My heart leaps. Surely one of these buggers is going to put a hand in their pocket?
I find Hayley standing with Gerard near where Pete the cameraman is busy filming some of those interested parties as they scour the outside of the house. I hope they’re paying careful attention to the pointing.
‘Morning,’ I say to them both. ‘Lovely day for it.’
‘Not really.’ Hayley looks decidedly unhappy. In fact, I’d go so far as to say she looks royally miserable.
‘Cheer up, sis. You’re about to become rich!’
‘Yeah. Rich.’ There is no enthusiasm in her voice whatsoever. I had hoped that as the big day came nearer she might lose some of the attachment she’s built up for this place, but nothing could be further from the truth. After the morose conversation I had on the phone with her yesterday, and the expression on her face today, it looks like things have only gotten worse.
Hayley Daley is in love with Daley Farmhouse. This can only end badly.
I suddenly make the decision to stand very close to my sister as the auction starts. There’s every chance she’ll try to do something to sabotage proceedings, and I need to be there to rugby tackle her to the ground, before she jumps in front of the auctioneer and tells everyone that the house used to be a brothel, and is home to at least three chainsaw-wielding poltergeists.
I see Mum and Dad emerge from the front door, combined looks of admiration on their faces. This fills my heart with a warm glow. For years I’ve seen my parents look at me with a mixture of disappointment, pity and frustration. Not now, though. Not now they’ve seen how well I can lay floorboards and paint a ceiling rose.
‘This really is a terrific house, kids,’ Mum says to us, beaming with pride.
‘Yeah, terrific.’ Dad’s expression is nearly as glum as Hayley’s. While he’s no doubt proud of our efforts, he’s also coming to terms with his mother being a brothel madam. I can imagine he probably wishes he never got off the cruise liner when it docked at Southampton.
‘Fred and the lads about?’ I ask Hayley.
‘Yep. They were in the kitchen last time I saw them. Trey and Weeble couldn’t make it, though.’
‘Oh, okay. I’ll just go and say hi.’
Hayley’s eyebrow arches. ‘Don’t you want to know where Mischa is? She’s in the garden with Mitchell. They’re both talking to Sally, I think.’
I grit my teeth. ‘Thanks,’ I tell her thinly. I haven’t discussed my misgivings about Mischa with her as yet. It’s a conversation I’ll need to have shortly – to stop the knowing looks and smug grins, if nothing else.
I have to manoeuvre around about six or seven people as I walk through the house to find Fred. I remember to smile broadly at each and every one of them, as one of them could be the person who lines my pockets in a couple of hours.
Baz and Spider are standing in the kitchen together. When they see me, they unconsciously move slightly further apart. I have to suppress a sigh as I get closer to them.
‘Morning, lads,’ I say, trying to sound as jovial as possible. ‘Where’s the boss?’
‘Gone for a piss,’ Baz tells me. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Yeah, you nervous?’ Spider asks.
‘A bit. Big day for all of us. Big day.’
‘Yeah. Big day,’ Baz parrots.
There’s a rather uncomfortable air to this conversation. An awkwardness that surely would not be present had I not stumbled upon them together upstairs. I feel as if I have to say something.
‘Are you two . . . you know . . . okay?’ I stage whisper.
Baz looks sheepish, Spider looks horrified. ‘Dunno. Ask him,’ Spider says in a frustrated tone, giving Baz a hard look.
‘I just ain’t sure we can make it work,’ Baz attempts to whisper back to Spider out of the corner of his mouth. Baz is not the kind of man who takes naturally to whispering though, given that he is fucking enormous. The whisper carries quite easily across the room. ‘If Fred found out, we’d be in real trouble.’
On the one hand, I think it’s great that these two look up to Fred as much as they do; on the other, I’m horrified that Baz is so scared of him finding out they’re gay that he’s willing to end the relationship.
‘If Fred found out what, lads?’ I hear the head builder say from behind me.
Oh dear.
This could be bad.
‘Nuthin’, Fred!’ Baz exclaims and moves even further away from Spider.
For a moment, for just a fleeting second, I see a look of extreme hurt on Spider’s face, before he covers it up with what must be skill born of years of practise.
