Chapter 19
19
‘So, we’ve got two guys coming to look at the mill on Friday,’ I tell Rebecca and Ben a couple of days later. We’re taking a break from painting the window frames, as we’re expecting a plumber friend of Ben’s to give us a quote for putting a modern boiler into the cottage. Even though it’s late September, the weather is fine, with more in the forecast, so we’re confident that we’ll have them done before winter hits.
‘What qualifications do they have?’ Ben asks, a mischievous expression on his face. ‘If they can’t pull off a convincing “hey, nonny, no”, we’ll have to send them packing.’
‘OK, I admit I was perhaps stereotyping them a bit with the whole Morris dancing thing, but with names like Ernest and George, I doubt very much they’re in the first flush of youth.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Rebecca counters. ‘Old names are making a comeback. There’s a girl in Rollo’s class called Mabel. I didn’t think anyone was called Mabel any more. Apparently, there’s a Constance in reception as well.’
‘Oh, that’s unkind,’ Ben observes. ‘What if she turns out not to be constant at all? We had a girl called Felicity in my class at primary school. She was the most deceitful little cow I think I’ve ever met.’
‘Really? How so?’ Rebecca leans forward as if interested, but the puppy dog eyes she’s giving Ben are very clear. From his expression, he’s not only picking up the signals, but he’s pretty happy with them too.
‘I’ll give you an example,’ Ben tells her, lowering his voice conspiratorially so she has to lean even closer. I notice she’s now positioned herself to give him the maximum benefit of her cleavage. Subtle, she is not.
‘There was another girl in our class, called Alison. Felicity absolutely hated her, for some reason, and was always trying to get her into trouble. Anyway, one day Alison couldn’t take it any more, and she apparently attacked Felicity in the girls’ toilets. There was a tussle and a mirror got broken. Felicity went straight to the headmistress in floods of tears and reported it. Alison was suspended for a week. I’ve never seen Felicity so happy.’
‘That’s nasty,’ Rebecca says.
‘Oh, it gets worse. I mean, it seemed out of character for Alison, but what we didn’t know at the time was that the incident never happened. There was another girl in Felicity’s gang called Olivia, who had a bit of a crush on me. She told me that it was Felicity who broke the mirror, and she made up the whole story about Alison attacking her.’
‘What a cow!’ Rebecca exclaims, somehow managing to look outraged and lovestruck at the same time. ‘What did you do?’
‘I urged Olivia to tell the headmistress what she knew, but she was scared of Felicity. That pissed me off, so when Alison came back, I made a point of being friends with her and looking out for her. Felicity and Olivia were livid, but I was more popular than they were, so they didn’t dare come after me.’
‘Aww. You’re so nice. Any girl would be lucky to have you as a friend.’ Rebecca has turned the flirtation up to the max, and it’s making me feel a bit queasy. Ben, I notice, is lapping it up. Thankfully, before this little scene can get any more nauseating, we’re interrupted by the arrival of Ben’s plumber friend, Chris.
‘Your best bet’s going to be oil,’ Chris observes after we’ve shown him round. He’s looked at the architectural drawings and made copious notes in scrawling writing on his pad. How he deciphers it later is anyone’s guess.
‘We were hoping for something a bit more eco-friendly,’ I tell him.
‘Yeah, no good here. Most of the eco stuff needs a really well-insulated house, and I think we can all agree this ain’t it. The only way you’re going to get this place warm is to pump a shitload of heat into it until the walls warm through, and heat pumps won’t do that.’
‘What about wood pellets?’ I persevere, keen to prove that I’ve done my research.
‘A few problems there. First, the boilers are bloody massive. You’d need to build an outhouse just for the boiler and the wood pellet hopper. Have you got planning for an outhouse?’
‘No,’ I admit. ‘But we could probably get it.’
‘Fine. But then you’ve got to keep filling the hopper. House like this, you’d be filling it every few days in winter. And after all that, you’ve got to empty out the ash. Ben says you’re developing this to sell on?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Steer clear of wood pellets then. They smell nice, but they’re a pain in the arse in every other way. Nope, as there’s no gas here, I reckon old-fashioned oil is your best bet. It still won’t be cheap, mind, even at mates’ rates. You need the boiler, the oil tank, radiators, all the plumbing. It’s a big job.’
‘Oil’s OK,’ Ben assures us. ‘It’s what most of the village has.’ He turns to Chris. ‘Can you run us up some numbers?’
‘Sure. I’ll have something with you by the end of the day.’
‘What’s the latest with you and Ben?’ I ask Rebecca as Ben walks Chris back to his van.
‘What do you mean?’ she replies guiltily.
‘Oh, I don’t know, I felt like I was a bit of a third wheel earlier. You were practically dry humping him, and he didn’t seem to be resisting.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ she says archly.
‘Any girl would be lucky to have you as a friend, Ben,’ I say in a saccharine voice. ‘Will you be my special friend, Ben? Look at my cleavage, Ben, it’s all for you.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘It totally was. But it seems to be working.’
Her face transforms instantly into an expression of hope. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Why don’t you ask him out? The worst he can do is say no.’
‘He’s supposed to ask me out. That’s how it works.’
‘What is this, the 1950s? What happened to female empowerment? If you want to go on a date with him, then ask him.’
She suddenly looks terrified. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Thea. Anyway, I’ve got Rollo to think about.’
‘Rollo adores Ben nearly as much as you do,’ I point out. ‘Plus, I’d take advantage of the on-hand babysitting service at Mum and Phil’s while you can.’
‘I’ll think about it, OK?’
‘Do. I don’t think I can stand the way things are for much longer.’
