Forgive Me

by Lesley Pearse

‘I think it’s shock,’ she said weakly. Her knees were buckling under her and she thought she might be sick.

  She felt his arm going around her for support. ‘Come with me and I’ll make you some tea. I’m working just here, I came to the door when I heard the commotion.’

  He led her into an empty shop and sat her down on a stool beside some sacks of plaster. ‘Take some deep breaths, and I’ll get you some water and put the kettle on.’

  The wall that ran down the whole length of the shop had just been plastered, and it was still wet and dark brown. But it seemed to be spinning, as if she was drunk.

  ‘Now don’t you pass out on me,’ she heard the man say as he pushed her head down between her knees. She felt him lift her hair from the back of her neck and put a cold, wet cloth on it. She almost asked him not to mess her hair up, but then realized if she could think of her hair she couldn’t be in such a bad way.

  After a few minutes he put his hand under her chin and lifted it to look at her. ‘Try drinking some water now, your colour’s coming back.’

  Eva tried to smile. He had a nice open face with dark brown eyes, and his wide full mouth turned up at the corners as if he was permanently smiling. His gallantry and kindness on top of the shock made her eyes fill up with tears. She didn’t want to cry; she was afraid if she started again she wouldn’t be able to stop. ‘I’ve only been in London two days. Is this what it will be like? Having to be on the alert all the time?’ she asked him.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said soothingly, and with the wet cloth in his hands he wiped her damp eyes. ‘You’ve just been unlucky, that’s all. Where are you living?’

  ‘In Holland Park,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve just about finished here so I’ll run you home,’ he said. ‘But first a cup of tea, and I think I’ve got some chocolate too. That’s good for shock.’

  Eva was trembling with the shock. It was one of those situations she’d heard people talk about, but had never expected would happen to her. Coming on top of all her other troubles, it was all too much; she didn’t think she’d ever felt this helpless and afraid. A small voice was whispering in her head that she couldn’t let a stranger take her home, yet she knew she wasn’t capable of getting there alone.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she said when he came back with a mug of tea and the chocolate.

  ‘There isn’t much that chocolate can’t fix,’ he said, breaking her off a piece. ‘And who wouldn’t help a pretty girl in her hour of need?’

  ‘No one else moved to help me,’ she said. ‘But you’ve done more than enough now. I’ll just get a taxi home.’

  He crouched down on his haunches in front of her and handed her the mug of tea. ‘Sorry, love, but I’m taking you back, whether you like the idea or not. Shock can do funny things to people. Anyway, Holland Park is on my way.’

  She could see by his determined expression that there was no point in refusing, so she just nodded, and despite her good intentions tears spilled over.

  ‘Don’t cry, love,’ he said, patting her shoulder. ‘You’re quite safe now. I promise I’m not a mass murderer.’ He looked at the chocolate still in her hand, and smiled. ‘Now, are you going to eat that chocolate? If not, shall I have it back?’

  There was something about that jocular last remark which reminded her of Ben. He never wanted to share chocolate bars either.

  She put it in her mouth. ‘Too late, it’s gone,’ she said, trying to smile as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said with a wide grin which showed very white even teeth. ‘Now I’m Phillip Marsh, but only ever called Phil – except by my more loutish mates, who like to call me Swampy. What’s yours?’

  ‘Eva Patterson.’

  ‘Well, Eva. You just sit there and drink your tea while I clear up and get my things together.’

  He was whistling ‘Blue Velvet’ as he scraped up fallen lumps of plaster from the floor. Eva observed his movements – they were graceful and fluid like an athlete. When he took off his overalls, revealing jeans and a green T-shirt beneath them, she saw that his body was very taut and muscular. He was nice, really nice, kind, good-looking and capable.

  The clearing-up done, and the tools packed away in a box which he took out to his van parked outside the back of the shop, he came back for her and helped her into the passenger seat.

