Fandango in the Apse! (17 page)

I decided to wait until they were gone to start decorating the bedrooms –
the only rooms that didn’t need re-plastering, and I kept to my word about
letting them choose the wallpaper and carpet.  In the end, it was a compromise
between all three of us. Each had their own favourite football team colours on
their beds and I would paint all the walls in a pale blue. I’d had the plans
for the extension drawn up and submitted to the planning office for approval as
soon as I knew the house was mine. When I passed the papers to the clerk, it
was with the with the fervent hope they didn’t employ anyone with my mother’s
work ethic.  I needed an upstairs bathroom and a new kitchen.

In deference to his age, I agreed to meet Arthur at the services on the
M5 near Birmingham, to swap over the children.  I assure you, this offer had
nothing to do with me being embarrassed to let them see where we were living. 
I don’t want you thinking I’m a snob or anything, but you have to admit my
change in circumstances was spectacular and OK, a tad embarrassing – there, I
admitted it!  Arthur was quiet when we met up.   He refused my offer of a
coffee in the café, saying he wanted to be on his way as quickly as possible to
avoid the holiday traffic.  Poor Arthur, it looked as if he would never get
over his son being, in his words, a poof!

Alone in the house that night, I will admit, I had a few misgivings.  Had
I done my usual trick of jumping in with both feet, before thinking the whole
thing through? Of course I had, and then, the first time I’d had a chance to catch
my breath since the move, I was daunted by the task in front of me.  It was one
thing reassuring the boys everything would be OK; believing it myself was
something else entirely.  There I was, someone who had never picked up a
paintbrush in her life, with a whole house to renovate, I must have taken leave
of my senses after all.  I was scared.

I awoke the next morning to glorious sunshine and the sound of birds
chirping in the new day.  I lay awhile and listened.  The country was a good
place to live, I decided impulsively, as I flipped back the covers and prepared
to meet my challenges.  It’s amazing how sunshine has a way of making everything
seem possible, don’t you think?  I had gone to bed doubting my abilities and
woken with renewed hope. 

I would look on the bright side, I was a thirty-two-year-old woman, and
if you didn’t count Eddie’s maintenance payments, completely independent of
anyone.  I had a house to renovate, but was in the favourable position of
having the money to do it.  The boys liked their new schools and I had good
friends in Alison and Mark. What more could anyone want?  I asked myself as I
headed for the kitchen for a cup of tea. The fact that I didn’t answer myself,
was another matter altogether.

            First things first, I needed to make a list of everything I
had to do.  It was no good sitting back and hoping things would take care of
themselves, I reminded myself while I waited for the kettle to boil.  I was
buzzing a short while later after I’d hunted out a pen and notepad, and cup of
tea in hand went back to bed; it felt good to be doing something positive. 
Propped up on pillows I set to with the list.  

First priority was to get quotes for the kitchen extension and
plastering.  Then the windows and exterior, maybe the one person could do the
lot?  Then the wiring and plumbing – no, they needed doing before the
plastering. 

‘See, you’re getting the hang of it,’ I’d said aloud, in order to boost
the dent in my newfound confidence the list was producing.

            Am I sounding a bit of a wimp to you?  Probably, but in my
defence you have to understand I had never done anything like this before. That’s
the whole point of having a man around, isn’t it?  They may be a pain in the
arse, but they do have their uses.

            I was halfway through stripping the four or five layers of wallpaper
inch by inch in the boys’ room and getting more frustrated by the minute when
Alison phoned.  I didn’t take much persuasion to drop everything and after a
quick change, I was on my way to her house.  The six-mile drive to Retford, the
small town where she lived, lifted my spirits.  I drove down the country lanes
with the windows down, singing my head off to
Bat out of Hell
blaring
from the stereo.  Sometimes life was good.

            ‘If it’s that bad, why don’t you get someone in to do it?’
Alison asked, after listening to me complaining about the wallpaper stripping.

            ‘Mmm…I sort of wanted to do it myself, it’s become a battle
of wills now between the walls and me.’ I grinned.

            ‘Best of luck with that then,’ Alison said.

