Oh, just end this, you silly bitch. I need to go and get drunk somewhere.
‘Six hundred forty going once . . . Six hundred forty going twice . . .’
The gavel rises. My heart drops. The end is nigh.
‘Six hundred and fifty thousand pounds!’ a strong voice calls out from right beside me.
I turn to look up at Gerard O’Keefe. He gives me a lopsided smile. ‘I said you never know how the day will end, didn’t I?’ he tells me.
My jaw goes slack. I start to feel my legs shake.
‘A new bidder at the back!’ Camilla crows triumphantly. She would. She’s getting two and a half per cent of whatever the house makes. She looks back at the Saudi man, who is looking quite disgruntled, it has to be said. ‘Back with you, sir. Anything further?’
No, you bastard. Just leave it where it is!
He seems to think about it for a moment, then shakes his head. My legs start to shake even more.
‘Okay then,’ says Camilla a bit breathless at al the excitement. ‘So we’re at six fifty. Anyone have any more than six fifty?’
Silence again.
‘Very well, that’s six fifty going once . . . Six fifty going twice . . .’
Time can be a strange thing, can’t it?
The moments can stretch to hours, the hours can stretch to days, and the days to months.
The time it takes for small wooden gavel to fall can feel like an eternity.
The reverse is just as possible, of course . . .
You can spend months renovating an old house, and at the end feel like it’s all gone past in the blink of an eye. One moment you’re a sad divorcee with no hope for the future, the next you’re an experienced property developer about to end your first auction with a successful sale.
Time. We never have enough, and we always have too much.
The only thing you can do is spend it wisely, either way.
BANG!
‘Sold to the gentleman at the back of the room!’
A cheer erupts from Fred and the boys, closely followed by a shriek of delight from Mitchell.
Danny looks at Gerard with blank incomprehension for a second. ‘Pat The Cow?’ he says in a hopeful voice.
‘Will always have a home here, Danny, I promise,’ Gerard tells him with a smile.
Danny whoops with joy, gives Gerard an enormous hug and starts laughing his head off in sheer, unbridled relief. Once he’s disentangled himself he goes over to Fred, Baz and Spider, who all proceed to squeeze the life out of him with a series of bear hugs.
I turn to look at Gerard, who has just finished shaking my father’s hand. ‘Why?’ I ask him, voice flat.
He holds up his hands. ‘Look, I’m sorry about this. I know you don’t want to think too much about me and you right now, but I’m afraid I may have fallen in love with you, so I kind of had to buy this house, didn’t I?’
Oh look. The room appears to be spinning, and I haven’t even had anything to drink.
‘You’re . . . you’re in love with me?’
‘Yep. Have been for months. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a woman who knows her hardwood flooring.’
‘You bought the house for me?’ I ask him, dumbfounded. I’m rather hoping my wits will return to me shortly, but for now all I seem to able to do is make obvious statements in a high-pitched voice.
‘I did. I would ask if you like it, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that already.’
I start to shake my head. ‘I can’t accept it, Gerard. It’s too much. It’s just too, too much.’
He takes me hand. ‘You owe me nothing, Hayley,’ he tells me, eyes fixed firmly on my tear-stained face. ‘This house is yours whether you want me or not. I didn’t buy it to win you over. I bought it to make you happy. If I make you happy as well, then that’s great, but if you can’t be with me because of everything you’ve been through, then I accept that too.’
My breath catches in my throat.
Slowly, I become aware of the audience that now surrounds the both of us. Everyone I know and love is watching this little romantic drama unfold in front of their eyes. How utterly, utterly embarrassing.
Oh, what the hell am I saying? Pete is still filming all of this. It’s all going to be broadcast on national TV at some stage, so why am I worrying about a few friends, relatives . . . and complete strangers seeing it?
I make decision. It’s quite a bold one for me. I’ve never been one for big, public displays of affection, but it might be about time to start trying them on for size. After all, I have a grandmother who probably didn’t know the meaning of the word embarrassment. I need to start taking after her more.
I point a finger at Gerard. ‘You. Outside. Now.’ I tell him.
‘Why?’
I look at Pete’s camera. ‘Because I want to give your show the climax it deserves.’
I take Gerard’s hand and lead him out of the living room and through the front door. I then walk several paces up the garden path with him. As I do, I am reminded of the first time I stood in this very spot, looking up at the old derelict shell of the house that once stood here, wondering what the hell we were going to do with it.
A house I have now restored.
And a house that has also restored me.
Everyone files out of the front door behind us, Pete the cameraman in the lead. I look over to one side to see Pat The Cow amble around the corner from the back garden. She stops and regards me with a look of bovine comprehension that is quite disconcerting.
‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow says.
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Danny goes over and gives his friend a pat between the ears. Then he looks up at me, smiles and nods.
I look back at Gerard, snake one hand around his neck and stare deep into eyes. ‘You have my house, Gerard, and you have me as well. For better or for worse.’
‘Really?’ he says, choking up.
‘Yep. Now smile for the camera and kiss me, you fool.’
He does, and we do.
It’s all rather perfect, to be honest.
Actually, no. Not perfect just yet.
That will come later for Gerard and I – and it will involve candles, a fresh bottle of champagne . . . and a roll-top bath.
The End
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A lot of people have helped me write this book. Okay, they haven’t actually stood over me with a cattle prod, giving me a quick poke every time I make a spelling mistake, but without them, Bricking It would surely not exist. The following can therefore take a figurative bow, if they fancy.
My agent, Jon. The good folks at Amazon Publishing, including Emilie, Sana, Neil and Jenny. Whoever invented Google. My mother, Judy. My sister, Sharon (the real-life Hayley). My friend, Kaz. My consistently patient and beautiful fiancée, Gemma.
Thanks to all of them, for their help and support.
Oh, and you. Yes, you. The person sat there reading this list of acknowledgements. I’ll probably get it in the neck from those listed above for saying this, but you are actually the most important person in this process. Thank you for buying Bricking It, and for supporting me. Words cannot express just how grateful I continue to be every time you put your hand in your pocket. You keep doing that, and I’ll keep trying to write books like this – agreed?
Nick
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © Gemma Waters
Nick Spalding is the bestselling author of six novels, two novellas and two memoirs. Nick worked in media and marketing for most of his life before turning his energy to his genre-spanning humorous writing. He lives in the south of England with his fiancée.
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