  ‘Just got to lock up,’ he said, fastening the seat belt around her as if she was a child. ‘You’ll be home in five minutes.’ As he climbed into the driving seat a few moments later, he asked ‘What road?’

  She told him it was Pottery Lane, and he nodded as if he knew where that was.

  ‘I put in new damp courses in three of these houses,’ he said as they turned into Portland Road minutes later. ‘I’m told they go for over a million! You must be paying a very high rent to live here.’

  She didn’t respond to that question, because although she liked him she didn’t want to reveal anything about her situation. ‘Just leave me by the pub,’ she said. ‘My place is only around the corner, and I need to get some milk and light bulbs from the shop before I go in.’

  He pulled into a parking space just by the pub, but then he jumped out and came round to her window. ‘I’m not leaving you anywhere,’ he said very firmly. ‘I’ll go over there and get you milk and light bulbs, but then I’m taking you right to your door. Stay there. How many light bulbs?’

  ‘Three,’ she said. ‘But I can’t let you get them, I’m fine.’

  ‘You aren’t,’ he said sharply. ‘You look very pale and I need to check there is someone there to keep an eye on you.’

  She felt too weak to even attempt to dissuade him, or even admit she was alone. She watched him bound across the road to the shop, and considered getting out of the van and rushing to her front door before he got back.

  But he was too quick – he was back to the van before she’d even thought to open the door.

  She got out her key as they reached her front door. He took it from her and opened the door.

  The darkness at the end of the passage made him turn to her with a puzzled look. ‘You aren’t squatting here, are you?’

  ‘No, it belongs to me, but there’s a lot needs doing to make it habitable.’

  ‘Living here on your own?’

  She nodded sheepishly and went in, hoping he’d go. But he followed her and, as she slumped down on to the stairs, he just stood there looking around. She felt such shame at her clothes spilling out of bin bags, the graffiti on the walls, the boarded-up window and back door. She thought he would make his excuses and leave.

  But he turned back to her, his face wreathed in concern. ‘No one comes to a place like this without good reason. Will you tell me about it?’

  Eva fought against bursting into tears. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light. ‘I know it looks awful, but hey, the electric was put back on this morning, that’s a start.’

  He grimaced. ‘Is it as bad upstairs?’

  ‘I’ve got an inflatable mattress and tea-making things,’ she said. ‘And it’s brighter.’

  ‘In that case, I’m taking you up there. I’ll make you some more tea, and you can lie down and tell me all about it.’

  Eva felt she ought to have alarm bells jangling in her head at this suggestion. But she didn’t, because she was sure he was a genuine nice guy. After all, would anyone but a good person tackle a thief, comfort her and bring her home?

  Upstairs he made her lie down, took her shoes off for her and covered her up with the duvet, then filled the kettle in the bathroom and put it on the gas ring. He sat down on the floor, resting his back against the wall, and then nodded as if he expected her to start spilling the beans.

  Eva explained briefly that her mother had left her this place when she died recently, and described how she’d come on Saturday to clean it up, intending then to get some advice on how to proceed. But then something unexpected had made her
leave Cheltenham on Sunday night.

  ‘Something unexpected?’ He raised one eyebrow.

  ‘I discovered my boyfriend was cheating on me,’ she said bluntly. She saw no point in lying; it only complicated matters. ‘So I packed my bags and rushed off here. Foolhardy, really, but he lived in the same house as me. And I knew if I stayed there it would be a case of having my nose rubbed in it.’

  ‘I think that was brave, not foolhardy.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have said that if you’d seen me stumbling in here in the dark on Sunday night without even a candle or a torch!’ She giggled, suddenly seeing the funny side of it. She was liking Phil more and more, and really hoped he wasn’t married. That seemed so absurd when just a day ago she had believed she’d never get over Tod. ‘But when the electric came on this morning I shook myself out of the doldrums and got my act together. I got my hair done, and I was just going down Kensington Church Street to look for a job when that guy snatched my bag. Talk about one step forward and two steps back. But for you I’d have been locked out of this hovel with not even ten pence to use a pay phone. I think that might have pushed me right over the edge.’

