CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The news, as it turned out, was relatively good.
They’d cleared the gutters and fixed the leaky roof and would now be starting the task of repointing one of the chimneys.
Everything seemed to be under control and I felt myself relax. The house would look amazing when it was finished.
Whenever I felt guilty about railroading Zak into buying a place he wasn’t entirely in love with, I’d imagine how Bogg House would eventually look. Brand-new white window frames would give it the most wonderful facelift and I’d been looking at some gorgeous country-style front doors as well. When Zak was home, we’d choose one together.
He was coming back in a couple of days and I’d planned some treats for the weekend. We’d go out for lunch on Saturday after the ten-pin bowling Zak had promised, and then to a film Maisie wanted to see at the cinema on Sunday. I’d bought candles for a romantic dinner for two.
I’d missed Zak and I was so looking forward to having him home again – even if just for the weekend...
*****
The following day, after dropping Maisie at school, I drove over to the house to have a chat with Mac about what needed doing.
I liked Mac. He was always cheerful and he didn’t beat about the bush. He told you straight. And that was really helpful when it came to getting a realistic picture of the state of our new house.
Lottie had smilingly described Mac as a workaholic. He kept his phone switched on, day and night, and he was always quick to respond to a client’s concerns. He was also, she’d told us, an extremely skilled builder. A jack of all trades, really, although he had two reliable right-hand men in Danny, who looked to be in his late thirties, of ages with Mac – and a young apprentice called Barney.
Barney was in the kitchen when I walked in. He was pouring tea from a large flask into three battered mugs.
‘Hi, there.’ I smiled. Any left for me?’
‘I wouldn’t risk it.’ He grinned. ‘It’s not true what they say about builder’s tea.’
‘You mean that it’s so strong you can stand a spoon up in it?’
He nodded and showed me his mug. ‘That’s how I like it. I have to dunk a teabag in it for those two.’ He nodded in the direction of the living room from where I could hear occasional hammering.
I laughed. ‘That’s so pale you must have just shown it the tea bag.’
Mac and Danny came in at that moment, presumably having heard voices and on the hunt for the promised tea.
‘Work’s going well,’ said Mac, picking up a mug and leaning against the wall. ‘Another six weeks and we should be finished.’
‘That’s great. I can’t wait to see it when it’s all done.’
‘Biscuit?’ smiled Danny, holding out the packet.
‘Oh, go on, then. I’m snacking all the time these days with this one on board.’ I patted my bump and bit into the chocolate-covered biscuit.
Barney grinned. ‘Sounds like you, Danny. Living on take-aways and biscuits isn’t good for you, mate.’
‘Hey, you still live with your mum, wise-guy, and I bet she cooks all your meals for you,’ said Danny cheerfully. ‘I’m living the single life these days, remember? But as soon as I work out how to use my new air fryer, I’ll be cooking gourmet meals every night.’
Mac laughed. ‘Steak in one drawer and chips in the other?’
‘Something like that.’ Danny winked at me and took a swallow of his tea.
I smiled. ‘And what about you Mac? Do you cook for yourself?’
‘I wish.’ He grinned. ‘I’m told I don’t know how to look after myself properly. So tonight on the menu is vegetarian shepherd’s pie – lentils instead of meat – served with a selection of green veg.’
I chuckled. ‘That actually sounds lovely.’
He smiled. ‘If it’s not, I’ve got a secret weapon.’
Barney snorted. ‘Not sure we need to know about that, Mac.’
‘I’m talking about a bottle of spicy sauce. Guaranteed to give any plate of bland food that extra bit of oomph.’ He grinned and patted his stomach. ‘Actually, I’m feeling quite good on all the greens.’
‘Well, it’ll be another take-away for me tonight. Aren’t I the lucky one?’ said Danny, sounding as if ‘lucky’ was the very last thing he was feeling. He downed his tea in one. ‘I’ll get finished in there,’ he said to Mac, and with a smile at me, he walked out of the kitchen.
I exchanged a look with Mac.
‘It was a joint decision,’ said Barney with a shrug. ‘For him and his wife to split up, I mean.’
‘Doesn’t mean Danny’s not finding it tough, living alone,’ murmured Mac.
‘Relationships,’ groaned Barney. ‘Why put yourself through it? Another biscuit?’ He held out the packet to me.
‘Thanks. But I’d better not. Right, I’ll leave you to it. Great that we seem to be ahead of schedule, Mac.’
He nodded, walking to the door with me.
‘I don’t see any major problems. It’s a great house.’
I was smiling as I went out to the car. It was all looking good for us to get moved in by early April, when the baby was due.
I’d come over to inspect progress with Zak when he was home at the weekend...
*****
As it turned out, Zak and Agatha, his gran, received a last-minute invitation to dinner at a neighbour’s house on the Friday night, so – not wanting to disappoint Agatha – he ended up driving back to us on the Saturday morning, instead of on the Friday night as planned.
He looked worn out when he finally arrived. But after taking a shower, while I made a late breakfast for us, he came down to the kitchen looking well-restored in fresh jeans and shirt, with his wet hair combed back.
