A Cottage in the Country

by Linn B. Halton

  "Mr Hart?" I call after him, quickening my pace to catch up with him.

  He barely takes the time to glance around, shrugging his shoulders and continuing to stride out. Each movement is purposeful and powerful; the man is all muscle. His head is shaven; from this vantage point I can see that's because he's lost most of the hair on the top. That tell-tale clean stripe down the centre is bordered by a fuzz of new growth. His face isn't clean-shaven either, but it also couldn't be described as a beard, more designer stubble. I don't think that's intentional, I just think he probably spends more time in the gym than he does looking in the mirror. His age is hard to determine. He has the physique of a man used to lifting heavy things – huge, muscular arms; lean, and a neck I probably couldn't get my hands around at full stretch. The question in my mind is will I feel comfortable having this man in my home? He looks more like a bouncer than a kitchen-fitter, but there's a magnetism about him that just made something inside me turn to jelly. What on earth? I take a very deep breath and assume it's merely hunger. Clearly, I'm in need of a quick sugar-fix. He isn't my type – too rough around the edges and very little in the way of manners, it would appear.

  "I'm late," he throws the words over his shoulder with no hint of an apology whatsoever.

  "Well, erm…thank you for coming. Let me just open the door…"

  He doesn't move aside, but stands directly in my way, so I have to scoot around him. He's about my height, five foot eight, and as I swing open the door and spin back around, we're standing eye to eye. He raises his eyebrows at me and my knees start to cave. How ridiculous! I'm a grown woman, not some love-sick teenager!

  "You're older than I expected." His voice is casual, but I'm rendered speechless and now I'm fuming. Suddenly those wobbly legs stand firm. How rude! Keep calm, keep calm – you need this guy more than he needs you. Ooh, that didn't help … the thought of needing a man like him inspires a totally different chain of thought.

  "I was thinking the same thing." I throw the words back with a casual air, to indicate that he's going to have to do better than that to offend me.

  "I can see why you were sounding so stressed out. On your own, are you?"

  If this is his normal mode of conversation, I'm not sure I can put up with it. He's here to look at the kitchen, not make small talk.

  "I'm in need of someone to rip out the old kitchen and put in the new one. All the goods and materials are on order, but the kitchen units won't be arriving until the twenty-third of December. If work starts on the day after I move in, that would give you three days to strip it out and lay the new floor, first. I have a plasterer coming in to make good the walls. I'm assuming you could at least get the basics in by Christmas Eve? Can you handle that?"

  It strikes me that I'm being unnecessarily abrupt, but he's beginning to unnerve me. Mr Hart follows me into the kitchen and stands with his arms folded, muscles rather ridiculously popping out of the arms of his seen-better-days tee-shirt.

  "I've already put you in my little book." His face doesn't give me a clue what that means and I wait, assuming he will explain. As the seconds stretch out I realise that's it.

  "Which means?"

  He looks directly at me and his forehead wrinkles up into a puzzled frown.

  "I'll be here on the twentieth, early."

  Another silence begins to stretch out rather awkwardly and I find myself being out-stared.

  "Don't you want to write anything down or look at the kitchen plan? Can you cope with re-plumbing the sink, or do I need to get someone in to do that? I'm not sure what your skills are exactly, Mr Hart."

  Another frown and I get the distinct impression that I'm bothering him.

  "I can re-fit a kitchen, Miss Brooks. In fact, I can do just about everything. And I don't need to write anything down. I know this place inside and out. I was Aggie's maintenance man."

  I'm not sure that gives me a lot of confidence, considering the state of the cottage. I have to make a quick decision here. I'm in his book, which means I have a contractor, but can I put up with his rather bizarre and surly attitude?

  "Right…um, good. Um…so what is the purpose of today's visit?"

  "I thought I'd check you out first. I like to be left alone to get on with a job and not have someone peering over my shoulder every two minutes, changing their mind about what they want. It happens."

