That Gallagher Girl. Kate Thompson
backwards, Finn let out a yell, and this time she did laugh. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demanded.
‘I told you. It’s Cat. Cat Gallagher. Remember me? We met at The O’Hara Affair wrap party. Won’t you please let me come in? I’m awful cold.’
‘What are you doing out there?’
Moving right up against the plate glass, Cat pressed her face against it. ‘Let me in, and I’ll tell you,’ she said.
Finn gave her a wary look, hesitated, then tugged at the handle. ‘I can’t open it. It’s locked. Come round the front, and I’ll let you in there.’
‘No. I can find my own way. Give me a moment.’
Pressing ‘End Call’, Cat danced away from the window, and back up the balcony steps. In the bedroom, she grabbed her sleeping bag, unzipped it, and wrapped it around herself, shawl-fashion. Then she pattered down the staircase, through the massive entrance hall and into the sitting room. Finn had moved into the centre of the floor, and was standing lobbing his phone from hand to hand, looking rattled.
‘How did you manage that?’
Cat gave him a Giaconda smile. ‘I flew in through my bedroom window.’
‘Sorry . . . your bedroom window?’
‘Yes. I’m squatting here.’
‘You . . . but this is my dad’s house!’
‘Maybe. But it’s been lying empty for far too long, and it suits me perfectly.’
‘Is that right? Well, good for you, Catgirl, but your time as house sitter’s up. You can get lost now.’
‘Finn! Don’t be so heartless. You should be glad that it’s me and not some skanky gang of vagrants that’s been living here.’ She pulled her sleeping bag tighter around herself and gave him a look of appraisal. ‘So. Your dad must be the Mystery Buyer?’
‘What?’
‘Word in the village is that this place has been bought by a Mystery Buyer.’
‘A Mystery Buyer?’
‘Yes.’
Finn laughed. ‘That’s a bit cloak and dagger, ain’t it? There’s no mystery about it, really. Dad just wanted to keep it quiet.’
‘Why?’
‘Ever heard of press intrusion? My dad likes to keep his private life exactly that – private. And anyway, what are you doing sticking your nose in? It’s none of your damn business.’
Cat shrugged. ‘Well, it kinda is my business, since I’ve laid claim to the joint.’
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ scoffed Finn. ‘You can’t lay claim to a house just because you’ve been living in it.’
‘All property is theft, squatters have rights, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.’
‘That’s crap. Now go away. I’ve just flown in from LA and I’m jetlagged and not in the mood for Marxist trivia.’
Cat gave him an aggrieved look. ‘You should be grateful to me for taking care of the joint. It badly needed TLC.’
‘And what kind of TLC have you been giving it?’
‘Um . . . I’ve sprayed it with Febreze. Smell!’
Finn sniffed the air tentatively, and Cat laughed. ‘It’s roses. Wild roses.’
‘Febreze wild roses?’
‘No. Real roses. I brought masses of them in – they’re growing like crazy in the garden. You really think I’m the kind of gal who’d go around polluting the atmosphere with air freshener?’
‘I don’t know what you’re capable of. I hardly know you.’
She slanted him a smile. ‘But I intrigue you, don’t I?’
‘It would be hard not to be intrigued by a girl who arrives out of the blue in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a sarong and a sleeping bag.’ Finn started lobbing his phone from hand to hand again. ‘You could be like something out of Wallander. For all I know you’re planning to slit my throat. That Swiss Army knife I saw in the kitchen is yours, isn’t it? Not some nefarious accomplice’s?’
‘Yes, it’s mine.’ Cat looked towards the door. ‘Can I have something to eat? I saw your boxes in the hall, all piled with grub.’
There was a beat, then Finn gave a nod of assent. ‘Sure,’ he said.
‘Thanks. I’m starving. The kitchen’s this way.’
‘I know where the kitchen is. I’ve been here before. How long have you been living here?’
‘A week,’ she threw back at him. ‘You’re very welcome to my abode. It beats the hell out of the last joint I broke into. That was a tip. This is like the Ritz Carlton in comparison.’
Following her through into the hall, Finn paused to pick up one of the boxes, then moved into the kitchen where more candles were burning. ‘How have you managed without electricity?’
‘I have a Primus.’
‘What about water?’
‘I’m a hardy creature. As long as I’m connected to a supply, it doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold.’
‘You wouldn’t be so complacent if it was winter,’ he remarked, setting the box on a countertop.
Cat shrugged. ‘I managed to get through last winter on a houseboat.’
‘No shit.’ Finn gave her an admiring look.
‘It was no big deal,’ she told him, carelessly.
‘So you really are a vagabond?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool!’
Cat’s nonchalance was entirely affected. Privately, she rather liked the idea of Finn thinking she was a vagabond. There was something boho and romantic about it. He didn’t need to know that the houseboat had all mod cons, and that the only reason she was living rough now was because her next house-sitting gig had fallen through. He didn’t need to know that she was, in effect, a Trustafarian, living on an allowance from her daddy. Well, waiting for an allowance from her daddy. Until that came through, she guessed she really was a vagabond.
Humming a little tune, she set about ransacking the box of groceries. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got here. Bread, cheese, salami, tomatoes. Wine! Excellent. A very acceptable Bordeaux. You have good taste.’
‘You know about wine?’
‘I’m spoofing,’ she lied. He didn’t need to know that she knew the difference between Bordeaux and Burgundy. He didn’t need to know anything about her. She could be an enigma! An enigmatic vagabond. She liked the idea of that. Passing him her Swiss Army knife, she watched as he started to uncork the bottle. ‘Tell me about you. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to kick this house into shape.’
‘That’ll take some doing. Bits of it are falling down. What made your dad buy a crumbling mansion like this?’
‘He can afford it. What made you decide to break in?’
‘I was looking for somewhere to live –’ Cat broke off a hunk of bread and helped herself to salami ‘– and I found out about this place from the barman in O’Toole’s. Barmen are the most clued-in blokes in the world. They know everything there is to know about everything.’
Finn leaned up against the counter and gave her a look of assessment. ‘So what did you find out?’
‘I