Fred’s eyes narrow. ‘Nah. There’s something going on here. I can tell. You two have been well skittish around me for the past few weeks.’ Fred looks at me. ‘Usually when this one is around, as well. What’s gone on between the three of you? Come on, I want to know. If Danny’s gonna be working for me as well, I can’t have any friction with you lads, now can I?’
Oh fuck me. This is my fault.
Baz and Spider have managed to successfully keep their relationship hidden all this time, and here I come, messing the whole thing up for them just with my mere presence. I feel awful.
Fred claps me on the shoulder. ‘Is there something you want to say, Dan? It sure looks like it.’
Baz and Spider both look at me in fear. I shake my head emphatically. ‘No, Fred. No problem here at all!’
‘Bollocks.’ He turns back to Baz and Spider. ‘Is this something to do with you two being gay?’
Now, you’ve no doubt experienced stunned silence before. This is something of an entire order above that. This is struck by lightning silence. Hit with a thermo-global nuclear warhead silence. There are caves five miles underground that are noisier than this kitchen right at this moment.
Fred breaks the silence with a chuckle. ‘Oh, come on, lads. You really think I don’t know? You’ve both been working for me for seven years.’
Spider now looks like he wants to cry. This is a very disconcerting thing to see, given the tattoos. ‘Are you gonna fire us?’ he asks in a tiny voice.
‘What?’ Fred bellows. He then stands between the two of them and puts his arms around both their shoulders. ‘Baz, you are the best bloody plasterer I’ve ever seen in my life, and you, Spider, I wouldn’t want anyone else anywhere near my woodwork. I don’t care if you’re gay or straight. You’re my lads, and that’s all that matters.’
Oh god, that’s beautiful. Really, really amazing.
Baz and Spider’s expressions change from ones of worry and doubt, to beaming smiles in an instant. ‘Cheers, boss,’ Baz says gratefully.
‘Yeah, you’re a diamond,’ Spider agrees, his voice tinged with relief.
‘Danny?’ Baz says, looking at me, his brow furrowed. ‘Are you gonna bloody cry?’
‘No!’ I insist, trying to stop my bottom lip from trembling.
‘He is!’ Spider remarks. ‘He’s gonna cry!’
‘You big poof!’ Baz exclaims.
What?
What?!
Fred looks a tiny bit disgusted. ‘Hold it together there, china. There’s strangers about.’
I’m speechless.
These are the people I’m going to be working with from now on? I don’t think my sanity will cope.
Baz moves towards me. ‘Give us a hug, you big poofter!’ he exclaims with an evil chuckle, and wraps both arms around me in the kind of bear hug you usually associate with professional wrestling. Bad professional wrestling.
A few minutes later I’m walking across the neat back lawn, trying to get away from Baz’s armpits as fast as my legs will carry me. I left the three of them in a highly amused state at my barely concealed emotional outburst. I’ll just have to hope that I haven’t earned a new nickname today. I don’t think I could take being called ‘Tiny Tears’ for the next decade.
Still, I’m delighted at Fred’s attitude towards Baz and Spider. I’ll take a little ribbing about my emotions, over seeing t
wo of my friends in distress any day.
I stop dead in my tracks. My two friends. That’s how I see Baz and Spider now.
Blimey.
I belong.
Oh great, here come the waterworks again.
By the time I reach Mitchell and Mischa I’ve got the bottom lip back to a non-wobbly state. Just about.
‘Ah! The man of the hour!’ Mitchell cries in florid fashion as I near them.
‘Good morning, Daniel,’ Mischa says in a pleasant tone. ‘The house looks lovely, doesn’t it?’
I look back at the place. She’s not wrong. Even with the dull grey skies, Daley Farmhouse looks picture perfect. I have to blink the pound signs away as I turn back to them both.
‘An extremely good turnout, I’d say!’ Mitchell says in a happy voice. He’s already been paid for his services, so it’s nice to see him come along today, even though he doesn’t have anything invested in the house’s sale. I guess professional pride must come into it. I’m sure he wants the place to fetch as much money as possible, just to prove how good he is at his job.