            We were drinking ice-cold fresh orange juice on the patio. 
Her garden was a mixture of Cottage Garden and Victorian refinement and a riot
of colour even though it was still early July.  Completely different from my garden
back in Exeter, which Eddie had teased and pruned into submission to the point
where I was sure the shrubs trembled with fright when they dared to drop leaves
in autumn.  My garden, I decided, would be similar to this one. 

            ‘Don’t suppose you’ve had time to miss the boys yet?’ said
Alison a moment or two later.

            ‘No, not yet, I’m enjoying the quiet.  It’s amazing how much
background noise kids make even when they’re not fighting.  I’ve had to keep
the radio on all morning for company.’

            ‘You’re missing them.’ She laughed. ‘Look, why don’t you come
out with Mark and me at the weekend.  You never know, you might meet someone
nice?’

            ‘A man?  You’re joking, I wouldn’t touch another man this
side of the millennium.  Jesus, Alison, I can’t believe you suggested that.’

            ‘So, you’re going to be a nun now, is that it?’ She laughed. 
‘I’ll believe
that
when I see it!’

            I left Alison’s armed with a jar of her mother’s recipe, homemade
pea and ham soup and the telephone numbers of a couple of plumbers,
electricians and a builder.  The latter was a school friend of Mark’s and had
done work for them in the past.

            Within a few days, I had quotes from the electricians and
plumbers, but I hadn’t managed to track down the builder.  It was annoying, and
quite discouraging.  How did the man expect to get work if he never answered
his damned phone?  If Alison hadn’t recommended him, I’d have been tempted to
look elsewhere.  After trying all day in between painting the woodwork in the
boys’ newly stripped room, I fished out his business card once more and looked
at the address.  He lived in Beckingham, which I felt sure wasn’t too far away
from Gringley-on-the-Hill.   It was seven o’clock, there was a chance I might
find him in if I called and if not, at least I could leave my number for him to
call me.

My mind made up and ignoring my paint-covered shirt and jeans, I set
off.  Beckingham turned out to be only fifteen minutes down the road, but in a direction
I hadn’t yet been.  The village was even smaller than Gringley, and helped by a
van parked in a drive with
R. Collins, Builder,
painted on the side, I
located the house in minutes. 

I parked on the side of the road and looked toward the less than neat
exterior of the bungalow.  Not a good advertisement, I thought, as I headed for
the door.  On my second knock, I heard a faint “come in” from someone inside. 
Hmm…what to do?  Was he expecting someone else, would he be upset if I just
waltzed in?  Oh, sod it!  I turned the handle and tentatively walked in.

‘Hello?’

Nothing.  I tried again louder.

‘Hello, I’m looking for Mr Collins.’  Nothing again.  This was
ridiculous.

I stepped further into the hall; I could hear sloshing sounds coming from
the back of the house and tried once more.

‘Hello, is anyone there?’

A disembodied voice shouted back. ‘I said come in. I’m in the kitchen.’

This was followed by a grumble, which I couldn’t quite hear. It wasn’t
promising and I stood for a moment wondering if I should leave.  Working with a
grouchy builder wasn’t on the top of my to-do list. 

‘I said, I’m in the damned kitchen!’

How rude was he? I ploughed my way through work boots and rucksacks to
the back of the house, intending to tell him exactly what I thought of his
manners.  I barely took notice of the rest of the house, aiming straight down
the hall to where the noises were coming from.  I rounded a door to my right,
and ladies, I have to tell you, the sight that greeted me was mesmerising. 

The man I assumed to be R. Collins, Builder, was wearing nothing but a
pair of cut-off jeans.  He was scooping water from a fish tank on the floor and
the play of muscles on his torso as he emptied the bucket into the sink was a
remarkable sight. God, he was fit.

            ‘Oh!’ was all I could manage to say.   All thoughts of
pulling him up about his rudeness vanished in the face of his unexpected
semi-nakedness.  

            His “Oh!” in reply, signalled that he had obviously been
expecting someone else.

            He recovered quickly and gave me the benefit of an
outrageously gorgeous white -toothed grin.  I was immediately aware of my
paint-stained clothes and untidy hair. This man had an easy charm and wasn’t
afraid to use it. 