  That makes my eyebrows shoot up into my fringe. Is he purposely trying to wind me up?

  "I know exactly what I want, Mr Hart. Here is the new layout and on the second page you will find a breakdown of all of the items that are on order. I'm assuming you will provide things like plumbing fittings, filler, caulk and any additional timber you might need. If there's anything not on that list that you want me to purchase, just let me know. If I can have a price for the entire job, including connecting the cooker and the plumbing work, that would be very helpful. I have rather a tight budget."

  We both know price isn't really relevant. There's no one else available at such short notice, as Mr Chappell didn't have any luck finding me someone. It does worry me slightly as to why Mr Hart is free when everyone else is rushed off their feet. I figure that that's information I'm probably better off not knowing. If Aggie used him and Terence is prepared to recommend him, too, then I have to trust that he will do a good job. Even Sarah, at the estate agents, seemed to think highly of him.

  "Your budget is your business, Miss Brooks. The price is the price. I'll text it to you later today. See you on the twentieth. I'll be here by seven. I'm also Gas Safe registered, which means I can fit cookers. This one is dual fuel; Calor gas hob and electric oven. If you're replacing it, make sure you order a conversion kit. But I expect you knew that." There's a hint of sarcasm in his voice and I feel myself reddening. Of course I realised it was dual fuel, but no one mentioned a conversion kit when I placed the order.

  We've been inside for less than five minutes and he's out of the door before I have a chance to ask any more questions. I spin around, taking in the tired kitchen and the ancient cooker.

  "Aggie," I mutter in desperation, "I hope I can trust your judgement. He sounds like he knows what he's doing, but he's so damned arrogant. He'd better not let me down."

  I zip up my padded jacket as the damp chill in the air sends a shiver through me. I hope the plumber turns up to fix that vandalised pipe and the oil delivery arrives before my first sleep here.

  "I'm sure it will all be fine, Aggie, and the cottage is going to look lovely. It's in safe hands; promise." Sharing my problems with her might gain me some good karma, but it's sad to think there's no one else to listen to me.

  As I place the key in the lock I almost have to pinch myself. Very soon this will all be mine and even if I have to put up with people like Mr Hart, it will be worth it in the end. I stop for a minute to take in the view and revel in a sense of something akin to renewal. The stresses of modern-day living seem far removed from this scene of peaceful tranquility. As I watch, grey squirrels leap from tree to tree in search of any last remnants of bounty. Even in winter the scene is magnificent.

  On the drive back the rain begins to fall once more.

  My phone pings and it's a text.

  Ryan: You've been on my mind. How's it going?

  Me: Good. I have a kitchen-fitter.

  Ryan: Go you! We should celebrate.

  Me: Rain check on that one. Too much to sort out. Sorry. How r u?

  Ryan: Disappointed. I'm here if u need me.

  Now I feel bad.

  Me: Thanks, really. It means a lot. See you soon, promise!

  Besides, I'm not sure I'd be good company at the moment, but it's too difficult to explain. It strikes me that Ryan has always been there for me no matter what else is happening in his life. I suppose he filled the void that Jeff created as we drifted apart. I don't know why that comes as such a surprise, really.

  The subject of the vandalised oil tank seems to dominate my thoughts. I decided it's madness not to address the problem
, as the rain continues to pour relentlessly. There seems to be no let-up whatsoever and it isn't just drizzling rain, but the stuff that soaks you in seconds and makes you feel distinctly miserable. Time for an update.

  "It's not good news," Sharon Greene's very professional tone conveys no emotion, despite her words, and I wonder if that's something a solicitor has to learn. "The bank is insisting that the cottage is sold as seen. They are not prepared to have the vandalised oil tank fixed, and they've rejected my request for you to be allowed access prior to completion to sort out the problem."

  "Can they do that?" I'm rather shocked at what feels like a callous reaction.

