Page 42 of Paper Roses

“He should have that inscribed on his forehead,” I say.

Artie starts to laugh, and I follow him into the house, looking around curiously. The new staircase is made of light oak, and it gleams in the sunlight like liquid honey. Artie has lovely taste. I’d thought initially that he’d make the place a period piece, but it’s very far from that. He’s opened the downstairs, the rabbit warren of little rooms replaced by an open-plan design that allows light to stream through the house.

It really is a beautiful place with a very serene atmosphere even in the middle of all the building work. It feels like a home should do.

I follow Artie up the stairs. Halfway up, he stops me with a hand to my chest. I look down at the hand, feeling the heat through my shirt. He’s half an inch away from my nipple and a dart of heat strums through me. I inhale sharply and he jerks and goes to pull his hand away, but I catch it and hold it in place.

“Be nice,” he says.

Another crash sounds, and I groan. “Is there a reason why this is happening to me? If I do past-life regression, will I find out that I was a violent serial killer?”

“It’s highly likely you’d have been a grumpy one and I’d definitely have watched programmes about you.” I huff just to see his smile. “Tyler really looks up to you,” he adds.

“Why? If I were his boss, he would currently be joining the dole queue.”

“Really? Do you remember when Joe and Raff dropped that wedding cake on the new carpet at the office?”

“That is truly an evergreen memory and has probably misplaced something very important. I equally remember Raff’s size tens tracking cake all the way through the office, and the bride’s hysterics that were so loud I could hear her through my noise-cancelling headphones. Bose should have employed her as a tester.”

“And yet you still kept them on?”

I roll my eyes. “Let’s not dwell on that foolish impulse.”

He offers me a wide smile, and I’m fascinated by the little dimple that appears by his mouth. It’s absurdly charming. “I’ll leave you to think about it.”

“Please don’t.”

As we get to the top of the stairs, Tyler appears. Red-faced, he grabs Artie’s hand. “I’ve never seenanythinglike this.”

“Has he found a piece of his common sense?” I mutter very low.

Artie snorts and lets himself be towed along.

We pass two bedrooms that resemble cratered shells, and a bathroom where three men are installing a bath with a lot of cursing. We end up by the closed door of the smallest bedroom.

“Okay,” Tyler says, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t believe it when I found it. It was properly like a film I saw when I was a kid.”

We wait a few seconds and then I say patiently, “What was?”

“The secret room,” he breathes.

Artie and I gape at him.

“A secret room,” I say slowly. “Andyou’vefound it? Ouch!” Artie elbows me.

“Yes,” Tyler says, oblivious as ever to the byplay. “I thought I’d just have a quick go with the lump hammer while Mr Barnes is at the builders’ merchant and there it was.” He puts a finger to his lips. “We’d better be quiet though, Jed, because he might still be here.”

There’s a short silence that I break by saying cautiously, “Who?”

“The man who’s living in the room of course. Or the woman I suppose,” he adds in a spirit of diversity. “You should see it. There’s bloody furniture in there and everything. There’s even a book left out and a fresh cup of tea. Cheeky sod’s been squatting.”

I surreptitiously look around for the hidden cameras because surely someone is pranking me. Artie looks at me dubiously as I edge past Tyler. Keeping Artie behind me, I throw the door open.

“Hey,” Artie says crossly at my protectiveness. I’m not sure what’s going on here, so he can stay safe and lump it until I figure it out. “I am a grownman,” he hisses at my back. “I can deal with anything that comes along.”

I step inside the room and gawp at what I see. The wall in the bedroom is now a mess of rubble, which does say something for Tyler’s prowess with the lump hammer. There’s indeed a room beyond the destroyed wall. Lit by the glow of a lamp is a desk, a cosy armchair, and a wall of bookcases.

“What thefuck?” I breathe.

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