Chapter 8 #2
Chloe’s bottle falls to the floor, and I pick it up to set it on the table.
Then I scatter her tray with tiny pieces of fish for her to fist into her mouth.
Since she’s been watching Joey, she’s developed a desire to feed herself more.
Not that I mind, but she’s gagged once since we arrived here, and it sent my heart racing.
The pieces I give her are always very tiny, but I can’t help the spike of panic that she might choke.
“I’ve spent eight years on building sites, if you want any help getting those memorized.” I toss out the offer, not really expecting her to take me up on it. Imogen wouldn’t have. She’d have claimed I couldn’t possibly understand, and we’d have left my offer at that.
“Would you mind?” Paige’s expression lightens. “I’m a quick study, usually, but the idea of going through it all without any sort of context or reason makes me nervous the details won’t stick.”
“When the kids go to bed, we’ll crack on with it, yeah?” I help Chloe get a piece of fish that’s eluding her.
“Thanks,” Paige says. “I’m not even going to ask you if you really mean it.”
“Not to worry,” I say. “I’m usually pretty good at keeping my mouth shut about things I don’t want to do.”
This earns a laugh, and I like the sound.
It’s one I haven’t heard often enough this week.
This job makes me incredibly nervous, and there are still moments where it feels as though Paige and I are finding our feet in this house together, but I’m not as lost as I expected.
Might not get everything right, but I’m finding, to my surprise, I’m enjoying the effort.
We’re both sat on the settee, and I’ve got the stack of ringed papers on my lap. “You’re responsible for all this?” I figured there would be a lot, but not this much.
“Yes and no. I’m the boss for this low-income housing project—which is currently one of the biggest in this part of England, and why so many internal people wanted the job.
It’s a real chance to prove my worth. I have to spot mistakes if they’re made, but it’s not specifically my job to know every building code, regulation, and bylaw for Bedfordshire.
That’s why I have a team. But since my team isn’t playing nice, I need to be prepared.
I would not put it past Jack to slip something in that he knows is wrong just to see if I’ll catch it, and if I don’t, to point out the error himself. ”
“He’s a sly bastard, is he?”
“Thinks he is,” she agrees. “I intend to ensure he isn’t next time.”
“It’s already happened?”
“Today,” she says with a grimace. “He proposed a particular company to source our solar energy products from, and I agreed, not thinking he was trying to screw me. Then a few minutes later, in front of the rest of the team, he read out a bylaw tied that means we can’t use that company.
The panels he proposed that go on roofs aren’t compliant with local building codes.
I should have asked more questions. I was too trusting.
Then he pointed out in front of everyone that, since I’m not British, I don’t know all the regulations or companies involved in the project, so it’s easy for mistakes to happen. ”
“Did you ask him what his excuse was? He’s British. He suggested it.”
“No. I should have, but I was too embarrassed and angry to be that quick on my feet. Kind of a disaster. I can’t fire him for it. He was definitely attacking me in a way that felt safe.”
Not a shock. I’ve been on jobsites with blokes like she’s describing. Stab you in the back the first chance they get. Don’t give a toss about reality, just how they appear to others.
“I’m sure he’ll do it again. So much smugness in him after the meeting. And the expression on his face.” She shakes her head. “The combination of being angry and feeling useless isn’t one I can tolerate. Maryam, my assistant, dug up all the bylaws and building codes for me.”
“Where do you reckon we should start?” I rotate through the ringed books on my lap.
“Bedfordshire bylaws or whatever you call them here. It’s where he got me today. There’s a sticky note on the pages about housing developments.”
“Right, yeah, housing estates.” I flip the pages to see how many there are. “Doesn’t seem too bad.” More than I’d ever be able to memorize, but there’s a reason I never went to sixth form or on to university. My brain functions much better when my hands are moving.
“I read through those on the way home in the cab. Ask me a question.”
“Fire prevention,” I say, seeing a whole section. “Tell me what you know from the building code.”
She rubs her hands together and takes a deep breath. “This one is easy.” Then she proceeds to list every single thing on the page in front of me. Bloody impressive.
“You’ve got that one down.”
We go through the regulations together, and we’re on the second book when I begin to realize that tea may be the only way to power through this. Some of it is interesting, but some of it is dead boring.
“I’m getting a cup of tea,” I say, dropping the books onto the settee as I rise to my feet and stretch. “Against my will, I bought decaffeinated tea bags this afternoon.”
“For me?” She seems genuinely touched.
“Wouldn’t drink the stuff myself. Took a chance you might.”
“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “That would be—to borrow a British expression—lovely.”
I wander into the kitchen, and warmth settles over my whole body at how grateful Paige seemed to be for such a small gesture.
This afternoon, I carted Chloe and Joey to the shop to pick up some odds and ends, and I saw the box of decaffeinated bags beside the ones I was buying.
