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‘Yup.’
‘Excellent, well done.’ I can’t help delivering this in a slightly sarcastic tone. ‘I’d like you to put it on that. The utilities are all ready for you to connect up to.’
‘Yeah, but which way round do you want it? If we put it down and bolt it together, and then you don’t like it and want it changed, that’s going to be a massive pain in the arse and we haven’t got the hours allocated to do it. I know what you ladies are like for changing your minds about things.’
I’m flabbergasted. This guy makes John seem positively metrosexual.
‘Good question,’ I reply, pretending to be considering this for the first time. ‘What do you think the punters would prefer, having the front door facing the car park where they can find it easily, or having to walk all the way round to the other side to get in?’
‘It’s not my job to decide,’ he tells me, folding his arms defensively.
‘Hm. It’s just so difficult to choose. Which way round do you think it should go, Noah?’ I ask him, coquettishly.
Immediately, I know I’ve pushed too far. Noah looks deeply uncomfortable and his cheeks redden. I realise that I’ve put him in an impossible situation. If he answers, he’s playing straight into the hands of the crane driver’s chauvinism. If he doesn’t, he looks just as weak and indecisive as I’m pretending to be.
‘Front door facing the car park,’ I tell the crane driver curtly, before turning on my heel and heading back towards the site office. Noah is right behind me as I go through the door.
‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ he hisses once we’re alone.
‘I’m sorry. He was just such an arsehole. Surely it’s bloody obvious which way round the office should go? He just wanted to score his little misogynistic point.’
‘I get it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how people are with you. But you don’t have to humiliate every single person who is surprised to find a woman in charge of a building site, and you certainly don’t need to drag me into it, OK? I’m one of the good guys, or at least I thought I was.’
‘You are!’ I tell him earnestly. ‘I really am sorry. It was a heat of the moment thing, and I never meant to embarrass you, I promise.’
His expression softens. ‘Up until that point, it was quite funny watching you. You were like a cat playing with a mouse. I don’t think he got it, though.’
‘I don’t think he did either. What am I supposed to do with people like that?’
‘My mum always used to say to me, when I was growing up, “Don’t feel you have to die on every hill.” Words to live by, I reckon.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being overlooked and talked down to.’
‘No, but none of the guys who work with you every day overlook you or talk down to you, do they? He just doesn’t know you.’
I sigh. ‘It just pisses me off, that’s all.’
‘I know,’ he tells me. ‘And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’
I smile at him. He’s right: he is one of the good guys.
23
‘What are we working on today?’ I ask Noah over our sandwiches, a few Saturdays later. The scaffolding is long gone, but we’ve fallen into a rhythm of me doing my own chores on Saturday mornings, and then helping him with his house for the rest of the weekend. I’ve met a few of my neighbours from the caravan park, and they’re friendly enough, but they generally keep themselves to themselves, so Noah is still the only person in Ashford I’d call a friend. I get on well with the guys on site, but they have their own lives, so apart from a drink in the pub on a Friday afternoon, I don’t see any of them outside work. It’s a beautiful summer day, so I’m rather sad that the scaffolding is gone and I’ll be stuck inside for the afternoon.
‘I’ve sanded down the front door, so are you happy to give it a coat of primer?’ he asks. ‘I thought you’d like that, because you can be outside enjoying the sunshine rather than stuck inside with me.’
Although the bottom floor of the house is still stripped right back, the new staircase has been fitted, and a lot of progress has been made upstairs. The new bathroom is in (painted and tiled by yours truly), and the front bedroom is plastered and painted as well. The outside of the house is now looking very smart, thanks to the new windows and repointed brickwork. It still has a long way to go, but I can tell it’s going to be amazing when it’s done. I’ve learned so much from my weekends here; not only have I pretty much conquered my fear of heights and ladders, but I’m now a bit of an expert on cutting and hanging tiles, repointing, and I even know more than I probably want to about plumbing. The only thing Noah hasn’t let me try my hand at is plastering, as he says that’s a skilled job that takes a long time to learn, but I’m not upset about that. Watching him applying smooth layers of plaster has been more than adequate compensation.
I’m probably no more than half an hour into my work when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
‘What’s going on here then, Carol?’
I put down the paintbrush and turn to see John and a woman I assume must be his wife standing on the pavement.
‘I’m just helping Noah, John. It passes the time,’ I tell him.
‘My front door could do with a lick of paint, if you’re bored.’
