Читать книгу A Cottage in the Country: Escape to the cosiest little cottage in the country - Linn Halton B. - Страница 14

When the voicemail icon pops up on my phone I silently pray it's either Mr Chappell, the small building company who are based a stone's throw away from the cottage, or Aggie's 'man who can', a Mr Hart. I'm delighted to find two voicemails and immediately I perk up.

"Ms Brooks, this is Lewis Hart. Thanks for your call, but I'm not sure I can help. I'll be in the area on Saturday and will swing by to take a look if I have time."

In the area? I thought he was a local guy? The next voicemail is Mr Chappell.

"Hello Miss Brooks, this is Frank Chappell. We close for two weeks over the holiday period and in the New Year all of my men will be tied up on the new community hall project. It's unlikely I will have anyone free until the middle of April at the earliest. However, you mentioned some plastering work and there's a chance I could free up one of our guys for the odd half day here and there to help out, if that's convenient. Call me back and we can discuss it. Thank you for ringing Chappell and Hicks."

A sense of relief begins to roll over me like a wave. It's only a pinprick of hope, but it's better than two outright rejections. Mr Hart sounded rather lukewarm, but he wasn't totally dismissive. On the other hand, Frank Chappell sounds like a man with many years' experience; a consummate professional. Although he's only offering a plasterer, maybe I can convince him to divert a little more labour to Ash Cottage. I immediately re-dial, crossing my fingers as I wait for him to pick up.

"Mr Chappell, its Madeleine Brooks. Thank you so much for returning my call."

"Oh yes, Ash Cottage wasn't it? Lovely location, Miss Brooks. I hope you are going to enjoy living in the Forest."

He sounds sweet. His voice is deep and very friendly.

"Look, I'll be very honest with you, Mr Chappell. I'm desperate here. The cottage has been empty for over a year. It's cold and a little damp because the bank handling the probate case won't allow any of the services to be turned on. It's in case of a leak, or fire, apparently. I'm moving in on the nineteenth of December and I need a working kitchen installed before the twenty-fifth. Is there any way at all you can help?"

Again, that distinctly sharp intake of breath.

"I would love to be able to say yes, but the truth is that all our guys will be working flat out right up to the shutdown. I'll ask around to see if any of them are interested in doing a few days' work during the holiday, but please don't get your hopes up. However, I'm confident I can get a plasterer for you, if you are prepared to be flexible. I'll send him across as and when I can. Simon Griggs is a quick worker and he'll do an excellent job."

Darn, I was hoping for a bit of a miracle here. I can hear the sympathy in his voice, I only wish there was more he could do.

"Mr Chappell, if you have any delays whatsoever and can spare anyone, will you think of Ash Cottage first? I'm a prompt payer and you would be doing me a huge favour."

"I'll pin your telephone number up on the board, Miss Brooks. You'll be my first thought if I catch anyone standing around without something to do," his voice reflects the smile I know he has on his face.

"Thank you so much! And, please, call me Maddie."

"I'm Frank. I might not be able to part the waters, but I'll do the best I can."

The wave of relief doesn't exactly dissolve the knot in my stomach, but this is a life-line. Now to see what Mr Hart has to say.

"Hi, it's Madeleine Brooks from Ash Cottage. Thanks for returning my call."

"I wasn't expecting you to get back to me. Didn't I say I'd call in on Saturday, or something?"

Or something? I'm rather taken aback by his tone, which is distinctly dismissive.

"I…um…thought it might be polite to let you know that I don't yet have my own key. I don't move in until the nineteenth. However, I'm sure I can talk the estate agent into letting me have access for a couple of hours."

Heavy breathing down the line seems to indicate the phone is nestled between his chin and his shoulder. The short blast of a drill confirms as much.

"Sorry, are you on a job?"

"I'm always on a job. It's what I do."

Well, that was downright rude, if not sarcastic. I'm not sure how to answer that, but Mr Hart quickly jumps in to fill the silence.

"I'll drop by at eleven. I won't be able to hang around for long."

Right.

"Oh, thank you. Um, am I assuming you have some time in your schedule to begin work quite quickly?"

"I said I'd take a look, lady, not that I'd bring my toolkit and make a start. See you at eleven."

The phone clicks and the line is dead.

Guess it's going to be a case of working with Frank Chappell, then. I can only hope that he can talk one of his men into installing my kitchen instead of kicking back for the holidays. It's a tall order, but what choice do I have? What I'd really like to know is why there don't seem to be any women out there in the building trade. I refuse to believe it's a one hundred per cent male-dominated workforce. Maybe I need a woman who can…

My phone kicks into life and I wonder if it's Mr Hart calling back to apologise for his rudeness.

"Mum, how're you doing?" The sound of Matt's voice makes my eyes tear up. In the midst of all this madness, it's a reminder of the life I had and how much I miss it.

"Good – really good. How is Dublin?"

"It's pouring with rain here. I wanted to check up on you; sorry it's been a while. I also have some news. Do you want the goods news first, or the bad?"

My knees quiver, I'm not sure I can survive any more negativity at the moment. My voice wavers as I try to sound as if I can cope with anything.

"What's the bad news? Do you need me to fly over?"

He clears his throat. "We won't be able to get over for Christmas after all, I'm afraid. There's a lot going on as Sadie is working flat out at the moment and I'm only able to take a couple of days' holiday. I'm really sorry. I know you'll be disappointed."

The motherly bit of me instantly goes into guilt-mode, as I acknowledge that I'd assumed everyone would give me a wide berth this Christmas. I keep forgetting that the boys haven't seen Ash Cottage and have no idea what I'm taking on. They probably imagine a cosy, warm little place in the country.

"Oh, darling, don't worry. To be honest, the facilities on offer here aren't going to make for the most relaxing Christmas. I suspect the cottage will be little more than a building site. What's the good news?"

"We're having a baby."

My hand goes straight to my heart, my head repeating his words over and over again. He's twenty-two years old and he's only been living with Sadie for eighteen months – a baby?

"Congratulations, I'm…well, I'm…thrilled. It's great news, Matt. Have you told Dad?"

He doesn't sound excited, he sounds…accepting. I guess this is a surprise he wasn't expecting; maybe neither of them was expecting it.

"I'll ring him next. I wanted to tell you first. Sadie has just phoned her mum; she says 'hi', by the way. It's a bit sooner than we'd planned, you know, we thought the wedding would come first and all that. You're not, um…you don't feel awkward about a baby coming before we tie the knot, do you, Mum?"

"No, darling; it's only a piece of paper. It's what's in your heart that counts."

"I told Sadie you'd be fine with it. We just feel awful that we're going to miss your birthday, especially as it's a big one and the first since…"

My heart constricts.

"Matt, darling, I'll be spending it covered in paint and looking like a builder's apprentice. Next year will be very different and maybe you will be able to come over with the baby. A summer birth, how lovely! Oh, I wish you were both here so I could hug you. Wonderful, wonderful, news."

Matt explains that Sadie is suffering from morning sickness and he’s trying to make sure she doesn’t over-tire herself. She works in marketing and it’s a busy environment, especially when the first part of each day is spent feeling so awful. I’m so proud of my son being empathetic: caring enough to help out as best he can. Maybe Ryan was right, and I did do a good enough job. It seems that selfish streak running through Jeff hasn’t been passed on, after all. If it were, maybe my example was enough to show the boys that love is about putting the other person first. Whatever – my heart is singing. Then it hits me. I’m going to be fifty very soon and I’m going to be a grandmother. I’m getting old, how did that happen? Inside I still feel like a thirty-year-old.