It occurred to me that Paige might drink it if I had it in the house. Who doesn’t love a cup of tea?
“How do you take it?” I call to her.
“Two sugar. One milk.”
While I’m waiting for the tea to steep, it strikes me that this is the most relaxed and the happiest I’ve been in ages.
Last time I felt this content was before Chloe was born.
Her arrival kickstarted the storm of worries that seemed to live in my belly forever after.
Didn’t seem like I’d ever be able to give her the life she deserved, and once Imogen left us, I was certain I couldn’t.
Even now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to give Chloe this kind of life after this year, but I’m going to enjoy this experience while it lasts. Nice house. Great food. Predictable routine. Let the hurricane in my stomach die down to a soft breeze.
When I take the tea back to Paige, she gives me a pleased grin. She holds the cup in both hands and lets it sit just under her nose. “I’ve always opted for herbal teas in the past, but you might be on to something with the decaffeinated idea.”
“Can’t be doing with those cranberry, lavender, orange peel combinations.” All those scents remind me too much of someone else. Paige, I’ve noticed, smells like honey.
“I’ll admit, I’m a bit of a vanilla or cinnamon flavored tea, myself. If they made a cookie dough tea, I’d be all over it.” She sets down her mug. “Further cementing the idea that I am, in fact, someone’s grandmother.”
I let out a chuckle. She’s always making these comments as though I think she’s old.
But I don’t—not even a little. In fact, a few times this week, I’ve caught my gaze lingering on some part of her too long.
Which is strange, partly because she’s my employer and partly because I haven’t found any woman particularly attractive since Imogen left.
In this case, close proximity has bred curiosity, that’s all.
“Are we doing more of this?” I hold up the one we were working on.
“Yep,” she says. “If you don’t mind. On Monday, I want to feel prepared for anything.”
After a large gulp of my tea, I set it aside.
Then I remember that tomorrow is Saturday, and Watford, my football club, is playing a match.
Earlier this week, when I purchased a telly for my room with Paige’s money, I bought the smallest one.
The giant one on the wall in here would be much better viewing, almost like being down at the pub.
“Do you reckon I could watch the football match in here tomorrow? Starts at three. All done and dusted in about two hours.” When Paige hesitates, I continue, “If it’s too much trouble with Joey not being allowed to watch, no worries.”
“I can—I can take him out somewhere or occupy him in another room,” she says. “Watch it in here.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Very sure.”
I pick up my tea for another sip, pleased with the plan. Then I set it down, and we get back to work. Building codes and roadway regulations float between us for the next few hours until Paige answers too many questions wrong.
“This is my brain telling me it’s full.” She yawns. “Or exhausted.”
“I’ll tidy up here.” Taking the stack of regulations, I place them on a table near the fireplace before gathering our mugs to return them to the kitchen.
In the doorway to the living room, Paige lingers, and when I glance in her direction as I click off lights, she’s got an expression on her face I can’t quite read but seems a bit like longing.
Felt the same way myself a few times since Imogen left—the desire for someone, anyone.
Soothing that longing never happened, not with a baby, a full-time job, and my boatload of stress.
I’m probably reading her wrong, but even if I’m not, I can’t do anything to fuck up my situation in this house.
Chloe and I have got a year of stability, a chance for me to save enough to keep us afloat once Paige and Joey are back in America.
Soothing a bit of loneliness on my part or hers isn’t worth the risk.
I take the mugs and head toward where she’s standing by the hallway. “The wankers at work are going to be in for a surprise on Monday.”
She smiles, and my comment eases the strange moment between us. “Thank you for helping me.”
When I go to squeeze past her, she looks up at me.
Unlike last Sunday when she seemed mildly afraid of my breadth and height, that’s not the impression she’s giving me now.
For the briefest second, I have the urge to pin her against the doorframe and brush my lips across hers, let myself discover how deep the honey flavor runs.
The thought is so surprising that I rush a little too quickly past her, and I almost drop one of the cups, fumbling it midair before snagging the handle at the last second.
“Impressive,” Paige says.
“My reflexes have gotten better with Chloe around,” I say over my shoulder. Inside, my heart is thumping, and it’s not from the almost-accident with the cup.
What the fuck am I doing having thoughts of kissing Paige? Not long ago, I was in the kitchen congratulating myself on how solid my life feels. A fit bird, especially one who’s my employer, won’t upend my life. Not happening. Won’t let it.
It's been too long since I’ve found a woman attractive or been in this close, constant contact. Being with Imogen for almost ten years, and then being on my own for months is taking its toll. That’s all. My attraction isn’t to Paige, and hers is not to me—it’s to the situation we’re in.
But as I sneak past her closed bedroom door and hear the murmur of her on the phone, likely to her mum, the idea of kissing her still lingers at the back of my brain. Trust me to pick up on a vibe destined to blow my situation all to hell.