Bricking It

by Nick Spalding

  Gerard then does something that should be impossible. He starts to walk backwards down the garden path as if it’s the most natural and normal thing in the world. It’s like he’s just beamed down from a strange and alien civilisation where they all walk backwards, to teach us how to do it before the galactic invasion force arrives to subjugate the planet.

  Not only does he effortlessly walk backwards, he also carries on talking about the farmhouse renovation without missing a beat. By the time he reaches Danny and me, he’s neatly summed up the project so far and is already into his introduction of us both.

  ‘Hayley and Danny were left the house in their grandmother’s will, and they really are honouring her with such a wonderful renovation of the property. But let’s allow them to speak for themselves, shall we?’ Gerard parks himself next to me, and the camera looms large. ‘How do you feel the renovation is coming along Hayley?’

  I stare down the camera lens. A million bored housewives and unemployed people stare back at me. ‘Er—’

  Oh god, no. Please, please, no.

  Don’t let my brain freeze up before I’ve even got one constructive syllable out of my stupid mouth.

  Come on Hayley, say something!

  ‘It’s, it’s going quite well!’ I spit out triumphantly. A little too triumphantly, as the words are accompanied by a fair amount of unwanted spittle. I now look like a raving madwoman to the housewives and the jobless, but this is still preferable to looking like a terrified, frozen statue. ‘I’d say it’s all going according to plan.’ I consider this statement for a moment, and feel a twinge in my left foot. ‘More or less,’ I add.

  ‘Excellent!’ Gerard beams, happy that I’ve not let the nerves get the better of me. ‘And you, Danny? How do you feel right now?’

  By the look on his face as he stares over at Mischa, I’m going to say horny.

  ‘Danny?’ Gerard repeats, his voice a tiny bit strained.

  ‘Hmmm?’ my brother eventually responds.

  ‘How are you feeling about the project’s progress?’ Gerard repeats.

  Danny composes himself and deliberately stares at the TV presenter, ignoring any female architectural assistants who may be in the vicinity. ‘I’m happy, I think. It looks more like a house than a bombsite now,’ he tells Gerard.

  ‘Yes, indeed it does!’ Gerard exclaims. ‘Our viewers can see for themselves just how much work has been done since we were here last. You’re all doing a fantastic job.’ He holds up a hand. ‘But before we get into the renovation itself, let’s find out a bit more about the both of you. How did you come to inherit this place, and what made you decide to fix it up?’

  And so we’re into the chat that Gerard has been coaching us on for the past couple of weeks. He did such a good job that we manage to rattle through the background to the project pretty quickly, and before you know it we’ve finished, and the loyal viewing audience are now up to date – whether they necessarily want to be or not. You’ll be amazed to discover that I neglect to mention the nail gun through the foot, and Danny doesn’t talk about shitting into a wooden box. I’m all for getting the details right, but let’s not go too bloody far.

  ‘Well, that’s a fascinating story, Hayley and Danny, thanks for telling us all about it.’ Gerard looks back down the camera again. ‘You heard Hayley mention the architect on this project, Mitchell Hollingsbrooke. We’ll be catching up with him shortly, but first, let’s make our way over to where the building team are waiting to speak to us.’

  And with that, Gerard is off over to where Fred and crew are standing around a cement mixer looking like they’re about to be brought up in front of a firing squad. Danny and I trail along behind Gerard like the good little puppies we are, being careful not to trip over on the uneven muddy ground as the camera follows all three of us.

  ‘Hello there!’ Gerard says to Fred, offering his hand out like he’s never met the man before.

  Fred takes it gingerly and gives it a gentle shake.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, please say hello to Fred Babidge and his team of brilliant builders and tradesman. They’re the ones who are bringing this lovely old house back to life, aren’t you, Fred?’

  ‘’Es,’ Fred says, in a barely audible voice.

  It’s amazing what being on live TV will do to a person. In Fred Babidge’s case, it’s turned him from a bluff, loud cockney chancer into a seven-year-old girl starring in her first nativity play.

  ‘And what did you think of the project when Hayley and Dan first approached you, Fred?’

  ‘I liked it.’