  "Their policy with probate cases is that everything in the property is switched off at the mains. The estate agents do not have the authority to switch anything back on in case of a potential leak or the risk of fire. An empty property is at risk, simply because if something happens it could be a while before it's discovered. If the plumber did any damage while carrying out the repair, the bank would be held liable in the first instance. I know it seems harsh, but it's pretty standard practice, it just doesn't come up very often."

  "Well, thank you for trying. It seems I'll have to get a plumber lined up to start work the moment I have the keys and book the oil delivery for later in the day. At least the heating should be on by the evening, so that's some comfort."

  There's absolutely no reaction from Sharon.

  "Is there anything else I can do for you?" It's not a question aimed at evoking a response and I have the distinct feeling she's signing off on this case.

  "No, I think that's it, Sharon. Thank you for your help and I'm only sorry I bothered you with this matter." I feel slightly embarrassed, as if I should have known that dealing with an institution isn't like dealing with a normal person. They don't care if I freeze, or whether the oil tank ever gets filled.

  By some miracle, in less than twenty-four hours I have a plumber who specialises in emergency call-outs. He says he can make himself available from eleven o'clock on moving day.

  The universe must have been sending out good karma and taking pity on me as things begin to fall into place. So the order of play will be keys, plumber, oil delivery – what can go wrong? As if by magic I seem to have everything covered.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock – moving-in day can't come fast enough! Now if I could just do something about that incessant rain…

  LEWIS

  CHAPTER 9

  I don't know who this Miss Brooks thinks she is, but she can't just expect me to jump because she has a problem. Some people are all me, me, me. Does she think I just sit around waiting for the phone to ring and jobs to come in? I've never had any downtime between jobs and if I accommodate her, then someone else will have to wait. Well, I suppose I am lashing out a bit and the truth is that I had built a little slack into my work timetable. But working for her wasn't in the plan.

  I can't refuse, because it's Ash Cottage and I know every inch of it as well as I know the back of my hand. Little Miss I'm-Having-A-Crisis thinks she's smart, but if you ask me she's taken on way too much. Even if this woman does lighten up at some point, I seriously doubt she'll lose that I'm better than you attitude. I'm a tradesman, not a servant. Well, you need me more than I need your money, Missy, so you'd better be careful.

  The mobile kicks into life and it's Sarah from the estate agents. I wonder what she wants? I don't suppose Miss Brooks has changed her mind and realises it's not quite the little project she thought it was going to be!

  "Hi, Lewis. You said to let you know if anything new comes on the market. We've just taken on a little two-bed cottage in Lybrook. It has a lovely garden extending over a quarter of an acre and it's in your price range. Have you started looking again?"

  I can't get my head around looking at properties at the moment. I know Sarah feels awkward and would love to find me the perfect place to put down roots.

  "I've decided to wait a while before I start looking again. My plans have changed slightly and I'm up to my eyes in work."

  "Does that mean you are going to take on the renovation work at Ash Cottage? Miss Brooks did mention your name. I just thought it might be … awkward for you."

  I bet she did.

  "Well, she isn't going to be easy to work with, but at least I'll know it's been done properly."

  "Oh, I didn't mean …"

  I know exactly what Sarah meant, but it doesn't hurt to let it be known that I'm doing this for my own reasons. It might even get back to Miss Brooks and make her realise she's lucky I didn't refuse her point blank.

  MADDIE

  CHAPTER 10

  Even the grey sky can't dampen my excitement today. I'm awake for quite a while before the alarm finally kicks into life at six am and I don't need to pull back the curtains to check on the weather. I can hear the rain driving hard, as the wind rattles at the window. Switching on the bedside light and sitting up, I pull out my project notebook. Running down the action list for today is more for reassurance than a final check. I've been running over and over it in my head since one o'clock this morning. I could repeat it parrot fashion from memory. Everyone on it is probably already completely fed up with hearing from me, as I have checked and double-checked with them all several times over during the past week, to ensure everything goes smoothly.