  He looked at her appraisingly for a moment. ‘Things can only be on the up now then. And by the way, your hair looks very nice,’ he said eventually. ‘So let’s have a cup of tea, and then let’s talk about how you can turn this hovel into a home.’

  ‘The main thing is to get the boards taken off the window and door downstairs and the glass replaced,’ she said. ‘And I need to find out where the council dump is – to take sixteen sacks of stinking rubbish. Once that is done, I think I can paint it all myself.’

  He said nothing while he poured the hot water over the tea bags and then squeezed them out. He poured some milk in the tea, then passed her mug to her.

  ‘I don’t do windows. Damp-proofing and plastering is my game,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got mates that could do the window for you. Would you like me to contact them?’

  ‘Have you got any idea what it’s likely to cost?’ she asked cautiously. ‘I haven’t got much money.’

  ‘Not really – like I said, I don’t do windows. But you’ve got no choice but to get the window done, even if you have to borrow the money. Or if you really hate the place, you could sell it.’

  She shrugged. ‘Who would want to buy it?’

  ‘A property developer would bite your hand off to buy it.’

  ‘Really? Maybe that’s what I should do then.’

  ‘Sure, but they’d only give you perhaps two hundred thousand at most. If you got it done up nice, you’d maybe get six for it.’

  ‘Six hundred thousand!’ she exclaimed.

  He laughed at her surprise. ‘You are a little innocent country girl, aren’t you? Well, Eva, one of the first things you ought to do when you feel better is go and look at other properties for sale around here, and see for yourself.’

  ‘I don’t have enough money to do it up really nicely,’ she said glumly. ‘I can probably manage to get the window and back door fixed, and maybe get some cheap second-hand furniture. But that’s about it. Anything else – like a kitchen – will have to wait until I’ve got a job and saved up some more money.’

  ‘Surely you could borrow the money to do it up, using this place as security?’

  He laughed at her surprised expression. ‘You really are an innocent, Eva. The bank would have nothing to lose, lending you the money. And whatever they charge you in interest is going to be a drop in the ocean compared with the extra value you’ll put on the house. Property developers don’t use their own money; they just borrow, do the place up and sell it on. Say you borrowed fifty thousand to do the work – and that much would turn it into a little palace – bingo, you’d have a place worth double or more what it’s worth now.’

  Eva felt this should have occurred to her. After all, she knew Andrew had sold off the land at the back of The Beeches to fund doing it up. But he was a businessman who knew about such things. Phil probably was just as wise if he worked in renovation. She felt she could trust him; she’d met enough low-life men in her time to be fairly certain he wasn’t one. But she was still wary of laying herself wide open to be fleeced by his cowboy friends.

  ‘I’ll think on that,’ she said. ‘Maybe I could go to my bank and discuss it with them.’

  ‘Are you feeling any better now?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, much better, thanks to you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so kind.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, like I said before, who wouldn’t help a pretty girl in distress? Shock is a funny thing, and I don’t think you ought to go out again today. But would you like me to walk around and check everywhere, make a list of stuff that needs doing? You’ll need to be able to present your bank with details if you are going to ask them for help.’

  ‘I can’t expect you to do that after everything else you’ve already done for me,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time already.’

  He got up from the mattress. ‘Eva, I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t spare the time. I’ll go and get a ladder out of my van and check the roof first. You take it easy.’

  He was gone for quite some time, and Eva began to worry that she’d been too trusting. She’d heard of con-men claiming a roof needed fixing when there was nothing wrong. He might have rushed to her aid, but then when he saw where she lived he might have got less honourable ideas about her.

  She heard him coming back into the house and walking around downstairs. Then he came upstairs again and went into the big room first, and finally the bathroom.