  ‘Sorry? What was that?’

  ‘I thought it was a good ’un.’

  ‘Did you?’ Gerard looks a bit worried, and Pete the cameraman is adjusting something on the camera’s microphone. This isn’t going well.

  Gerard then tries to turn his attention to one of the other builders. Out of the four of them, only Spider looks like he is still able to function. But it’s frankly touch and go. His eyes aren’t quite as bulgy as the others, but he has gone a rather disturbing shade of red.

  ‘And what about you, Spider? What’s this farmhouse like to work on?’

  ‘Great!’ Spider bellows. ‘It’s a nice house!’ We’ve gone from one extreme to the other. Poor old Pete winces in pain and immediately fiddles with the microphone again.

  Gerard soldiers on. ‘I bet you’re all pleased with how much you’ve managed to improve the property in the five months you’ve been working here, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes! It looks much better than it did!’

  ‘Much better,’ Fred chimes in – barely.

  ‘It was in quite the dilapidated condition when you first got here, wasn’t it?’ Gerard asks them both.

  ‘It wasn’t great, no,’ Fred says.

  Spider goes even redder. ‘Yeah! The boss is right! It was a right shit tip!’ Spider immediately realises he’s just sworn on live daytime TV and puts a hand over his mouth. ‘Oh fuck! Sorry!’ he virtually screams at Gerard.

  And there we have it. Ten minutes into the show and we have our first swear words. I can now look forward to watching us all on Points of View in a month’s time.

  Gerard physically backs away from Spider, as if the builder is about to explode. He turns to the camera and composes his face into an expression of trite apology. ‘We’re sorry for Spider’s fruity language, everyone. Builders will be builders!’

  Nice attempt at saving it there, Mr O’Keefe, but I don’t think it’s going to stop the letters of complaint rolling in somehow.

  ‘Why don’t we have a look in the house at some of the work that’s been done?’ Gerard suggests to his vast, unseen audience. He starts to walk back towards the front door, prompting Danny and I to follow with a barely visible flick of one wrist. He’s keen to get away from the team as quickly as possible, and I can’t say I blame him that much. Asking them any more questions may either result in Fred Babidge weeing in his knickers, or Spider’s use of the word ‘cunt’ for the first time on daytime TV.

  We’re on much safer ground once we’ve moved away from them and have entered the house. Gerard spends the next few minutes of the broadcast showing the audience all the improvements that have already been made to the house, and boy does he sell them brilliantly.

  The way he waxes lyrical about the new woodwork, brickwork, plastering and the new extension, makes it sound like we’ve restored the Sistine Chapel in the middle of the Hampshire countryside.

  Danny and I duly trot along behind him as he goes from one room to the next, two of the three cameramen following to provide coverage and close-ups of both us and the renovation work.

  Within a few minutes Gerard has made a whistle-stop tour of the downstairs, pointing out each and every thing that he deems worthy of the nation’s attention. He’s particularly delighted with all the original features we’ve been able to retain. Nothing gets Gerard O’Keefe more excited than a newly painted ceiling rose, or a freshly sanded doorframe.

 
Even the basement is visited on the live TV tour of Daley Farmhouse, where Gerard takes great lengths to show off the new plastering work and concrete. I can’t say that if I were sitting at home watching this programme I’d be all that enamoured with such broad expanses of greyness, but Gerard seems convinced that it’s all very fascinating, so who am I to argue?

  Eventually, we do make it upstairs, after Gerard has made a comment about the lovely new bannister on the way up.

  ‘So this is the master bedroom,’ he says, arms open wide as he goes in. ‘And what’s been done in this room, Hayley?’

  Oh blimey, it’s my turn in the sun again. I’d better be thorough with my answer.

  ‘Er . . . All the floorboards have been replaced after the old ones were destroyed by woodworm. The windows have all been done as well. We managed to salvage a lot of the frame up here, which is nice. The ceiling’s been plastered, all the skirting boards have been replaced, the whole room’s been rewired, and the fireplace has been restored as well.’ I look around the room, which, while nice and clean now, is a tad on the bland side. ‘Obviously it still needs decorating,’ I add, just in case anyone at home thinks we’re going for the grey plaster look up here too.