I spend the next ten minutes chatting with the architect and his raven-haired assistant. The topics of conversation are mostly about the house, of course. If Mischa’s obsession with exterior and interior design is big, then Mitchell Hollingsbrooke’s is colossal.
Mitchell is insisting I come with him to look at the chimney breasts from a more obtuse angle (he seems to love that word more than any other) when Sally Willingham butts into the conversation to ask the flamboyant architect what he thinks of the new veranda her team have erected over the repaired patio.
I throw her a grateful look as she neatly steers Mitchell around to look at her team’s work.
This leaves me with Mischa and her tendency to bore my arse off with her talk of concrete columns and granite flooring. She is wearing a nice tight jumper today though, so maybe I can stave off brain death by staring at her boobs.
Thankfully, something then homes into my field of vision that will give me an excuse to steer the conversation away from building work.
‘Look, Mischa!’ I exclaim, pointing one finger down to the bottom of the garden. ‘It’s Pat The Cow!’
I have been extremely neglectful of my bovine friend so far today. Usually Pat The Cow is the first person I visit when I get to the house of a morning.
Yes, I described her as a person. Get over it.
Today is an odd day though, what with all the people crawling over the house for the auction and everything, so greeting my rescued milk-producing buddy has slipped my mind. Until now, that is.
‘Shall we go down and say hello?’ I ask Mischa.
Her face crumples, suggesting that she’d rather not. However, I am already walking off down towards my large, pasture-munching friend, so if she wants to continue telling me how good she is at her job, she’s just going to have to follow me.
As I walk down to greet Pat The Cow, I have to marvel at what a good job Sally and her team have done to what was once such a shit tip of a garden. Okay, it won’t win awards any time soon, but the grass is level, green and neatly trimmed. The few remaining apple trees have been trimmed so they look tidy and attractive, and all the tumbledown fencing has been replaced by stout, wooden panels that march in a dead straight line all the way down to the copse at the bottom of the huge expanse of garden.
Sally has also done right by Pat The Cow and the local wildlife. She’s left a large patch of garden just in front of the copse as a natural wildflower haven. This not only provides Pat The Cow with all the cud she can chew, it also does a big favour to all the local insects and other small creatures that inhabit the area.
‘Good morning, Pat The Cow!’ I cry in happiness as my masticating chum looks up to see me coming towards her.
‘Moo,’ she exclaims, giving voice to her unutterable joy at once again clapping those big, watery eyes upon me.
I give Pat The Cow her customary pat on the head, and smile at Mischa. ‘Isn’t she great?’
Mischa looks like someone’s just force-fed her a sweet made of boiled cow piss. ‘Ye-es. Lovely.’
Pat The Cow, sensing some reluctance on the part of my stunningly attractive Slovenian date, moves forward to offer Mischa the chance to give her a pat on the head.
Wonderful stuff!
Pat The Cow obviously likes Mischa. And Pat The Cow’s opinion is very important to me. Never have I met such an astute cheese-producing creature in my life. If Pat The Cow thinks Mischa is a worthy companion for young Daniel Daley, then so must I!
It matters not that the Slovenian is obsessed with her work, and I can even overlook her potential homophobia towards two of my best friends. Neither of these things is insurmountable, in my book. Pat The Cow obviously believes this as well, given how affectionately she approaches Mischa, head held high and ready for that all-important pat.
‘Eugh!’ Mischa screams. ‘Get away from me, you stupid, ugly monster!’ she wails, whacking Pat The Cow across the top of the head.
The sky darkens.
The temperature drops ten degrees.
In the trees, the birds sense what is happening, and take flight.
‘What did you just do?’ I hiss. ‘What did you just do to Pat The Cow?’
‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow says.
You can almost taste the betrayal in her voice, can’t you?
‘It’s so smelly!’ Mischa screeches, waving one hand in front of her face. ‘Get it away from me, Danny!’
I move next to my bovine companion. ‘She is not an it,’ I tell Mischa, voice dripping with disgust. ‘This is Pat The Cow.’ I place one hand on Pat The Cow’s head, giving it a stroke. As I do, I make up my mind about something. ‘And I don’t think we should see each other any more, Mischa,’ I tell her haughtily.
