Bricking It

by Nick Spalding

  Hayley gets up, comes over to me and throws her arms around my neck. We both start to cry. It’s a horrible, horrible scene.

  Hayley is distraught at the idea of losing a roll-top bath, and I’ve just thrown away a potential relationship with a stunning Slovenian girl in favour of a cow.

  You see? Property renovation. It’s a piece of cake. And it has no effect on you psychologically whatsoever.

  HAYLEY

  February – Auction Day

  £173,765.97 spent

  I hate you.

  Yes, you. The man in the expensive sunglasses. Standing over there by my living-room mantelpiece, sipping on that glass of champagne that I’ve paid for.

  You want my lovely house don’t you, you bastard? Yes. That’s what you want. You want to take my precious, precious Daley Farmhouse away from me.

  Grant says you work in the video-game industry, and you’re looking for a place in the country as a retreat from the city. Well you can just piss off back there in your Aston Martin, you Ray-Ban wearing twat. This is my house!

  And you can take that bloody Saudi couple with you.

  Oh, they might be very friendly, and complimentary about all the work we’ve done, but Grant says that they’re in the property development game, and that they hinted to him they only really want to buy the house for the land that comes with it. Grant says they may have plans to knock Daley Farmhouse down and build some kind of modernist monstrosity on the site.

  Evil, evil bastards!

  And oh look, what a surprise, you’ve found a friend to talk to, haven’t you, Sunglasses Twat? Or should I say another rival? Yes. That’s it. Laugh and joke with the nice couple from Essex who are looking to move closer to their eldest daughter. I hope you all choke on your champagne!

  ‘Hayley? Are you alright?’ I hear Gerard say to me. ‘You’ve gone bright red, and I think you’re about to break the stem of that champagne glass.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I snap back at him, slamming the glass down onto the table beside me.

  ‘I was thinking we could do a piece to camera with you and Danny? Set the scene for the auction?’ Gerard asks.

  I look at him daggers.

  I’m irrationally angry with Gerard right now. If it weren’t for his stupid TV show this auction probably wouldn’t have anywhere near the attention it has. There would be no Sunglasses Twat or Saudi property murderers for me to hate from across the living room. The beautiful, beautiful living room that the bastards want to knock down and replace with a big stupid glass-and-steel shit palace!

  Okay, okay . . .

  I probably need to get out of the house for some fresh air. It’ll do me the world of good. So far this morning I’ve gone from sitting on the edge of the bath crying my eyes out, to wishing a slow and painful death on anyone who wants to buy my farmhouse out from under me.

  The living room feels very claustrophobic at the moment, which should be impossible, given how huge it is. But introduce an auctioneer’s lectern and several rows of plastic seating, and the room fast becomes cloying and very, very hot with all the bodies gathered in it.

  I look at my watch. The auction is due to start in just half an hour. My breath catches in my throat.

  Definitely time for some fresh air.

  ‘Alright, Gerard, let’s go get it over with,’ I say in a sullen voice to the TV presenter. I then make my way out of the room, and through the front door. The cold February morning air is extremely nice on my hot, flustered face.

  I spot my brother leaning against the wall to my right, chewing on one of his remaining fingernails. While I can’t entirely understand the bond he has with that stupid cow, I can fully and completely appreciate his new-found reluctance to sell the farmhouse.

  ‘Danny? Gerard wants us to do a piece to camera,’ I tell him, as Gerard goes over to where Pete is filming a few people milling around the window outside the living room.

  ‘Do we have to?’ my brother replies darkly.

  ‘We did promise,’ I say.

  Yes, we did promise. Idiots that we are. We promised to let Gerard feature Daley Farmhouse as much as he liked on his TV show, because it’d help us make more money when we came to sell it.

  Idiots!

  Blithering, blistering idiots!

  ‘Right,’ Gerard says brightly, coming back over to us. ‘Pete’s setting up just here, so we can have a chat outside the front door. Don’t worry, nothing too tricky. I just want your thoughts on the auction, and how, er, excited you are to be finally selling the farmhouse.’