  Gerard points to his left. ‘And what about the en suite?’ he asks.

  Bugger! I completely forgot about the new en suite. That’s fine though, it’s only the biggest job we’ve done in here.

  I am an idiot.

  I splutter for a moment as Gerard points towards the new doorway that leads to the bathroom we’ve put in.

  ‘We’ve had to take some space from the main room,’ Danny interjects, saving me my blushes. ‘But the bedroom is still very big anyway.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ Gerard agrees, obviously happy that Danny is contributing something useful at this stage.

  ‘The plumbing’s not all done yet, so most of the actual en suite stuff like the shower and loo haven’t gone in, but once it’s finished, it’ll be cracking,’ Danny continues.

  ‘Absolutely!’ Gerard says, his enthusiasm infectious.

  I somehow doubt most of the audience back home will be quite as enthusiastic. After all, they’re being treated to a tour of a house that isn’t finished. If I had a penny for every time one of us has said ‘when it’s finished’ today, I’d probably have enough to pay my licence fee for the month.

  ‘Has the chimney been cleared?’ Gerard asks, walking over to the fireplace, with Pete the cameraman in tow. His colleague is loitering by the doorway, filming Danny and me. I hope he’s getting my good side – if I have one, that is.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Danny responds to Gerard’s question. ‘Hayley?’

  Oh thanks, bruv. Put me on the spot, why don’t you? ‘Um. As far as I know, it hasn’t been.’ I give Gerard a pained look. ‘Does it need to be?’

  Gerard shrugs. ‘It depends on if you want to use it.’ He bends down in front of the fireplace and sticks his hand up the chimney breast inside. ‘Let’s have a feel, shall we? I should be able to tell if it’s blocked up or not.’

  What follows is a few excruciating seconds of dead air as Gerard temporarily forgets his role as beaming TV presenter, in favour of enthused chimney prospector. I am acutely aware that camera number two is still filming me, and is likely transmitting my rather gormless expression to the world at large as I watch Gerard having a rummage.

  ‘Aha!’ he says triumphantly. ‘I’ve got my arm up over the damper, and there’s definitely something blocking the way here on the smoke shelf.’

  Is there really Gerard? Well, thanks for that.

  ‘Got it!’ he exclaims happily and pulls his arm back. With it comes what appears to be a large, old, yellow floral curtain, bundled up. Inside the bundle something is making a metallic clanking sound.

  ‘Well! This is curious!’ Gerard says, placing the bundle on the floor in front of him so Pete can get a good close up. ‘Any ideas what’s in here?’ he asks us.

  ‘None,’ I say, hesitantly.

  ‘Okay, shall we take a look then?’ Gerard suggests, his eyes gleaming with interest.

  ‘Um . . . I suppose so?’ I reply, not sure whether this is actually a good idea or not. Still, I’m guessing Gerard has decided this makes great TV, so I don’t really think I have much of a choice in the matter.

  Gerard looks at the camera. ‘Okay then, everyone. This is totally unscripted and unrehearsed, I assure you. We don’t know what’s in here any more than you do!’ He then pulls the curtain bundle apart, revealing . . .

  Handcuffs. Four pairs. Rusty and broken.

  Also, a brown leather riding crop, in surprisingly good shape, it has to be said.

  There’s a couple of face masks in there too, but both are so faded and rotten from age, it’s hard to tell what they once depicted. I think they must have been like those Italian theatre masks I once saw on a trip to Venice.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Gerard says breathlessly. He also now sounds pretty damn apprehensive. Not surprising, considering he’s just uncovered what looks like a stash of bondage gear on live TV before midday.

  ‘What’s that thing?’ Danny asks, pointing at the last object in the bottom of the bundle. It’s still wrapped up in a fold of the rotten curtain, but looks pretty bulky.

  ‘Let’s have a look shall we?’ Gerard intones, unsure of himself. I get the impression he’s wishing he never embarked on this journey of chimney-based discovery, but has now committed himself, and must unveil the last item for the world to see.

