Chapter Eight
It was the end of the week and Brodie had managed to finish everything he wanted to on the flat, despite the emergency rescue call.
Fortunately, it had turned out to be a broken-down boat and nobody was hurt.
But it had taken a few hours to tow it back to shore and then clean down the boat and debrief with the crew.
The time he’d lost from work he’d managed to make up by working even later than he normally would the past few nights.
But he didn’t have the Friday feeling yet.
In fact, it had been a while since he’d experienced that kind of freedom knowing that a weekend of relaxation awaited.
The tiler was now working on the bathroom and had promised he would be finished by the end of the day.
Brodie hoped he was true to his word as his weekend plans involved painting the bathroom and giving it all a thorough clean so that it would be ready for Gillian and Millie to move into.
He was very much looking forward to signing it all off and handing over the keys so they could enjoy their new home.
In the meantime, he started to mentally prepare for Monday’s project and called Iris to check he could pop over just to make sure he was all set to start.
‘Hi, Iris. Are you in this afternoon so I can have a quick chat and go through the plan for next week?’
‘Yes, dear. Pop in anytime and let yourself in through the gate as usual. We won’t be far away.’
He wondered if she had a visitor staying but then remembered she sometimes referred to herself and her rescue parrots, Sidney and Scrumpy, as ‘we’.
They were usually very enthusiastic to see him, squawking and chattering noisily away, much to his amusement.
Especially when their usual opening welcome to him was, ‘Hello, I love you. I love you.’ It had been a while since any kind of bird had uttered such romantic words to him.
‘Great. I’ll see you later. Thanks, Iris. ’
* * *
Brodie let himself into the garden through the shoogly gate, making a mental note to add that to his list of tasks to sort for Iris.
He headed over to the large shed where he had moved his gear a couple of weekends ago, knowing that he wouldn’t need any of it until Iris’s project started.
He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the to-do list that he and Iris had compiled together.
The new paving and stones he had ordered had been delivered and were piled up in the old gazebo.
Although around Iris he was only allowed to call it a sitooterie.
She wouldn’t have anything newfangled like gazebo, when the Scottish word would do, even though they were essentially the same thing.
Brodie smiled as he thought about how fun it would be working outside again.
He would replace her gazebo, no, sitooterie, but none of that could be done until he had worked out the basics.
He would definitely be rolling up his sleeves and getting stuck into what would be a very physical job with lots of digging and cutting and lifting.
There was definitely no need for him to go to the gym any time soon.
This was going to be a challenge but one he knew he would fix for Iris.
At the start of any job, he made a point of snapping a few pictures of the before garden so he could compare it with the after results.
It was a good way of showcasing a makeover and a great tool to share with potential new clients who wanted to make sure Brodie was legitimate and could deliver what he promised.
Starting at the top of the garden, he took a picture of the lawn with the loch beyond, then made his way down the garden, capturing the weeds and overgrown bushes and plants and the crumbling raised bed with rotten wood.
Then he walked back up the lawn and around the corner of Iris’s cottage to take some snaps of the old, cracked patio.
Just as he lifted his phone to start taking some pictures, his hand froze mid-air.
In front of him was a woman he’d never seen before, in Iris’s garden and fast asleep on her bench.
Worse than that, she appeared to be burning.