Chapter Twenty-Three
Lane
“Hey, boss man. I’ve got a surprise for you.” I turned to see Joe, our apprentice, sticking his head around the cottage’s living room door on Wednesday morning with an excited smile on his face.
I frowned because I had no idea what the fuck he was on about. Today was just supposed to be an odd-jobs day. Nothing exciting was supposed to happen.
“Yeah, what sort of surprise?”
“A good one, honest.” He beckoned with his hand, and I followed him out into the hall, my brain throwing ideas at a metaphorical wall to see if it could work out what had happened.
He led me into the kitchen and pointed to an assortment of pieces that were neatly being laid out on the floor by two burly men who exited the room without a glance at either of us.
I stared, trying to process what the fuck was going on while Joe stood next to me doing bloody jazz hands. “Ta-da! The fucking kitchen arrived.”
“What the hell? When did this happen?”
Joe shrugged. “Like five minutes ago. They just showed up, and when we confirmed the address, they started unloading. Me and Oz were out by the van. Didn’t you know it was coming?”
“No!” The last I’d heard from the bloody kitchen company was an email saying they were still waiting on the material to be delivered.
That had been last week, so either it had arrived, and they’d turned it around at the speed of light, or someone had gotten their wires crossed.
Again. “I didn’t get any fucking warning at all. ”
“Bugger,” Joe said, and I almost snorted because he sounded exactly like Gary. “At least it’s here, though. Better late than never and all that shit.”
“Yeah, but some bloody notice would’ve been nice,” I grumbled. This was another black mark against their name, and I was going to suggest to Dad that we never used their services again. They were too damn unreliable for me to keep recommending them to clients.
At least Oliver was likely to see the funny side of this, rather than curse me out for the company’s disorganised approach to communication.
“Are they starting to fit it today too?”
“Don’t know,” Joe said with another shrug. “They’ve barely said anything to me.”
“Of course they bloody haven’t.” I sighed and cracked my knuckles, something I only did when I was really frustrated. I did not have time to deal with this shit, but unfortunately, it was part of my job. “I guess I’ll go and ask.”
I left Joe in the kitchen and headed towards the front door. The two delivery men appeared at the same time, hefting part of the countertop. I stepped neatly out of their way and pulled out my phone to message Oliver while I waited for them to come out again.
Lane
Guess what just turned up at the cottage?
Oliver
Is it good or bad? Did you finally find a secret murder basement?
Lane
Haha. I wish. Your kitchen arrived.
Oliver
WTF? I thought they said last week it wouldn’t be for another couple of weeks at the earliest?
Lane
Yeah, that’s what I thought. Would’ve been nice for them to fucking tell us. Not hard to send a bloody email or pick up the sodding phone.
Oliver
Gah, I’m sorry they’ve been such a pain.
Lane
Not your fault! Just thought you might want to know.
Oliver
Thanks, I appreciate the heads-up! x
As I slid my phone back into my pocket, I realised the arrival of the kitchen was a turning point in the renovations.
Sure, there was still stuff to do, like the last of the tiling on the main bedroom’s en suite—which was today’s job—the floors, and the decorating, but the kitchen was the last really big thing.
It meant the end of the project was looming on the horizon, and the thought made bile rise in my throat.
We were supposed to have more time than this.
The two burly men reappeared from the kitchen, and I pushed my thoughts of Oliver aside, reaching for my professional hat.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Lane Turner. I’m the project manager here.”
They stopped and looked at me, then one of them spoke. He was a couple of inches taller than his partner with a set expression that looked like it was carved from rock. “Cool. We’ve got some paperwork for you to sign as soon as we’ve finished unloading everything.”
“No worries. I didn’t actually know you were coming today. Do you know when everything was finished?”
The guy shrugged. “No, we just do the deliveries.”
I felt a surge of anger threatening to rise. This fucker was being deliberately obtuse. “Are you telling me you’re not fitting it?”
“No.”
“Then who is?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “Think that’s your job, mate.” He turned and walked towards the front door. I flexed my fist, wishing it was acceptable to punch the fucking wall. Instead, I turned and stomped towards the stairs like a toddler on the verge of a full-blown meltdown.
Gary was in the main bedroom’s en suite, kneeling on the floor with half his butt crack exposed as he fitted tiles around the bottom of the newly installed shower. He turned when he heard me come in. “You all right? Sounded like a herd of elephants had come marching down the hall.”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m this close to committing bloody murder.”
“Well, don’t do it in here. The grout isn’t set, and I’m not doing it again.”
“I won’t. I’m going to do it outside and mount their heads on fucking pikes like a warning.”
“All right, sounds a bit dark, though,” Gary said with a chuckle, sitting back on his knees, still holding the grout float in his hand. “Who’re you killing?”
“The fucking kitchen just turned up,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the bedroom door. “So that’s one thing, but then the bloody guys who’re delivering it aren’t going to fit it and don’t fucking know who is. Apparently, that’s my job.”