  It takes him a few moments of pulling and yanking to get the thing out, given that it’s wrapped up very well in the curtain folds, but with one last strong tug, it comes free. This leaves Gerard O’Keefe, celebrated BBC TV presenter and all-round expert on all things property based, holding up a large metal butt plug for his audience to feast their eyes on.

  Yep. A butt plug.

  A tarnished, golden, metal butt plug. And not a small one, either. From the looks of things, Pat The Cow might just be able to manage it, but the thought of a human being inserting that thing anywhere brings tears to the eyes. It’s a good eight inches wide at the bulbous bit in the middle.

  ‘That’s a butt plug,’ Danny helpfully points out in astonishment, just in case everyone at home has led a sheltered life.

  Gerard, finally realising what he’s actually holding, yelps in terror and drops it like it’s a hand grenade with the pin pulled. He instantly covers it up again with the tatty old curtain, along with all the other newly unearthed sex toys.

  With a look of fleeting panic on his face, Gerard stands back up and looks at me. There’s a question forming on his lips. If it’s the one I think it is, my appreciation of Mr O’Keefe is about to take a downhill slide.

  ‘So, Hayley,’ he says. ‘Do you have any idea where those things may have come from? Are they yours?’

  Yes, indeed. That’s the bloody question, alright.

  I put my hands on my hips. ‘No, Gerard,’ I reply emphatically. ‘I do not know where those things have come from, and they most certainly are not mine!’

  But it doesn’t matter how emphatic I sound, does it? Because now Gerard’s put the idea in the heads of all those people watching at home that I am a sex pervert who likes to stash her butt plugs up the chimney. It doesn’t matter how hard I protest, they’re not going to believe a word I say. I am now Hayley Daley, queen of awkward insertions.

  Danny jumps in to try and deflect the situation. He only manages to make it worse. ‘Perhaps they belonged to Grandma?’ he suggests.

  I give him an enraged look. Now everyone out there will be picturing our poor deceased grandmother about to do something very unpleasant with a butt plug. This is supposed to be a TV show about property renovation, for crying out loud. It should not evoke images of pensioners indulging in pornographic activity!

  I choose not to answer Danny’s question, and look back at Gerard, who now looks every bit as terrified as Fred and his crew did a few minutes ago. I have to get us out of
here.

  ‘Shall we go and have a look at the bathroom?’ I propose to him in a strong tone.

  It has the desired effect. ‘That’s an excellent idea, Hayley!’ he replies, shooting a meaningful look at Pete the cameraman, who starts to move rapidly backwards out of the bedroom. Gerard immediately follows, walking away from the bundle of sex aids in the same manner you’d move away from a lit firework.

  ‘Where the hell did that shit come from?’ Danny whispers to me as we follow Gerard out, keeping his voice down so as not to be picked up by the second cameraman.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I whisper-snap back at him. ‘But I’m pretty bloody sure they didn’t belong to our sodding grandmother, you idiot!’

  ‘I panicked!’

  ‘Yes, apparently so!’

  Now we are in a situation where the audience is likely to remember nothing else about this live tour of our farmhouse other than the sex toys. It doesn’t matter how impressive a job you’ve made of the skirting boards and pointing, nothing is going to override the image of a middle-aged TV presenter holding aloft a golden butt plug. We could have discovered the last resting place of the Holy Grail in the bloody loft and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.

  Nope, we’re just going to have to accept that the viewing public will only remember one thing about today’s show.

  But then, I’ve forgotten about Mitchell Hollingsbrooke, haven’t I? Can a slightly unstable architect dressed like a clown detract from an enormous bottom plug? Let’s see, shall we?

  Gerard enters the main bathroom to find Mitchell stood by the brand-new roll-top bath with an expectant look on his face. Before the show started he had requested that he be interviewed in the new bathroom, for reasons I am afraid we are about to discover.

  Gerard stands next to him and looks back into the camera. ‘Now, everyone, I’d like you to meet Mitchell Hollingsbrooke, the architect who has designed the renovation for the Daleys. Good morning, Mitchell.’

  ‘Hello, Gerard,’ Mitchell replies, and then stares down the camera lens like he’s trying to set it on fire. ‘Good morning, people at home.’