Page 37 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

‘Every Saturday. Unless one of us is poorly.’

She’d watched Max weighing this up, hopeful that he was going to say yes, but he shook his head. ‘Hebbleswick Primary might be worse.’

Taylor had to admit he had a point.

If this latest school incident wasn’t bad enough, Taylor had then spoken to Tarquin again about the growing list of problems at the house. The mould was returning on the bathroom ceiling now, the sash windows in the upstairs bedrooms wouldn’t close properly – which was okay at the moment, but in the winter, it’d be freezing – and the washing machine still leaked. Tarquin had said the plumber would come to look at the washing machine, but mightn’t be there for another fortnight, and he’d make a note of the other problems.

Make a note!

And another fortnight without a washing machine!

This morning, she’d spent half an hour on her knees in the bathroom, handwashing their clothes in the bath, and trying to scrub the bloodstains off Max’s school shirt. She’d hung it all out in the backyard, then put some more stuff in to soak, before finally turning her attention to a pair of brocade curtains that a client had ordered. With a little luck, there’d be time for some upcycling later.

But the curtains took longer than expected. She skipped lunch, eating a couple of custard creams instead, but still hadn’t finished them, when there was a tiny popping sound and the machine stopped working. Oh no, this was all she needed.

The lights were still on, but when she went into the kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle, that wasn’t working either. Damn it, she couldn’t even make a cup of tea.

She found her mobile, intending to ring Tarquin, but really what was the point? He’d only say he’d have to contact the landlord and how long would she end up waiting for him to actually fix the problem? The electrician probably wouldn’t be free until three weeks on Thursday.

She went into the cupboard and looked at the fuse box. All of the switches except one were down. Presumably the one that was up was the circuit for the downstairs sockets. If she flicked it back down again, would everything work? And would it be safe? She didn’t want to put their lives at risk, or, for that matter, damage the sewing machine or overlocker through some kind of power surge. Best not to touch anything without more information, but who could she ask?

For some reason, Harry came to mind.

She had no idea if he knew anything about electricity, but he’d been looking behind the washing machine, he’d mentioned having tools.

His mobile number was in her notebook, along with all her other clients. She tapped it in, but hesitated before pressing the green button to dial. They’d only met a handful of times. And what had happened to being independent? To standing on her own two feet?

The fact was that dealing with everything herself was exhausting. Exhausting and lonely too. Bringing up Max and establishing her business had taken all her time and energy over the last few years. There’d been no time for friendships. She had acquaintances, sure, but they were mostly clients. Perhaps she should have made more of an effort with the other parents at school, but knowing they disliked her boy didn’t exactly endear them to her. And since he was regarded as a difficult child, a bit of a loner, they were hardly going to be leaping to arrange playdates, were they? Her old friends had drifted away when she’d got pregnant. When she was with John, they’d mostly socialised with his friends, and they hadn’t kept in contact with Taylor after the split.

She was twenty-seven years old and there wasn’t a single person she could call a friend. No-one she could phone and say, ‘I’m having a bad day. Can I pop round for a cuppa?’ or ‘My electricity’s gone off. D’you reckon it’s safe to push the switch down on the fuse box thingy?’

She bent over on the kitchen worktop, her head resting on her arms, and began to cry.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Oh God, a client. Not now.

She stayed where she was, praying they wouldn’t open the door and walk straight in, as so many had taken to doing recently.

The knock came again, a little louder this time, but the door remained shut. It was tempting to ignore it, but she ought to see who it was. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she hurried through the lounge, past the silent sewing machine, and opened the door to find Harry standing there with a carrier bag in his hand.

She stood there for a moment, gawping at him, taken aback that the very person whose number she’d almost called a few minutes earlier was now standing on her doorstep. Was he psychic? Or was she going mad? Had she in fact dialled his number and was now suffering from some kind of brain fog?

Whatever. It was such a relief to see him. He wasn’t a friend exactly, but he was definitely a friendly face.

‘Good afternoon, I hope you don’t mind…’ he began, at the same time as she said, ‘Thank God. Just the person.’

Her words clearly took him by surprise as now he stood gawping at her.

‘I need some advice,’ she said. ‘I nearly rang you but… What am I doing? Come in, please. I’d offer you a coffee, but none of the sockets are working and I don’t know what to do.’

Harry put his bag down beside the sofa. ‘Where’s your fuse box?’

He instructed her to unplug everything whilst he checked the fuse box. ‘Now what were you doing when it all went off?’

‘Sewing,’ she said. ‘That’s what I spend all my time doing.’

‘I’ve switched the electricity back on, but I suggest you don’t use the socket next to the sewing machine since that’s the one you were actually using when it all went off. I wonder if it’s got damp.’ He ran his hand down the wall then sniffed the air a few times. ‘The house does smell like it’s got a bit of a problem. Have you noticed anything?’