‘What? Why not?’ the girl asks, backing away from my cow and me.
‘I don’t think we have anything in common.’
Now Mischa looks like someone has replaced the boiled piss sweet with a mouthful of fresh cow dung. ‘You go to hell!’ she orders me. ‘You and your stupid, smelly cow!’
‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow says, the menace dripping from every syllable.
Yes, I know moo has only one syllable, but Pat The Cow laughs in the face of your stupid grammatical rules.
‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow repeats, moving forward, this time with her head down.
‘I suggest you go back to the house, Mischa,’ I tell the Slovenian. ‘Test not the patience of Pat The Cow.’
Mischa gives the cud-chewing heroine one last look of loathing before turning and striding back towards Daley Farmhouse.
I am surprised to find that I feel extremely relieved by this turn of events. Pat The Cow has set me free. She has shown me the error of my ways in continuing to pursue the wrong woman simply because she looks like a catwalk model.
There is no doubt a better woman for me somewhere down the road, but I will not be finding her this day.
Until then, I will just have to be happy as a single man. A single man, who in a few short minutes, may find himself richer and far, far better off.
Yes, someone is going to buy this house. They are going to buy it, move in and—
Oh God, no!
What about Pat The Cow?
Where will Pat The Cow go?!
She’ll be homeless!
The new owners won’t want her around any more, will they? She’ll have no home. And we all know what happens to cows with no home, don’t we?
I picture the McDonald’s logo in my mind’s eye, and I really start to panic.
Hayley, I must get to Hayley as quickly as possible!
We can’t sell Daley Farmhouse! We must keep it! Pat The Cow needs somewhere to live!
Giving my yoghurt-producing ally a last, hurried pat between the ears, I leave her and rush back towards the house as fast as I can.
Mischa sees me coming, and misinterprets completely. She smiles at me as I come closer. ‘Oh Danny, I knew you couldn’t
—’
‘Get out of the way, Mischa!’ I bellow at her, barrelling past her and nearly taking her off her feet. ‘I must save Pat The Cow!’
Through the house I go, past Baz, Spider and Fred and all those prospective buyers. They don’t get a cheery smile from me this time. They want to separate me from my cow goddammit, so they can all go fuck themselves!
Outside by the front door, Gerard is now speaking into a camera being held by Pete. He’s obviously recording a piece for Great Locations – probably the introduction for the show.
This introduction does not need a full-grown man frantically bursting into shot to ask where his sister is, but it’s going to get one anyway.
‘She’s upstairs, I think. In the bathroom,’ Gerard says, looking pretty damn annoyed that he’s been interrupted mid-flow. ‘What the hell is the matter, Danny?’
‘Pat The Cow, Gerard! I must save her!’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Thanks!’
I turn and run back into the house, taking the stairs two at a time. I narrowly avoid crashing into a Middle Eastern couple as I reach the first-floor hallway. ‘Sorry!’ I apologise, swiftly moving past them to find myself in front of the bathroom door.
‘Hayley!’ I cry, knocking loudly. ‘Are you in there?’
‘Sod off, Danny!’ I hear her say to me from the other side. She’s been crying. I can tell from her tone of voice. You don’t spend hours on the phone with your sister after she’s been dumped by her piece-of-shit husband without getting to know the sound of her voice after she’s been crying.
My demeanour and voice instantly soften. There’s more afoot here today than my cow.
More ahoof, even.
‘Hayles? Are you okay? Why don’t you let me in and we can talk?
There’s silence for a moment, before I hear the lock being drawn. I open the door and go in to find my sister, red-faced and blotchy sat on the edge of the roll-top bath, looking miserable as hell.
She looks up at me. ‘I want this bath, Danny!’ she cries in misery. ‘I don’t want anyone else to have this bath!’
I don’t know what to say.
Yes, I do.
‘I have to save Pat The Cow,’ I say to my sister, echoing her misery. ‘If we sell this house, she’ll be made into hamburgers!’
Bricking It Page 24