging the floor underneath. Although
knowing her luck in the house so far, the floorboards would be rotten.
Suddenly,
as she worked her fingers between the slit she’d made, Jules heard something from
upstairs. She held her breath, listening to the sound of floorboards moving
above her, her anger momentarily forgotten.
‘Hello,’
she called out. ‘Terri? Is that you?’
A
slow breath eased out from her lungs as silence filled the house. Old houses
always made strange noises. She berated her foolishness and turned
another wave of guilt had started to works its way into her body, curdling the
hot anger marching through her veins.
Why
had she flipped out at Rich? She wondered again.
She
seemed incapable of being her usual cool self around him. He had nothing to do
with The Daily’s story and could hardly be blamed for Phillip spewing
his pathetic lies to the trashy tabloid. She would have to apologise, Jules
thought with a sigh of resignation. But for now she had her house to herself
for the first time since arriving in Cottinghale and an unending supply of hot
energy to expend.
Despite
her dark mood, Jules felt her spirits lift as her eyes scanned the progress
they’d made. In the four days since she’d woken up with Max’s tongue slobbering
in her ear, the old living room ceiling had been torn down, and just as Terri
had promised, her brother had plastered the lot, hiding any trace of the hole
that had been there only last week.
Even
the majority of the dust had gone, thanks to Dan and Jason’s endless sweeping.
Tomorrow
she would pack up her belongings from the guesthouse and finally get the peace
she’d longed for since the first time she’d set foot in the house. Even with
the beautiful landscape stretching around it, Cottinghale had taken on a
suffocating feel. She seemed incapable of taking two steps out of Mrs
Beckwith’s front door without someone stopping for a friendly chat.
With
Terri’s help also coming to an end, she could finally be alone again.
The
feeling of relief did not last long. Jules soon found her mind jumping back to
Philips story about her. She didn’t know why Philip would do it, or how Guy had
arranged it, but she knew Guy was behind it somehow. There was no level that he
wouldn’t stoop to in order to boost his career, she thought as the anger and
frustration wound its way around her body in a tight grip.
It
hardly seemed real. The millions of people that would be reading about her, not
to mention staring at her picture as if she was just as famous as Guy; and yet
every time she allowed herself to relax, to believe the newspaper had moved on,
another story appeared.
For
the first time since it had began, Jules allowed herself to wonder if another
story would follow. A sliver of fear embedded itself under the surface of her
thoughts like a splinter. Jules pushed it away, shifting her focus back to the house.
Scanning
the empty rooms, she searched for something that would release the hot energy
bouncing through her. If only she had a spare wall to knock down, she thought.
Then
her gaze fell onto the dirty grey carpet that covered the hallway and the stairs.
She’d never taken up a carpet before, but how hard could it be? Jules wondered,
eyeing the disgusting threadbare wool, which she suspected was the cause of the
lingering stale smell that flooded her nostrils whenever she entered the house.
Springing
into action, Jules jumped up the creaking stairs and dived into the bathroom.
In less than a minute, she had swapped her jeans for the loose freedom of her
overalls and was back in the living room, a Stanley knife in hand.
Gripping
the knife in her clenched fist, she drove the blade into the carpet, dragging
it the entire length of the room. She wanted to picture Guy’s face, or even The
Daily’s bright blue logo underneath the sharp gleam of the blade, but she had
to stay in control or she risked damaging the floor underneath. Although
knowing her luck in the house so far, the floorboards would be rotten.
Suddenly,
as she worked her fingers between the slit she’d made, Jules heard something from
upstairs. She held her breath, listening to the sound of floorboards moving
above her, her anger momentarily forgotten.
‘Hello,’
she called out. ‘Terri? Is that you?’
A
slow breath eased out from her lungs as silence filled the house. Old houses
always made strange noises. She berated her foolishness and turned
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