  I feel I've organised this down to the last detail and, in theory, the actual move itself is going to be straightforward – even if everything is going to get very, very wet in the process. Both Ryan and my younger son, Nick, offered to help out, but it's not as if I'm moving the contents of an entire house. Aside from my clothes and personal effects, I do have a stack of things I've recently purchased for the new cottage, but the removal guy assured me it's only half a load. One trip, four hours in total with travel, he said.

  There's no point in unpacking everything at the other end until most of the really dirty work has been carried out. The mess and dust from stripping out the kitchen and hacking off the plaster on the two damp walls is going to be a nightmare, but hopefully the worst of the mess will be out of the way in the first couple of days. Ash Cottage, here I come.

  By the time the removal van arrives, the rain is driving hard at a forty-five-degree angle. The wind makes it impossible to use an umbrella and I end up settling for an old woollen hat, pulled down tightly over my ears. Gareth, the van driver, seems oblivious to the rain.

  "Can I help carry a few boxes?" I offer, as he passes me in the hallway and I notice rain drops dripping off the end of his nose.

  "It's not a problem, Miss Brooks. I'm used to it. Nothing gets through this jacket or these boots," he gazes over the box he's carrying and down at his feet. "Best boots I've ever had," he adds.

  "Oh. Good. Well, I'll get back to cleaning, then…"

  The pile of boxes is quickly diminishing and I'm only thankful I decided to move them all into the hallway yesterday. With the dust sheet covering the carpet, at least I won't have a soggy mess to deal with. Those boots must be at least size tens and the number of times they've been in and out – well, I've lost count.

  He's finished loading by ten past nine. A quick flash around with the vacuum cleaner, then two phone calls to confirm the final gas and electricity meter readings, and I find myself locking up the front door for the very last time. Goodbye house, thank you, but no apologies for saying that it hasn't been the best period in my life. Things can only get better from here on in.

  "What do you mean, the funds still haven't arrived?" It's almost noon and I'm sitting in the car, which is parked two streets away from the estate agent's office. The windows keep misting up. I think of the plumber, who has been sitting in his van outside Ash Cottage for well over an hour now. The removal guy, poor chap, has been there for nearly two hours and has already phoned me four times to remind me of that fact. "So what's holding it up?"

  I'm conscious that in about an hour's time there will be several lorries arriving at the cottage and expecting to gain access to drop off their
goods. The plumber says the oil tanker hasn't turned up yet, so fingers crossed that's not a complication I'm going to have to face.

  "The funds have been sent, Miss Brooks, I can assure you. The transfer is in the system and it's a matter of waiting for confirmation from the bank's solicitor."

  "Can't you at least let me have a front-door key? If the funds are on their way, then surely it's as good as mine now?"

  "Ooh, we can't do that," his tone infers complete disapproval. "Anything could happen, even at this stage."

  "Really?" Now I'm seething. "Really? You think I might change my mind, even when all my belongings are in a van outside Ash Cottage as we speak? If this purchase doesn't go through today, I have nowhere to sleep tonight. I hardly think the bank will change its mind and decide they aren't going to sell it to me after all. The money is practically in their account. Don't you think you are being just a tad unreasonable here?"

  I'm afraid the sarcasm in my voice is disappointing; I should know better and the response it invokes is deserved.

  "Hassling me, Miss Brooks, is not going to get you access to Ash Cottage until I've received the call from the bank's representative. I require their authority to release the key. I will ring you when that happens." The click cutting off the call is instantaneous and my heart sinks into my boots.

  Okay, keep calm Maddie and think of a plan. My fingers dial quickly.

  "Mr Trent, do you need access to the cottage in order to replace the vandalised oil pipe?"

  The plumber sounds hesitant.

  "Well, no, but if you don't have the keys…I don't want to end up being prosecuted for trespassing."

  It's just my luck that I've picked probably the only plumber in the world who would ask that question. I push back my shoulders, not that he can see, but it has the desired effect.