Page 11 of A Clean Sweep

Joe was due to arrive in less than half an hour.

Emily’s heartbeat quickened at the thought.

You silly, silly woman, she reprimanded herself.

Perhaps she should take a cold shower. Answer the door in her most ancient, unflattering pyjamas with hair standing on end and completely bare-faced.

That would have the poor boy scarpering the second he’d finished the job.

Not that he was likely to hang around anyway.

He no doubt had a long list of calls to make and hanging out with a woman old enough to be his mother probably didn’t figure highly on his afternoon agenda.

Although, maybe he was older than he looked.

She’d just happened to be browsing an article on Facebook yesterday featuring a roll call of women either dating or married to much younger men.

Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas, twenty-five years’ age difference.

J Lo and her on/off boyfriend, Jasper or Casper something, an eighteen-year gap.

And didn’t Kylie Minogue get engaged to someone almost twenty years her junior?

So, it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility.

Even if they were all impossibly glamorous stars and Emily was just a boring old housewife unlikely to be waltzing down a red carpet any day soon.

Still, there was no harm in checking that she didn’t look too frightening.

Maybe a dab of lipgloss and a hint of mascara. Nothing wrong with that, was there?

When the doorbell chimed, a few minutes ahead of schedule, Emily was ready.

The kettle had just boiled – in case he needed some refreshment.

The brownies were baked – in case he was feeling a little peckish.

And Emily had her second-best set of matching underwear on.

In case … what? He felt the overwhelming need to down tools and bend her over backwards for a few hours of afternoon ecstasy?

Unlikely. But the very thought heated up her cheeks.

‘Hi. How are you? Sorry if I’m a bit early.’ Joe gave another of his knee-trembling smiles that seemed to light him up from within and gave Emily the sensation of curling her toes around a just-filled hot water bottle.

‘Not a problem. Come on through, or do you need to work outside first?’ She hesitated.

Should she offer him tea and brownies first, or would that seem rather forward?

Joe, fortunately, took the lead. ‘I’ll just get my ladder out, should only take me a few minutes to fit the guard.

I’ll come back in when I’m all done.’ And off he went, striding back to his van like the hero in a Western, all swagger and sex appeal.

If he’d had a gleaming black stallion waiting instead of a slightly beaten up Transit Emily’s head might have combusted with lustful thoughts.

As it was, she felt all a-flutter, butterflies whirling and diving in her stomach.

She hadn’t felt this giddy – now she was all Gone With the Wind again – since who knows when.

In fact, she couldn’t actually recall ever feeling this way in her entire life.

Which either suggested her life had been woefully lacking until now or that she was in danger of losing the plot completely.

Neither of which could be described as best-case scenarios.

When Joe reappeared, a little grubby round the edges but still ridiculously attractive, he headed immediately to the loo for a quick clean up.

By which point Emily had re-boiled the kettle, made a pot of tea and was leaning back in a pseudo nonchalant fashion against the worktop.

‘Thought you might like a cuppa. And I made some brownies earlier. If you fancy one?’ Or me, said the devilish little voice in her head.

He nodded enthusiastically, pulling up a chair and placing a brownie on the side plate Emily had thoughtfully positioned next to his mug.

She poured his tea, proffered the sugar bowl and milk jug.

Lifted a brownie on to her own plate and took a delicate bite.

‘So, Joe. Are you married?’ Well done, Emily.

Talk about going in for the kill. Why not just hand him a bloody questionnaire and be done with it?

Memo to self, engage brain before opening mouth.

Joe, to his credit, didn’t seem overly taken aback at her directness.

‘Nope. Not married. Not seeing anyone at the moment. And you? I mean – sorry – I’m guessing you’re married but I couldn’t help wondering, noticing .

. .’ His voice tailed off, embarrassment obvious as he fiddled with his spoon and took another mouthful of cake.

Emily hesitated. She felt they were venturing into uncharted territory where each revelation could alter the dynamics of their relationship.

Not that they had a relationship. But she’d certainly never shared anything remotely personal with the gas man.

And he hadn’t been offered as much as a plain digestive or glass or tap water.

‘I was. Married, I mean. He died four years ago. It’s fine.

I mean, it’s not fine but you just get on with it.

’ Emily raised her eyes, saw the predictable sympathy in Joe’s expression.

And something else. Something that looked a bit like – anticipation?

A tiny glimmer of interest? Or was she simply reading far too much into what amounted to a young man being friendly and sociable?

‘I’m sorry. That’s tough. I can’t imagine … well, I can, in a way. My mum died five years ago and I miss her every single day. I’m sure you feel the same way about …’ The question hovered in the air, as choking as the fumes that had billowed through her living room just days before.

‘Jim. His name was Jim. Yes, I miss him. Of course. But life goes on. I keep busy.’ She fingered her necklace, smoothed down a stray strand of hair that had come loose from her scrunched-up topknot.

She gazed at him over the rim of her mug.

He shifted in his seat, took another brownie, eyebrows raised as if to query the wisdom of having another.

She nodded and smiled as he took a bite then leaned back, chewing thoughtfully.

‘I couldn’t help noticing, in your bathroom, the tap’s dripping a bit.

Probably just needs the washer changing.

I don’t have the right stuff on me now, but I could easily fix it for you.

If you like. I’m not too busy tomorrow morning so I could drop by.

No charge. Be glad to do it.’ His words came out in a rush.

‘But that’s a plumber’s job!’ Emily had known for weeks now that the tap was a nuisance but had pushed it to the bottom of the pile of jobs that needed doing. Like her taxes and shaving her legs. Suddenly the latter seemed much more pressing.

‘It’s really no problem. I’d like to do it.

I’m not too bad at things like that. Small repairs around the house.

Got any shelves you need putting up? Or tiles that need laying?

’ Joe got to his feet and stretched, muscles clearly defined in areas Emily tried very hard not to focus on.

She wished he hadn’t used the word ‘laying’.

Too many ulterior interpretations. Or was that just her filthy mind twisting and distorting the most innocent of remarks?

‘That’s so kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble. And I’d pay you, of course!’ Emily walked with him to the front door. She wished she could slow down time, rewind a little, not come across as a desperate housewife who needed a crumb of interest thrown her way.

‘I’ll ring you tomorrow. I can probably swing by mid-morning, if that works for you.

It’d be nice to see you, Emily.’ He raised his hand in a goodbye gesture and closed the door behind him.

Emily leant against it, his parting words rendered her both speechless and convinced she’d fallen asleep and was in the midst of an amazing but improbable dream.

Involving both Joe and maybe a few sheep or cows too.

Hell, if she was going down, she might as well go out in a blaze of glory.

Or a fantasy of epic farmyard proportions.