I was half right about Ernest and George. When they climb out of the battered Volvo estate and introduce themselves, Ernest is exactly as I imagined he would be. He’s bald, with a thick white beard covering half of his ruddy face and a pot belly poking out of his overalls. His actual age is impossible to guess; he could be anywhere between sixty and eighty, I reckon. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has a second career moonlighting as Santa in a garden centre somewhere each Christmas.
The surprise is George. He may have an old person name, but he’s our age or possibly a little younger. His blond hair is a strange mismatch with his eyes, which I would expect to be blue, but are actually such a dark brown that they’re almost black, but that’s not the main thing that I notice about him. What I notice is that he’s absolutely, 100 per cent, the most beautiful man I think I’ve ever set eyes on. I mean, Alasdair was pretty good looking, but George is properly hot. As he comes closer, I notice that his eyes are framed by the kind of lashes that no man should be allowed to possess, and his full lips part to reveal even, white teeth when he smiles in greeting. His voice is soft but his grip is firm as he shakes my hand, and a quick glance down reveals that his hands are as beautiful as the rest of him, with neatly cut nails on the ends of his thick, strong fingers.
‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee before we begin?’ I manage to stammer as I reluctantly let go of George’s hand.
‘That would be perfect, love, thank you,’ Ernest replies, making me bristle slightly. ‘Tea, white with two for me. George?’
‘I’m a coffee man. White, no sugar. Would you like a hand?’
If I’m impressed by his manners, that’s nothing compared to the very graphic train of thought that is coursing through my mind as I contemplate various ways I’d like George to give me a hand. It’s like a switch has flicked in my head, and all rational thought has been turned off.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say hurriedly.
‘I wouldn’t mind using the loo, if you have one,’ Ernest continues. ‘My bladder isn’t what it used to be.’
‘No problem, let me show you the way.’
They follow me into the house and Ernest disappears in the direction of the bathroom when I direct him, leaving me alone with George. I concentrate very hard on not looking at him as I busy myself with filling the kettle and switching it on.
‘This is quite the project,’ George observes, glancing around him. ‘Are you doing it all yourself?’
‘No, I have a partner – a business partner. She’ll be here any minute actually, they’ve just popped out for more paint,’ I gabble. What is the matter with me? Thankfully, before I have the opportunity to make a complete idiot of myself, Ernest reappears.
‘That’s better,’ he informs us unnecessarily. ‘So, Charlotte in the office informs me you’re after a certificate to say your mill is beyond economic repair. Is that right?’
‘That’s it,’ I tell him as I hand him his mug.
‘I expect it’s just a formality; sadly, most of the mills I’ve seen lately are completely shot, but we have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, don’t we.’
‘There isn’t anything Ernest doesn’t know about watermills and windmills,’ George informs me, his soft voice making my insides quiver.
‘I come from a long line of millers,’ Ernest explains. ‘Sadly, I’m the last one as neither of my children have any interest. They say their childhood was spent being dragged round various mills, and if they never see another one, it’ll be too soon.’
‘And what about you?’ I ask George. ‘How did you get into the milling business?’
‘I started out as a regular mechanic, but modern cars are basically just rolling computers and I’m a sucker for old-school engineering,’ he says, treating me to another flash of his beautiful smile. ‘Steam engines, mills, basically if there’s heavy cogs, I’m into it.’
‘George is restoring a traction engine,’ Ernest adds.
‘Not on my own,’ George clarifies. ‘It’s a group project. The idea is that we’ll take it to shows and stuff once it’s done.’
A picture of George on the platform of a massive traction engine, sweat glistening on his strong arms as he shovels coal, forms in my mind. Dear God, I’m going to need to lie down if this continues for much longer. Seven months without Alasdair to keep my libido under control and I’m in danger of turning into some kind of sex pest. Thankfully, Rebecca and Ben choose this moment to appear and save me from total meltdown.
‘This is Rebecca, my friend and business partner,’ I tell Ernest and George. ‘And this is Ben, who lives at the end of the drive and has been helping us out.’ I spot Rebecca sizing George up, and a niggle of irritation forms in the pit of my stomach. Leave him alone , I silently project at her. You’ve already got Ben, don’t be greedy.
‘The kettle’s just boiled if you and Ben want a cuppa,’ I tell her instead.
‘I’d love one, I’m parched,’ Ben says, thankfully diverting Rebecca’s attention back onto him. A look passes between them, and I wonder if she’s plucked up the courage to ask him out. An awkward silence descends while we watch her getting mugs out of the cupboard and fiddling about with the teabags.
‘George was just telling us about a traction engine he’s restoring,’ I tell Ben, keen to get the conversation flowing again.
‘Really?’ Ben’s interest is clearly piqued, as I’d hoped it would be. ‘That’s a big old thing, where are you keeping it?’
While the three of them chat about the intricacies of traction engine restoration, I take the opportunity to sidle over to Rebecca.
‘Did you have a conversation with Ben?’ I enquire gently.
‘Have I asked him out, do you mean?’ She smiles. ‘We’re going to the pub on Saturday evening, as it happens. Are you sure you don’t mind looking after Rollo?’
‘Of course not. I’m pleased for you,’ I say, suppressing a sigh of relief. ‘George is a bit of a surprise, isn’t he?’
‘Hmm. Definite gay vibe there, if you ask me.’
‘Do you think?’ I hadn’t considered that, and it’s definitely an unwelcome thought.
‘He’s too beautiful to be straight,’ she says simply.
Before I can think of a suitable comeback, Ernest sets his mug down on the side with a thump.
‘Right then,’ he says. ‘Shall we take a look at this mill of yours?’