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‘I am,’ I tell her.
‘Good. Can you find all the delivery notes from last month for me?’
I head over to the cabinet and retrieve the relevant file, and she spends the next ten minutes cross-checking random items with me. She’s trying to sound like it’s terribly important, but I know she has copies because we send them all on, so it’s obvious she’s just using it as an excuse to check I am where I say I am. She really is a piece of work.
‘Should I be expecting any more complaints about you before I head off?’ she asks, acidly, when we’ve finished going through the documents.
‘Why, has there been more than one?’ I ask. I’m trying to think who else I could have upset, but I’m coming up blank.
‘Not that have come to me, which is how I like it. Dare I hope that, after your decidedly rocky start, you’re starting to get the feel for how things work in this company?’
‘I think I understand a lot more,’ I tell her, while making a series of surprisingly imaginative obscene gestures at my phone.
‘Good. Have a nice weekend,’ she replies and disconnects. I dash out a quick text to Noah.
Just as well I didn’t come to the pub. The Bitch Queen has just phoned to check I’m still here.
It doesn’t take long for his reply to come in.
Unbelievable. You were missed. My scaffolding is always available if you need to burn off some anger.
I can’t help smiling. There’s about as much chance of me going anywhere near his scaffolding as there is of Deborah ringing back to offer me a pay rise. I glance at the piece of paper with his address as I’m shutting down the computer. Without thinking, I hastily fold it up and stick it in my bag, before locking the site office behind me. I’ve been so used to the bustle of activity that the sudden quietness of the site is slightly unnerving, and I’m quite relieved when I’ve locked the gates behind me and I’m on my way back to the caravan.
20
This weekend seems never ending, and it’s not even lunchtime on Saturday yet. Despite planning a lie-in, I was wide awake at five-thirty, partly because that’s when I’ve been setting the alarm during the week and partly because the sun was shining brightly through the thin curtains. I tried to go back to sleep, but it was obvious by six that it wasn’t going to happen, so I got up. I was in the supermarket by seven and back from the laundrette by eleven, and I literally have nothing else to do until Monday morning. The caravan is still clean from my blitz last weekend, but I’ve run the vacuum cleaner round and given the bathroom a good scrub anyway. I was tempted to attack the little patch of wasteland outside, but I don’t have any gardening equipment and I don’t really want to spend any more money than I have to right now. I can’t even use up some time with ladder training, as I did the course last night to take my mind off Deborah and the various ways I’d like to engineer her demise.
Thinking of the ladder course reminds me of the piece of paper with Noah’s address on it in my bag. I fish it out and stare at it for a while, while I try to decide what to do. Practising going up and down ladders is a long way from my idea of a fun weekend, but sitting in the caravan of shit, bored out of my mind, isn’t terribly appealing either. At least I’d have some company if I was at Noah’s, but I don’t want him to think I’m needy. I’m paralysed with indecision as I knock up a salad for lunch. It’s just after midday, so strictly speaking it’s too early, but it’s something to do.
By the time I’ve finished eating and cleared up, I can’t stand it any more. With a growl of frustration, I pull on my boots and plug Noah’s address into the navigation app on my phone. Around twenty minutes later, I find myself on his street. Even if I didn’t have the number, his house would be easy to spot because it’s the only one covered in scaffolding. It’s a traditional, red-brick terraced, house with a big bay window on the ground floor and two windows above. There’s a small, paved front garden with a low wall and a door set back on the right-hand side. I can’t see Noah anywhere on the scaffolding, so I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. A few seconds later, he throws open the door and beams.
‘Ella! This is a surprise. Have you come to play on my scaffolding?’
‘One ladder-trained project manager reporting for duty,’ I reply with a salute.
‘You’d better come in then,’ he says, standing to one side.
As soon as I enter the hallway, it becomes clear to me that this project is far more than just a light refresh. The hallway walls have been taken back to bare brickwork and a quick glance into the front room reveals the same state of affairs there. The staircase is missing, so the only access to the first floor is via a ladder. Noah leads me to the kitchen at the rear, which has definitely seen better days.
‘I was just fixing some lunch,’ he explains. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘I’ve eaten already, thanks. This is quite the project. Are you doing it all yourself?’
‘Pretty much. The idea is to sell it on for a profit and then buy another one and do the same. This is the third one I’ve done, and I plan to be mortgage-free by number five. I like these houses because, unlike the ones we’re building, they have a bit of character. Ashford is like a tree, have you noticed?’
‘No, what do you mean?’
‘All the new developments are on the edge of the town. It’s how it’s always been. So it’s like the rings of a tree; you start with the newest houses on the outside, and the closer you get to the centre of the town, the older the properties get until you hit the real charmers. I picked this one up at auction as a probate sale. It’s basically solid, but needs modernising.’
‘I’ve seen people like you onHomes Under the Hammer,’ I laugh.
‘It’s a sound concept, as long as you know what you’re doing and you keep the budget under control. Thankfully, I’ve got a lot of connections through my job, so I know where to get help when I need it.’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘Keep the period features as far as possible, but bring it up to date sensitively where I can. So, for example, the decorative tiles on the floor in the hallway will stay, as will the cast-iron fireplaces. But the staircase was completely rotten, so I’ve got a mate making me another one. I’m re-wiring and re-plastering throughout, which is why the walls are all stripped back. I’m also going to extend the kitchen into what’s now the bathroom and rejig the layout upstairs to make room for a bathroom up there. I’m going to lose a bedroom to do it, but the value of the house will still go up because people really don’t like downstairs bathrooms now.’
As he explains his vision, he’s assembling a doorstop sandwich filled with ham, cheese, pickle and salad. It looks delicious, and I’m slightly regretting my early lunch. I can’t help noticing that the fridge is both modern and well stocked and, when I glance through the open door into the equally dilapidated-looking bathroom at the back of the bouse, I notice a toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving equipment arranged neatly by the basin.
