Chapter 46
‘I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’
Iwas knee-deep in dust and costings. Lachlan had sent a further revised, annotated set of plans late the night before, but I was ignoring them.
I knew there’d be more changes in there I hadn’t anticipated or wanted to deal with.
He was so rigorous and exacting it was driving me crazy.
The planning application had gone in for the bedrooms at the back, and we knew what we were doing with the main pub.
‘Flo, he’s not out to vex you,’ said Alice, during a ten-minute coffee break I didn’t have time for. ‘He’s just competent.’
‘Competent doesn’t mean entitled to delete half my design notes.’
‘And are you sure he’s not right?’
We were sitting in the second-hand caravan that I’d towed into the car park the week before. Now that work was underway, it felt easier to stay on site. It also felt like time to move out of Alice’s guest room, despite her and Dylan generously insisting I stay there for the build.
The caravan was not cosy or attractive. The interior maintained a metallic cold that settled in the marrow and forced me to sleep in thermal socks and a hat. Still, it was mine.
Every morning, I pulled back the polyester flowery curtain, wiped away the heavy condensation that was clinging to the windows, and opened the thin metal door.
Rocky would hop out while I looked out across the gravel towards the pub.
Broken windows, patchy roof, and a crow that had taken up permanent residence on the chimney.
No one else in their right mind would have seen potential. Except me. And, bloody Lachlan.
I glared at Alice through the steam rising off my coffee.
She held up her hands. ‘Okay. I get that he’s bulldozed some of your ideas, but you’ve got to remember he has won awards. I was showing his website to Dylan last night. That brewery to residential one is amazing.’
‘Hmmm.’
It was amazing, but I wasn’t going to admit it. There were also the Notting Hill residence, and an old bar beneath a skyscraper in the City that he’d done. All had been award-winning.
‘Any news from California?’
I knew what she meant. Chase.
I shook my head. ‘No. Just a tax return reminder.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing from any of the Fullers?’
‘Even Bunny’s finally given up on me,’ I said.
We sipped our coffee. I was a million miles away from the opulence of the Fuller lifestyle now. Even in this grotty caravan, I could safely say I did not miss it one tiny bit. As if in agreement, Rocky barked in his sleep from where he lay curled up on his bed by the caravan door.
Alice glanced at my whiteboard propped up next to the kettle. It was covered in dates, measurements, and deadlines. ‘Just so I’ve got the flowchart right. Demolition’s underway. Planning application’s in. You’re living in a tin can and overseeing a full-scale rebuild.’
‘That about covers it.’
She took a closer look at the board. ‘Are you actually okay? I mean, really okay. This is… a lot.’
I shrugged, then half-smiled. ‘It is. But it’s also the first time in years I’ve felt like I’m steering the ship.’
‘Even if the ship currently has a leaking roof and a dead mouse problem?’
‘Exactly.’
Alice leaned back. ‘Just promise me you’ll say if it gets too much. You’re good at handling things. Less good at asking for help.’
‘I will,’ I said, though we both knew it was only partly true.
Before she could press further, the crunch of tyres on gravel came in through the window. I turned and peered through the fogged glass. A Defender rolled to a halt just outside the caravan. Lachlan climbed out, a black folder tucked under one arm.
I got up, opened the door, and stepped out onto the icy metal steps. ‘You’re early.’
‘You’re behind,’ he replied, glancing towards the upper scaffolding.
Charming.
‘I didn’t realise this was a performance review.’
His eyes swept over Alice standing just behind me. ‘Morning.’
Alice stepped forward with a diplomatic smile and held out her hand. ‘Alice MacKenzie.’
He took her hand without hesitation. ‘Lachlan Shaw.’
Alice studied him for a beat, eyes twinkling. ‘You’re the one deleting all her shelving.’
‘I’d call it realigning priorities.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ she said, way too sweetly. ‘Lovely to meet you.’ With a smirk aimed at me, she stepped back into the caravan to collect her coat. ‘I’ll leave you two to get on. Text me if you want company later, or if you need backup.’
‘I don’t need backup,’ I muttered as she passed me on the way out.
She disappeared across the gravel. We watched her go, then he turned back to me. ‘She’s sharp,’ he said.
‘She’s loyal.’
‘Both useful traits.’
The builders greeted him like a minor celebrity. Igor even offered him a coffee, which he politely declined. We walked inside.
‘Lighting schematic,’ he said, handing me the file. ‘I’ve revised it. You’ll want to sign off before the electrician starts pulling wire.’
We moved to the back room where I’d set up a makeshift project table. I reviewed the diagram. Not bad. Actually, it was good. Annoyingly so. ‘You’ve flipped the pendant positions in the bar.’
‘Because your sight lines were off.’
‘I liked my sight lines.’
‘They didn’t like you.’
I shot him a look. ‘Anything else I’ve done to offend spatial harmony?’
He tapped the lower corner of the drawing. ‘Your window banquette. You’ve got a depth of 600. That’s not enough room for a human adult with legs.’
‘I measured it twice.’
‘Try again. Or find smaller humans.’
I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Reminded myself he was here to help. That Dom vouched for him. ‘Do you actually like anything about this build?’
He looked up. ‘The bones are honest. You don’t often find structures this age with an envelope that still reads so clearly.
And there’s integrity in the fabric, nothing showy, nothing pretending to be more than it is.
That’s rare. And, the asymmetry’s working in its favour.
It doesn’t feel forced. The way we’ve reworked the axial flow from the kitchen through to the courtyard, keeps it organic. Lets the space breathe a bit.’
I nodded, slowly. The words made sense, individually; as a whole, I was perplexed.
He went over the plans showing his updates. I took notes. The air between us settled into something almost cooperative.
Almost.
Then he spoke again. ‘You know, most clients come in with mood boards and magazine clippings. You came in with a written story on how the pub would flow and operate. And a spreadsheet.’
‘That surprised you?’
He allowed the smallest flicker of a smile. ‘Once I realised it was a brief in disguise, it worked.’ His phone buzzed. He checked the screen. ‘Give me a sec.’
He stepped through into the main bar. I stayed behind, reviewing my notes, then headed up the stairs to check on a guest bedroom revision. I was checking the new door position when his voice came drifting up and in through the broken sash window from the courtyard below.
‘No, she’s not a trained PM. She’s… figuring it out.’
Pause.
‘Yeah. It’s not ideal. But she’s got instincts. She’s not an idiot.’
Another pause. Longer this time. Then: ‘She’s emotionally attached to the build. She’s lacking in capability. That’s the main thing. She pushes too hard sometimes. Overreaches. Then second-guesses herself.’
A gust of wind rattled the window.
‘I’ve got it under control.’
I didn’t move. Not at first. Just stood there, one hand still on the notebook, the other curled around my pencil like I might snap it.
I didn’t storm downstairs, call him out. I just walked back to the caravan, made a coffee, and sat cross-legged on the bench. Rocky climbed up beside me, while I allowed a wave of humiliation wash over and threaten to drown me.
I watched him reappear and walk over to the caravan, hair wind-blown, face as unreadable as always. No mention of the call.
‘Builders are making good progress with the bar ceiling.’
‘Glad it passes inspection,’ I said, evenly.
He glanced at me. I didn’t smile.
He suggested going over the kitchen ventilation run one more time. I said, ‘Not today.’
Firm, but polite. Just enough to register. Because whatever else he thought I was figuring out, I’d already figured this: I didn’t need his approval.
What I needed was the pub finished. And the confidence not to mistake his assessment of me as truth.