‘It’s so good to be home.’ He wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck as I stirred the scrambled eggs. I chuckled and turned to kiss him, which meant the eggs were overdone, but who cared? Zak was back and that was all that really mattered.
‘Shall we go bowling straight after this?’ I asked, as Maisie came running into the kitchen declaring that she was starving.
‘Bowling?’ He looked at me, confused for a moment, and my heart sank. He’d obviously forgotten. ‘Ah, yes. Ten-pin bowling. Of course we can.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked him.
‘Perfectly sure. I can do some writing this afternoon when we get back.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘Sorry. Is that all right?’ he asked, looking suddenly uncertain. ‘It’s just that it’s flowing so well at the moment, I’m almost afraid to stop writing in case my inspiration dries up again.’
‘Of course it’s okay. I mean, we could do the bowling another time if you’d rather just get on with the book?’ I glanced at Maisie. ‘You wouldn’t mind, would you?’
She shook her head. ‘Will you play football in the garden with me later, though, Dad? I need to practice because I want to be on the school team.’
Zak grinned. ‘That can definitely be arranged. As long as you promise not to put too many goals past me.’
Later, I popped my head into the study, where he was typing away. ‘Can I read the first few chapters?’
‘No!’ He turned and grinned at me, closing his laptop with a snap. ‘Be patient. You’ve got to wait until it’s finished.’
‘Well, I really like the title, so that’s a start. Dinner’s nearly ready.’
‘Okay, love. I’ll just save this, then I’ll walk over and collect Maisie.’ He pushed up the laptop lid and clicked on his document, and I saw the title in large letters – Death Mountain – before I hurried back to the kitchen to stir the Bolognese sauce. I’d abandoned the idea of a romantic meal for two, thinking that since we’d been doing mostly separate things during the day, it would be nice to have a family meal together.
Maisie had gone to a friend’s house in the village and while Zak was away collecting her, I nipped back into the study to collect the coffee cups he tended to accumulate. He’d left his laptop on and the manuscript was right there. My fingers were itching to click on the Death Mountain document and read the first few paragraphs, but I managed to resist and went out again, smiling at the fact that Zak seemed so much happier these days now that he had a new story to write that he clearly believed in.
Just as I was closing the study door, his mobile rang and instinctively, I went to answer it.
‘Zak’s phone?’
‘Oh. Hi. Is... Zak there?’ It was a voice I didn’t recognise. A woman.
‘Um... no, he’s just nipped out. Can I get him to call you back?’
‘Please. If you would. It’s . . . Rachel.’
‘Okay. Of course. No problem. I’ll tell him you called.’
I hung up, puzzled. I’d never heard him mention a friend called Rachel. Unless she’d joined the local writer’s group Zak sometimes went along to. He hadn’t been to a meeting for a few weeks now. Maybe they were wondering if he was all right?
I asked him about her when he returned.
‘Rachel?’ He paused for just a second, as if he was trying to remember. ‘Oh, she’s Gran’s next-door neighbour.’
‘The neighbour you had dinner with last night?’
‘Yes.’ He ran a hand through his hair and smiled. ‘She’s... well, she wanted some advice on self-publishing. She’s writing a book.’
‘Oh. Lovely.’
Maisie burst in at that moment, asking when dinner would be ready, and Rachel was forgotten as we tucked into the ‘spag bol’ I’d made, and Zak and Maisie had an amusing fight over who deserved the last remaining slice of garlic bread.
We made it to the cinema the following lunchtime and then Zak retreated to the study to work some more. I got the candles out, thinking we could eat once Maisie had gone to bed, which would give Zak more time to continue writing. But as it turned out, he’d decided it would be best if he left for the coast after dinner, instead of getting up early the following morning, so he asked if we could eat early.
‘I’ll go tomorrow if you’d rather,’ he murmured, a look of apology in his dark eyes.
‘No, no. I totally get it. If you go tonight, you’ll wake up refreshed tomorrow, and all ready to get straight down to the writing.’
‘Exactly.’ He nodded eagerly, looking relieved that I understood. ‘I’ve sort of set myself a deadline to get the first draft of this story finished.’ He shrugged. ‘As long as you don’t mind.’
I reassured him that I didn’t, and I just wanted to support him in getting his story written.
‘But I want to read it as soon as you’ve finished it,’ I told him later with a smile, after we’d both tucked Maisie up in bed.
‘Of course. You’ve always been the first one to read my stuff and you always will be. I don’t trust anyone like I trust you.’ He pulled me in for a lingering kiss and I melted against him.
Later, after we’d gone to bed, I woke up and finding Zak gone, I pushed back the covers and went to help him pack his case for the journey back to his gran’s. The study desk lamp was on. Zak was in there on his mobile, his back to the door.
Puzzled, wondering who he could be talking to at nine-ish on a Sunday evening, I waited by the door. And I was just in time to hear him murmur, ‘You’ve read the chapters I sent you? Great. What did you think?’
I froze to the spot. Was this ‘Rachel’ again? He’d said he was helping her to self-publish her book. So why was he sending her his first chapters to read? When he’d told me I had to wait until it was finished?
I swallowed hard, feeling suddenly as if I was balancing on shifting sand.
So much for not trusting anyone but me to read his work first...