  Eva nibbled at her nails and wondered if she should say that, if any work was needed, she’d have to run it by an uncle or someone.

  Phil came back into the little room and grinned down at her. ‘Well, darlin’, good news first. The roof is in good shape, looks like it was redone a few years ago, but the gulleys both back and front need clearing of old leaves and stuff. That’s a ten-minute job.’

  Eva felt cheered by that.

  ‘The house was rewired just three years ago – there’s an electrician’s card tucked in by the meter with the date he did it – so that’s seriously good news. But the bad news is that all the windows need replacing.’

  ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You can’t put new glass in the one downstairs, the frame’s far too rotten. But you really need double glazing anyway. Whatever crank put in that bloody great window in the other bedroom must have frozen in winter and roasted in the summer. If it were me, I’d take it out and put in two smaller windows. That would make it more comfortable, cut down on heating in the winter, and also make the house look a whole lot better from the street.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ she said weakly, because she was somewhat bowled over by the way he appeared to be the proverbial knight on a white charger.

  ‘If it was me, I’d brick up the back door and widen the window to make French doors,’ he went on. ‘It would be so much lighter, and airy. But getting back to the list: there’s no damp, I got out my meter and checked; no rot in the floorboards either.’

  Eva hadn’t even considered damp or rotting boards, but she was very glad to hear she hadn’t got that to sort out too.

  ‘Then there’s a new kitchen needed,’ he went on. ‘That can cost anything from two thousand upwards, but if you didn’t mind a second-hand one, I’ve got mates who are kitchen fitters. They are always ripping perfectly good ones out of big houses and replacing them with top-of-the-range ones. Mostly they just dump the old ones, unless they know someone like you who wants one. They often get the sinks, the appliances, the whole works. I got my mum one that way, cost me just five hundred for them to fit it in. You just can’t be too picky about the colour and stuff. But my mum got a lovely pine one.’

  ‘That sounds marvellous,’ she said, suddenly feeling a surge of excitement and hope. ‘Would they come and give me a quote? And your window man? Obviously I wouldn’t be able to go ahead until I’d got the money
sorted.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll ring around tonight. Business is quiet at the moment. This slump thing is affecting the whole of the building trade quite badly. Some of them are only working three days a week, so they’ll be glad of a job on the side. But that downstairs window should be your first priority. You can’t plan or do anything else until that’s done.’

  He sat down again and stayed talking to her for quite a while. He told her he lived in Acton in a flat he’d bought when he was going to get married. ‘Then three months before the wedding I found out she was having it off with her boss,’ he said with a rueful grin. ‘So I know how you feel. It takes a while to pick yourself up after that. But my brother is sharing with me now, and mostly I think I had a lucky escape.’

  Eva felt a little buzz of pleasure to hear he was single.

  He asked about her family and, as he’d been so open about himself, Eva felt she had to be honest too. She didn’t go into much detail, only saying that her mother had killed herself and that she had to move away as her stepfather was being mean to her. ‘Tod said he only went out with me because he felt sorry for me,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I think that was the worst thing – to think all he felt was pity, when I believed he loved me.’

  ‘Well, I am sorry about your mum. That’s a terrible thing for anyone to go through. But Tod sounds like a right dickhead.’

  Eva laughed. She liked Phil’s directness. Tod had always wanted to analyse people, and that had fooled her into thinking he was sincere, but she realized now that he hadn’t been – not about anything.

  ‘I’ve been a bit of a dickhead myself,’ she said. ‘If I’d stopped to think, I would’ve found another room, carried on at work and seen to this place at weekends until it was habitable. I can’t really believe I threw all my toys out of the pram for a man I’d only known a few weeks.’

  ‘I did a bit of that too,’ Phil admitted. ‘But then I got to thinking I’d show Claire what I was made of. So I got the flat done up, went off on a holiday to Goa with the lads, and made sure she knew how well I was doing without her. That’s what you’ve got to do too, Eva.’