            ‘Sorry, I thought you were Jake with my pizza.’

            ‘You know the delivery person by name?’

            ‘Yep, and the Indian and Chinese.’ He grinned again. 
‘Cooking’s not my thing.’ 

            I looked at the various buckets containing tropical fish,
littering the floor. ‘You’re cleaning your fish tank.’  Duh!  Just state the
obvious, Katie, why don’t you.

            ‘Nah.  I’m playing cricket,’ he quipped.

            OK, I deserved that.

            ‘Sorry, stupid question.’

            ‘Um…not that I’m adverse to a good-looking woman in my kitchen,
but, who are you?’  Oh yes, he certainly had charm.

            ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ I took a few steps into the room and held
out my hand. ‘I’m Katie Roberts; I’ve been trying to phone you for days.’

            He wiped his hand down the leg of his shorts, but it was
still damp when he took my hand, I only just resisted wiping it down my own
jeans.  Behave, Katie.

            ‘Pleased to meet you, Katie Roberts.  How can I help you?’

            Defuse the high voltage smile and put a shirt on would do for
a start, I thought.  Men like him made women behave badly.  As if he’d read my
mind he walked over to the table and reached for a shirt hanging over the back
of a chair.

            ‘A friend of mine, Alison Meadows, gave me your card; I need
some work doing on my house.’

            A knock on the door announcing what I presumed to be the
pizza, had him stepping past me.

            ‘Mark’s wife?  Right, no problem…’ drifted back from the hall
as he went to open the door.

            I took myself in hand while he was out of the room.  You are
off men for good, I reminded myself, so stop drooling over this one.  After
everything that happened with Eddie, I was annoyed a great body could still
impress me.  I know old habits are hard to break, but jeez, I’d hoped to be
more discerning by now. 

The spicy aroma of pepperoni wafted ahead of him as he returned and my
stomach protested its hunger.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he said pointing to the box. ‘I haven’t eaten
all day.’

‘No, you go ahead. Look, I’ll leave you to it, I’m sorry I turned up
unannounced.  I’ll leave my number; perhaps you could call me at a more
convenient time?’

‘Now is fine by me, if you don’t mind.’

He headed for the fridge and withdrew two cans of Coke, and placing both
on the table, he indicated for me to take the seat opposite to him.  OK, this
was difficult.  Did I want to sit and watch this hunk wade through a
twelve-inch pizza, or go home to beans on toast?  No contest, I took the seat
and the can.  He opened the box and took a slice with obvious relish.

‘Help yourself,’ he offered, sliding the box towards me.

‘Oh, no, thanks, I’ve already eaten,’ I lied. 

There was no way I was going to sit eating pizza with a virtual stranger,
especially one who looked like that one.

Are you thinking, despite my protests, he was next on my list for a
shag-fest?  Well, at the risk of disappointing you, I’m afraid the answer is
no.  However, it didn’t do any harm to window shop and right then, R. Collins,
Builder, was the best toy in the window. 

During his meal, I found out the R stood for Robbie and the reason I
couldn’t get hold of him was he’d had to rush to Cornwall a fortnight before
when his father had suffered a heart attack. He had only returned once he knew
his father was on the mend.

‘It was touch and go for a while, the old boy is in his seventies, but
he’s a fighter,’ he said with obvious pride.

He finished chewing and pushed the box away.  There was a moment’s
silence where he sat looking at me.  I turned away, willing myself not to
blush; it was such a ridiculous thing to do at my age.  He smiled one of those
secret smiles people do when they know exactly what you’re thinking.

‘So, Katie Roberts, what is this work you want doing?’

            I was on safer ground as I explained. 

            ‘You bought old Walter’s house, down Beck Lane?’

            His surprise worried me.  Was he about to tell me something
I’d rather not know?

            ‘Yes, why?’

            ‘Oh, no reason.  I had an idea to buy it myself after Walter
died, but I’d just bought this place.’ He shrugged.

            I willed my eyes to stay focused on him, but I couldn’t help
my gaze straying around the shabby kitchen; it didn’t say a lot for his
abilities as a builder if it was still in this state after three years.  I
snapped my head back in his direction, but it was too late, he’d seen me.