Janine walks down the hallway, Henry suddenly appearing behind her, yapping ferociously. She bats the dog away and opens the door. A young woman in a black T-shirt and jeans comes in and follows her to the lounge in silence. As she unpacks her bag, I see it it’s the manicurist, come to fill up an hour of Janine’s day.
Pete and I chat while she has her nails done, mocking the decor in the sitting room and exchanging opinions on what was the worst thing there. I plump for the small neon sign on the wall which says ‘Love’ in italics, a knock-off of a Tracey Emin design from a few years ago and the only concession to modernity in the space. Come to think of it, it might well have been an Emin. Doesn’t make it any less hideous. Pete is adamant that the glass coffee table is the winner, telling me to zoom in on the legs, which show tiny cherubs working hard to hold up the load. I order another coffee, and we wait and watch, two strangers breaking into a house without having to move a muscle.
Eventually, the manicurist finishes her job and leaves, but not before Henry lunges at her, knocking over a bottle of red varnish which leaves a few drops of polish on the woman’s top. Janine scolds the girl for flinching when Henry jumped up, and tells her not to come again if she’s scared of dogs. ‘You really should be more professional, that could’ve gone on the rug,’ she says as she leads the girl out.
As she shuts the door on the chastened manicurist, Janine lets out a sigh and heads for the bathroom. She begins to run the bath, and carefully pins up her hair in the mirror.
Can you turn on the sauna now, without alerting her with lights?
I message Pete. I switch back to the camera. Janine is applying a gloopy cream to her face.
Done and done, Pete replies.
Good. When she’s finished in the bath, make the lights go on in the sauna – she should go in to turn them off and then we’ll shut the door.He messages straight back with a thumbs up.
I decide not to watch Janine take her bath, feeling as though she’s allowed a little privacy in her last moments. But Pete has no such qualms, narrating her ablutions and laughing at the way she sings Celine Dion songs as she lies back and soaks. Some people love to linger in baths, calling it self-care and pretending it’s got nothing to do with wanting to escape your family for a precious hour or so. Janine is one of them, despite having nobody to escape, unless you count the arsehole of a dog. She spends nearly an hour in the tub, topping up the hot water and adding various oils. While I wait, I find I’m becoming jittery from the coffee so I order a glass of rosé to offset the caffeine.
Eventually, Pete alerts me that she’s getting out of the bath, and he makes a crude joke about her breasts which nearly makes me shoot back a choice comment about his dick pic, but I refrain. Pete makes me want to stick up for Janine, a sign that they both need to get out of my life pronto.
The sauna will be baking hot now. I take a deep breath and tell Pete to turn the lights on. I watch the camera footage, and see the sauna suddenly clear in the frame. Janine hasn’t noticed. She’s wrapped in a towel and is cleaning her face with a cloth over the sink.
Make them flicker, I type. The lights duly turn on and off in rapid succession. Janine stops cleaning and frowns. She walks towards the sauna with a look of annoyance on her face. Be ready to shut the door, Pete, please be ready.
I am, jeez, I’m the king of this place babe, comes the reply.
She walks into the sauna, and I hold my breath and scratch at my neck. The door closes silently behind her. At first, she doesn’t appear to notice. I can see the top of her head as she reaches to turn off the lights, fanning herself as she realises that the heat is on full blast. I watch as she pulls the door, the glass wobbling slightly but not giving way.
LOL, she’s realising she’s stuck, messages Pete, but I ignore him, transfixed by an increasingly panicked Janine, who is now pressing a button repeatedly. That’s the alarm huh, says Pete. I’ve deactivated it obviously. Nobody can hear you scream, lady.
Janine has sat down now, and hidden by an angle I can no longer see her, but she’s banging on the glass, and Henry runs into the bathroom, alerted by the noise. She can hear him, and stands up, her eyes peering over the frosted strip on the door. She tells him to get help, an absurd order which shows me that she’s getting frantic now. Henry looks up at her, his ears pinned back and his little body quivering with excitement. Then he tilts his head, turns around and walks out of the bathroom. I flick images, and see him lie down in his little bed in the hallway and promptly fall asleep. Perhaps Henry is a better judge of character than I’d thought.