“See, you’re being crazy again!” But not incorrect, Paige thought, noticing Rufus’ lack of defence in this case. She headed to the bedroom and began to mindlessly pack clothes and toiletries. “Oh, come on!” He was getting angry now. “Where are you going to go?”
“To my mum, in Oxford.”
“Oxford...” Rufus rubbed his forehead. Paige grabbed her pyjamas from under her pillow and her asthma inhaler from the bedside table and zipped up her suitcase, heading for the door.
“Don’t call me. I will be back for my stuff at some point,” Paige picked up her bag, keys and phone from where she had thrown them by the door and without a look back, left the flat.
CHAPTER TWO
MAY WAS FADING INTO June. The weather greeted Paige like a warm hug as she stepped off the train at Oxford station. The summer air hit her with a nostalgic wave as she pulled her suitcase from the air-conditioned carriage, remembering summer holidays spent with her grandmother here. Although Cardiff was her birthplace, returning to Oxford felt like a homecoming. She could hear her grandmother’s voice in every stranger’s accent and smell her cooking on the hot breeze.
“Honey!” Her mother jogged down the platform to take her in her arms, “I’m so glad you’re here, even if it isn’t for very happy reasons.”
“Thanks Mum,” Paige gripped her tightly before releasing her to take up her bag again, playfully batting away her mother’s hands as she tried to grab something to carry. “I’ve got them Mum, don’t worry.”
They walked together to the car, where Tom, her mother’s new husband, was waiting.
“Afternoon, P,” Tom bobbed his head as she approached the car window.
It was a short drive back to their house, but Paige took in the sites, smiling as she remembered a café or shop as they passed them.
Her mum made dinner – shepherd’s pie, Grandma Cole’s family recipe.
“Now, love, I know you’ve only just arrived, but I have to ask – what is the plan here?” Her mum gently asked.
“What do you mean, Mum?” Paige said, putting down her fork. She had been expecting this line of questioning, but perhaps not so soon.
“Well, you’ve been drifting from job to job in Cardiff since... well, for the past few years-”
“Since Dad died, you can say that, Mum, it’s okay. I haven’t held down a job since Dad died.”
“Well, yes,” Her Mum looked at Tom, sheepishly hoping for some help. Tom was too busy shovelling shepherd’s pie into his mouth by the overloaded forkful. “You’ve been unemployed for a few weeks now, since the... what was it? Garden centre?”
“Yes,” Paige groaned inwardly, but kept her cool against her rising frustration.
“Your mum is just worried, P,” Tom said, finally chipping in.
Her Mum nodded, adding, “Are you going to get a job while you’re here?”
“I don’t know,” Paige admitted, taking up her fork again and pushing a rogue pea from one end of the plate to the other.
“Well, how long are you going to be staying with us?” Her Mum pushed again, offering the gravy jug to Tom who began to drown his dinner.
“Just until I can get back on my feet,” Paige muttered.
“A job would be a good idea,” Tom said, passing the gravy jug to Paige, who shook her head. She was losing her appetite just watching him.
“You’re so bright, Paige,” her Mum added, “You have a degree in English, you’ll never be fully happy in a Tesco or fetching shopping for whatever-her-name-was.”
“Hillary.”
“Yes, Hillary, she was awful.”
“That’s what personal assistants do.”
“You weren’t happy,” the weight of her mum’s worry was starting to grate on her now, and Paige started to regret coming home, “Tom knows this retired professor. Hugh something-”
“Eckland.” Tom piped up, in between mouthfuls of gravy-soaked bread and butter. “I snaked his drain last week.”
Paige grimaced at the unnecessary detail and Tom chuckled.
“Yes, Hugh Eckland. He’s a writer, an academic. He’s looking for someone young and clever to go through his work and make sense of it – a research assistant. It would be a temporary position, I think. Perfect if you want to go back to Cardiff in a few months.”
Paige’s face lightened. “Actually, that sounds perfect.”
“He’s a lovely man,” Tom added. “He tips well.”
“Just go and see him, love,” her mum added, “No harm in meeting the man. He lives in a terrace on Mill Street, right near the station. You could borrow Tom’s bike.”
“I have his number somewhere, give him a call and let him know you’re coming.” Tom said.
CHAPTER THREE
IN THE FIVE YEARS SINCE graduating from her degree, Paige had worked for and with some very strange characters, not least Hillary August, infamous in her mum’s mind for the time she made Paige buy her fourteen bottles of Prosecco for her dinner party, knowing that Paige would have to lug them back on the bus.
But none of them, not even Hillary August, had adequately prepared her for the awkward eccentricity with which Hugh Eckland conducted himself.
“Ahoy?” His prim Scottish accent only added to the hilarity of his introduction.
“Hello?” Paige queried. Who the fuck says “Ahoy”? she thought, unsure of what to say next, “I am calling for Professor Eckland?”
“Professor H. Eckland or Professor A. Eckland?” He demanded.
“Er...”
“If you are not sure who you called for, I suggest you hang up.”
“Hugh Eckland,” Paige blurted, regretting the call by the second.
“Speaking,” He trilled.
“My step-father, Tom Delford, told me that you are seeking a research assistant.”
“Ah, Tom, a fine man, my windows have never sparkled so brightly as since his visit.”
Does he even know who Tom is? Paige thought. It didn’t seem to matter to Eckland, who was already engaged in his own ideas about the interaction.
“He is correct about the job. I must have mentioned it to him. Should I presume that you are enquiring for yourself?” Eckland asked, a hint of frustration in his