“We can fit a kitchen. It’s not that hard.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“A pain in the ass?”
“Yeah. And the principle of the fucking thing. They’ve been useless from start to finish, and this just adds to the list of shit.”
“I suppose.” Gary was looking up at me with a shrewd expression. “You okay, Lane? You seem more worked up than normal?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I was lying through my teeth, and I hoped Gary wouldn’t call me out on it. “Just pissed.”
Gary hummed. “All right.” He gestured at the rest of the bathroom. “I’m nearly done here. You get the boys in order and get them to start laying it all out, and we can make a start after lunch.”
“Cool. Thanks Gary.” I turned out of the bedroom and headed back downstairs, where I found one of the delivery men loitering in the hall with the order paperwork.
I read it all through carefully, walking through to the kitchen to check everything had arrived.
It had, so I couldn’t fault them for that, even if I wanted to.
I signed off on the delivery and watched him leave before looking over the pieces again.
Oliver, or Kara, had chosen a muted blue-grey for the cabinets and combined it with a dark wooden countertop.
There were going to be fewer cabinets this time around—to give the illusion of more space, even though the kitchen was already quite large.
To do that, we were adding some long, open shelves where the old cabinets had sat, and several of them would have hooks screwed into the bottom to allow Oliver to hang things like pans or mugs.
There was a new farmhouse sink to be installed under the window along with some new appliances, except for the cottage’s range cooker, which was being serviced and reinstalled.
Once it was all installed, and we’d added the tiles and a fresh coat of paint, the whole room was going to look beautiful.
It was another room where I could see the love and attention that had been poured into the design.
Oliver hadn’t just pointed at a catalogue and picked something random or cheap, which would have been the best option if he was going to sell or rent the cottage.
Instead, he’d thought everything through, right down to the light fittings and the taps.
Consciously or not, Oliver had designed the kitchen he wanted for himself. The one he could see himself making everything from quick dinners to full Sunday roasts in. The place he’d go to de-stress and the place where he’d bring celebrations to life.
It was easy to picture Oliver pottering around the space on a Saturday afternoon, making bread or experimenting with new recipes, crinkled and splattered recipe books propped open on the side.
I saw him there at Christmas, peeling a million potatoes and basting a turkey while Sparrow danced around his feet.
I could see myself at the kitchen table, knife in hand as I chopped veg under his direction.
I saw the two of us building a life in this house.
“You all right?” Joe asked, popping up behind me and bursting the fantasy bubble I’d been living in. “You’re just staring into space.”
“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking,” I said. “If we get started fitting the kitchen this afternoon, I reckon it’ll take us a week, maybe two, to get the whole thing finished.”
“Don’t know if it’ll take us that long. Not like we’ve gotta take anything out or prep it. We’re all ready to go.”
“Yeah, guess we are.”
“Come on. Don’t look so down,” Joe said, clapping me on the shoulder. “At least it finally turned up.”
I knew I should be pleased, and the professional part of me was, but the rest of me had realised there was suddenly a ticking clock on my relationship with Oliver, and it was breaking my heart.
When I got home later that evening, I found the house deserted. Even Sparrow was gone.
“Hello?” I called, just in case the two of them were hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out in some weird-as-fuck surprise. “Where the fuck are they?”
I checked my phone to see if I’d missed a message, but there was nothing there.
Frowning, I wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find some explanation.
It wasn’t like Oliver to just up and disappear.
As the minutes ticked by, I felt my pulse starting to race, worry spiking in my chest. Had something happened to Sparrow?
To Oliver? Had Oliver heard the cottage was nearly finished and decided to abandon ship?
A growl of frustration rose in my throat as I spun on my heels.
Then I noticed a folded piece of paper on the side, propped up against the kettle.
The words READ ME were printed in large, red letters, and I recognised the writing as Oliver’s.
It was written in the same giant capital letters he’d always used on the top of his revision notes, the ones he’d always let me copy because I was terrible at making my own.
I grabbed the note and flicked it open, scanning the words written inside as a smile started to slide across my face.
Lane,
I don’t have the words to tell you how I feel, but maybe you’ll let me show you instead.
I’ve headed to our favourite old haunt, where I first made you that promise. I hope you’ll join me soon.
Oliver xxx
PS: I’ve got Sparrow with me. She’s not a hostage, I promise.
“You cheeky bastard,” I said as I laughed and shook my head. “You had me there.”
This was so perfectly Oliver that it made my heart ache with affection.
It was grand, and dramatic, and a little over the top, but that was who he was when he was stressed.
I’d have been worried things were about to fall apart if it wasn’t for his note, but I had a feeling he’d realised what I’d been trying to do for the past few weeks, and now, he wanted to do the same.
The keys to the van were still in my pocket. They jingled in my hand as I walked out the front door, off to find the man I loved.