  ‘Excited?’ I spit in disgust.

  Gerard laughs nervously. ‘Well, let’s just say how apprehensive you are about it getting a good price, then.’

  I manage to resist the urge to sneer. It’s a close-run thing.

  Gerard shifts Danny by the shoulders so he’s stood in a suitable position, clears his throat a couple of times, and tells Pete to start filming.

  ‘Hello, everyone! And welcome to a very special day!’ Gerard tells his audience enthusiastically. ‘It’s finally arrived – the day of the Daley Farmhouse auction, and I’m sure you’re all as eager as I am to know how much this lovely property will fetch today. I’m here with the property’s current owners, the two people responsible for renovating it so delightfully. Good morning, Hayley and Danny. How are you feeling today?’

  Two grunts.

  ‘Aha, so nervous about what’s going to happen at the auction?’

  A couple more grunts. We sound and look like a pair of sullen teenagers.

  Gerard makes a throat-cutting motion. ‘Cut it for a moment, Pete.’ He looks back at us both. Rather than being angry, he actually looks quite sympathetic. ‘You two really don’t want to sell this place, do you?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Pat The Cow,’ Danny says in a quiet voice.

  Gerard looks to the heavens. ‘I knew this would happen. I’ve seen you both get more and more attached as time has gone by. It happens a lot. Never easy to watch, I can tell you.’

  There are tears forming at the corners of my eyes again. I start to feel quite, quite pathetic, but then I look at Danny and he looks like he’s about to cry as well. This makes us both pathetic, but we’re being pathetic together. I start to feel a fierce sense of sibling solidarity about the whole thing, and put one arm around Danny’s shoulder. ‘We’re not happy, Gerard. We’re not happy at all.’

  Danny looks down the camera’s lens and his mouth forms a thin line. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ he says, and walks away, shrugging off my arm.

  ‘Danny!’ I call after him.

  ‘Let him go,’ Gerard tells me. He then turns to Pete. ‘Forget about this, Pete. Go get more covering shots and set up in the living room for the auction.

  Pete, who can read a situation as well as his camera can film it, says nothing more and beetles away as fast as possible.

  ‘Come and sit over on the garden wall with me,’ Gerard tells me and makes off for the front left corner of the garden, away from the small groups of people currently wandering around us.

  I follow him, knowing full well I’m about to get some kind of motivational speech that I could really do without.

  As we near the wall I look down, remembering that this is the spot where they found the bomb. It disturbs me to realise that I’m thinking back on it with fond nostalgia. No one should ever think about the discovery of an explosive device with a sense of fond nostalgia, it’s just not good for the soul.

  Gerard sits on the wall and bids me join him.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.

  ‘Weren’t we just doing that?’

  ‘I mean properly. Without a camera shoved down your throat. Just me and you, away from everyone else. You can be as honest as you like.’

  Oops, here come the tears again. ‘I don’t want to sell it, Gerard! I know I have to, but I want to keep it.’

  ‘Yes, I know you do.’

  ‘Why did I ever agree to get involved with this
stupid project? If I’d have known it would end like this . . .’

  ‘You would have done it anyway.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. Because you’re the type of woman who needs a challenge in life.’

  I frown. ‘No, I’m not. I’m the type of woman who needs a brand-new extension and roll-top bath in her life.’ My brow furrows further. ‘My brother is apparently the type of person who needs an unwholesomely intelligent cow in his life, but we’ll try to gloss over that for the moment, I think.’

  Gerard chuckles. ‘He does seem very attached, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not just the cow. He loves this house too. It’s changed him, for the better. He has new friends, a new job and a new life. I . . .’

  I trail off. Danny has found a new purpose to life with Fred Babidge’s building company, but my purpose is about to be wrenched away from me for ever. What the hell am I supposed to do when it’s gone? Go back to work in my underpaid and undervalued teaching job? Blow all that money on a round-the-world cruise like Mum and Dad? Invest in the renovation of another property that will just remind me of this one?

