His hair was dark, thinning at the front into a widow’s peak and flopping over his tanned, lined forehead. His beard had a few sprinklings of grey, and he wore a checked blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, tucked into his jeans but undone round the neck. Neat enough to be ‘at work’ but without trying too hard about it. Everything about him said ‘lived in’. Worn. Like he’d been through the wars, once upon a time, and had come out the other side. He returned his gaze to the contents of the cardboard box. Pocket-sized torches. He gently lifted one out of the box, softly pinched between large fingertips. He double-checked the computer screen then raised a pricing gun.
Suddenly, there was a cheery bleeping. Not the door this time. The man stopped what he was doing and reached into his jeans pocket. It was his phone. He rolled his eyes, swiped the phone then came round the other side of the counter and got onto the floor in a plank position.
He looked up at me and smiled self-consciously.
“Sorry, my other half has a habit of putting reminders in my phone,” he said, gritting his teeth with the exertion. “Planks. Stretches. Drinking water. He thinks everything can be solved with an alert on your phone.”
I stifled a laugh at the oddness of it all. The way he grunted as he got into position. The frown of concentration. All earlier intimidation suddenly felt silly.
“Uh.” I cleared my throat and tried again a little louder. “Actually, once you’re done, I was wondering…”
He let down his knees with a grunt.
“Yep?”
I froze for a moment, then stretched a smile onto my face.
“Do you have something for drying clothes?”
“Sure, there are wire dryers in the corner there.”
I thought of the clotheshorse dancing off my windscreen.
“Do you have any washing line?”
“Washing lines are a bit fiddly. You sure you don’t want a—?”
“Yes,” I said, a little too loud. “A washing line is fine. Thanks.”
“Alright. Um, I have some over here, I think.”
He stood up and walked to a shelf loaded up with spools of wire, string and rope.
Come on, Tamsin. Be brave.
“Thanks. Um. I’m new around here and…” I waved my hands helplessly. “I’m a bit lost about some stuff. And you seem like someone who is capable and local and…” I sighed, genuinely, to my surprise. “I could do with some help.”
He gave me a look for a moment, like he was weighing something up. Then his warm face slowly split into a smile.
“What do you need?” He reached out a hand. “Rowan.”
Rowan, I thought, a tree. This is the place where people are named after the land. Cliff. Glen. Ivy. Rose. I wondered if his parents were thinking of a particular rowan tree when they named him. The thin green leaves. The red berries promising autumn while the world was still in the height of summer. Witchwood. They used to plant it in graveyards. Either the bane or the blessing of witches. I couldn’t remember which.
How much better would you be at everything if you didn’t have all this useless knowledge bobbing about your head?
I took his hand and shook it. Good business-level firm, like I’d practiced before every interview of my life. His hand was dry and warm.
“Tamsin.” I shrugged. “Mum’s choice. I’d change it if I could think of a name I like.”
“Is that what you need help with? Picking a new name?”
I took a moment. Then laughed. Then snorted. Then, horrified at the snort, threw a hand up over my face. I checked his face for disgust, but no, he was smiling. He wasn’t put off by the snort. In fact, he seemed to be smiling wider. Amused. Delighted by it. Perhaps he thought I was adorable.
“Sorry.” I dropped my hands. “I’ve just moved into this place, and I have a biomass heating system.”
He waited for me to elaborate.
“And I don’t know what that is. And my house is cold.”