  I look at Gerard as a tear courses its way down my cheek. ‘This place makes me happy, Gerard.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘My grandma left it to me, because she knew I’d lost my way after Simon. And she was right do it. This is the happiest I’ve been in years!’ I wail miserably.

  Gerard wraps his arms around me. Again, this is a very pleasant experience, despite the current circumstances. This time I can’t smell paint thinner either, just the faint aroma of his aftershave. ‘There, there,’ he says, patting my back.

  I pull away slightly. I might as well be completely honest with him. ‘And it’s maybe about you a little, as well.’

  That takes him by surprise. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have met you without this silly bloody house, would I?’

  It’s Gerard’s turn to look a bit emotional. He does it with a lot more grace and style than I can muster. ‘No, I suppose not. Do you think there could be something between us, then?’ he says in a quiet voice.

  Oh, this is very confusing and hard. My emotions are volatile enough at the moment with the impending loss of my farmhouse. I just don’t have enough room in my head for romance. I should never have said anything to him. Maybe, just maybe when all this is over, and I’ve recovered from the loss, then I can entertain the idea of starting a relationship with this kind, understanding man. Right now, though, I just can’t deal with it.

  Still, I’ve opened my big, stupid mouth now, haven’t I?

  ‘I don’t know Gerard. I’d like to think so. I really do like you, but with all this going on . . .’

  ‘You can’t deal with any feelings you might have for me?’ he finishes with a rueful smile.

  I take his hand. ‘Please don’t take it the wrong way,’ I tell him.

  He shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. I completely understand. There will be plenty of time for you and me later. Right now you have a house to sell.’

  My face darkens again. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Just one thing, then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kiss me. Kiss me, then forget about us for the rest of the day.’

  How can I refuse that?

  I lean forward and finish the kiss that started months ago, just before I discovered my grandmother was a brothel madam.

  It was very much worth the wait, I can tell you.

  Astoundingly, the kiss also lifts my spirits. The black sense of doom and loss I felt beforehand has changed into one of philosophical grief. I’m about to lose what is obviously my dream house, but maybe I’ve just gained something equally as valuable in return.

  ‘Thank you, Gerard. You’ve really helped,’ I tell him, as my lips part company from his.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he replies with a smile. ‘And hey, you never know how the day will end, do you?’ He squeezes my shoulder gently. ‘Things will be okay, Hayley, I promise.’

  What Gerard can’t promise is that none of these bastards will bid on the farmhouse once the auction starts.

  I stand at the back of the room, Gerard on one side of me, Danny on the other. Our parents are sat in the back row of seats just in front of us, as are Mitchell and Mischa, and Sally Willingham. Fred, Baz and Spider are lolling against the mantelpiece. I can’t help but notice that Spider is inspecting the mantel closely, and runs his hand over the top of it, checking for any signs of damage. I’m not the only one who will have problems letting go of this place.

  Everyone is in attendance, then. About time we got this over with, don’t you think?

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, welcome to today’s auction,’ Camilla the auctioneer announces, from behind her lectern set just in front of the double doors that lead out onto the patio and Sally’s brand-new veranda. ‘I’m delighted you could all be here today for this very special occasion – the opportunity to buy this wonderful house. You’ve had plenty of time to look around, and you all have the detailed pack we’ve put together for it, so I’m sure you all know just how great a chance this is to own a slice of gorgeous rural England. I’m going to open the bidding at five hundred thousand, and we’ll see where we go from there.’

  So here it is, the moment of both glory and misery.

  I hold my breath.

  ‘Do I hear five hundred thousand from anyone?’ Camilla asks the room.

  There is silence in return. Sweet, glorious, potentially bankrupting silence.

  No one is going to bid! No one wants to buy the house! My grandmother’s legacy will be saf—

  ‘Five hundred!’

  Bastard!

  He’s not even taken his ruddy sunglasses off, the twat!

  ‘Thank you, sir. That’s five hundred thousand, then. Where should we go next? Can I hear five twenty-five from anyone?’

  The male half of the Saudi couple raises his hand. My heart sinks. He’s the last person I want to win!

  ‘Excellent, that’s five twenty-five to you, sir. Any more?’

  ‘Five fifty.’ Sunglasses again.

  ‘Five seventy-five.’ Back to the Saudi homewrecker.

  Sunglasses doesn’t respond. This is good. No, this is great. If he doesn’t bid again, then the house hasn’t reached its reserve and it won’t sell today!

  ‘That’s five seventy-five with the gentleman in row three. Do I hear any more?’

  Camilla once again scans the room.

  Still no one puts in another bid.

  ‘That’s going once at five seventy-five . . . Going twice . . .’

  My heart is singing!

  ‘Six hundred,’ says the wife from Essex who wants to be closer to her daughter.

  No!

  No no no!

  That’s it. The house is sold. It’s gone from my clutches!

  I hear Danny groan from beside me. I feel his hand take mine.

  I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

  Gerard’s arm goes around my shoulder again. I wish I could say it gives me some comfort.

  The bidding continues slowly. It’s a very cagey game these potential buyers are playing now. If I was a bit more objective about the whole thing, I might find the psychology of it all fascinating, but I’m not objective in the slightest, and just want the whole thing over with as fast as possible.

  A tiny voice pipes up to remind me that I have just made a good two hundred thousand pounds in profit before tax, but I frankly don’t give a shit. I may do in a few days when I’ve come to terms with losing Daley Farmhouse, but at the moment I just couldn’t care less.

  The only other person who shares my worldview right now is my brother. He looks as miserable as I do. Everyone else seems delighted. Mitchell is clapping his hands together, Fred and the boys are beaming with pleasure, Mum and Dad are turning in their chairs and giving us the big thumbs up.

  The bidding continues. The pace remains slow, with the price now
going up in increments of just a thousand pounds. Sunglasses, Saudi and Close To Her Daughter are swapping bids in succession. No one else seems interested in getting into it with them. This begs the question of why they bothered to turn up in the first place. Grant did warn me that a lot of people just like to turn up to these things for a nose about and a bit of light drama. This would definitely appear to be the case for this auction, as only five people are actively involved in the bidding process, out of a total of twenty-five.

  In about ten minutes we reach £633,000. A very nice amount, indeed. The renovation has been absolutely worth all the time, money and effort we’ve spent on it. Financially, anyway. Emotionally, though?

  Yeah, maybe not so much.

  ‘I want to leave,’ I whisper to Gerard.

  ‘Not yet,’ he whispers back. ‘Just see the whole thing out, eh?’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Please? For me?’

  What an extraordinarily strange thing to say. Why would Gerard want me to stay? The house has gone. He has been very kind to me today though, so I guess I can do what he asks. Maybe he wants me to stay because of the TV show. Pete is happily filming proceedings from one side of the lectern and I’m probably in shot. I can’t blame Gerard for wanting the ex-owner of the farmhouse to remain in the picture until the auction is over.

  Ex-owner.

  That’s what I am now.

  Time for more waterworks.

  The bidding stops at £640,000. It’s with the Saudi couple. They are going to win, I just know it. The irony will be horrific. Months of work, all down the pan when they roll in their bulldozers. Will I come and watch it happen? Can I put myself through that living hell? Probably. I spent hours sitting at a line of police tape expecting the place to blow up at any minute, after all. I couldn’t drag myself away from that, so I doubt I will be able to drag myself away from watching it get demolished.

  ‘So that’s six hundred and forty thousand pounds with the gentleman in the third row,’ Camilla says. ‘No more bids then?’ she asks the room, to a completely silent response.

  ‘No more bids?’ she repeats.