Page 7 of A Clean Sweep

'This was the cause of the problem.' Joe proffered a soot-stained canvas like a proud mum showing off her new-born.

Except the swaddled bundle was actually a blackened carcass with just a few pathetic feathers still clinging in places.

'Sorry, didn't mean to upset you,' he stuttered as Emily took a step backwards, hand clamped over her mouth.

He hurried outside to dispose of the rotten remains, returning within seconds.

'Mind if I wash my hands?' Emily nodded in the direction of the downstairs loo.

She heard the tap running then he was back, looking a little embarrassed.

'A pigeon, I reckon. Probably got stuck weeks or even months ago.

Happens a lot.' He ran a hand through his raven-black mane – help, she was now totally bird obsessed – and stared at her.

Probably because she hadn't uttered a word for several minutes.

'Cup of tea?' she asked, having finally regained the power of speech.

'Great. Milk, two sugars. I'll just pack away my stuff.

' Emily nodded again – feeling a bit like one of those stupid dashboard toys.

What was wrong with her? So, her chimney sweep happened to look like a latter-day matinée idol, all chiselled cheekbones and eyes like molten chocolate?

Even in overalls and a smudge of black on his nose, he exuded sex appeal.

Stop! You are a fifty-two-year-old widow.

He is a twenty-something hunk who wouldn't look twice at someone old enough to be his mother.

Cougars, wasn't that what they were called these days?

Except Emily felt she was about as predatory as an ancient feline who craved nothing more than a saucer of milk and a good ear scratch.

Emily nursed her own cup of rapidly cooling tea as Joe clattered around next door.

She thought about the poor pigeon and its untimely demise.

It evoked memories of trips to Belgium with Jim for gastronomic weekends.

Usually during the game season when wild boar, hare and pheasant would feature heavily on the menu.

He'd relish every morsel, be positively euphoric when he spat out a mouthful of lead shot. She'd enjoyed those trips too. Travelling by car with friends, sharing night caps and nonsensical chatter into the wee small hours. Good times. She felt a little misty-eyed for a moment. There had been good times, hadn’t there? Life wasn’t like the movies, full of happy endings and sex scenes of mind-boggling athleticism.

She’d looked up some ‘positions’ once on the internet many years ago.

Just to see if they could inject a bit more spice into their intermittent bedroom activity.

Jim had simply looked at her as if she’d suggested a threesome with the local vicar when she’d tentatively proposed a few risqué moves.

Probably just as well. Emily had never been renowned for her flexibility or sense of balance.

She’d tried a Pilates class at the gym once.

Gave up when she kept falling off the Swiss ball.

'Hi. Thanks for the tea.' Joe handed over his drained mug.

'You’re welcome,' replied Emily, feeling the beginnings of a flush rising into her cheeks.

He really was quite gorgeous. And probably had an equally gorgeous young girlfriend who would have no problem with a Swiss ball.

Or bending herself into impossibly complex positions in the bedroom.

'So, is everything fine now?' Clear your mind, Emily. Think clean thoughts. Take a mental brush to your grey matter and give it a good old scrub.

'All good, except I think you need a special guard to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I’ve taken some measurements but I’ll need to check back at the office, order the piece. If that’s OK with you?' Joe regarded her questioningly.

Am I OK with this vision of absolute loveliness paying me another visit? Brightening up my dull little existence? Is the Pope Catholic?

'Of course! Wonderful! Just let me know when you’ve got it. Any time. I’m always around.' Great, now she sounded like a right saddo. Sitting around all day crocheting blankets and watching the Jeremy Kyle Show .

At the front door, Joe shook her hand again. She managed to let go this time. Gorgeous, punctual and polite too. 'I’ll be in touch. Should only be a few days. Nice to meet you, Mrs Hardwick.'

'It’s Emily. Please, call me Emily.' He smiled that heart-melting smile.

She felt her insides flutter like a just-landed trout.

'Right you are, Emily. See you very soon.

' And off he went, clambering into his van with ‘Up Yours’ emblazoned on the side in jaunty black and gold lettering. She closed the door and leant against it. Feeling ridiculously light-hearted and giddy with a flood of emotions she didn’t really want to analyse too deeply.

Seated in his van, Joe swiped through his iPad agenda, figuring out where his next appointment was.

He looked at the details but his mind was a million miles away.

No, scrub that, his mind was a matter of steps away, behind a glossy black front door where he’d just carried out a routine job.

No different to any other except … for some reason, his newest customer had had a most unexpected effect on him.

Emily . He said her name out loud, relishing the way it sounded, then gave himself a whack on the head with his iPad.

OK, so she’d greeted with the most bewitching smile.

Most of his customers smiled at him, apart from the miserable ones who resented having to part with a penny for his services.

But none had ever affected him in this way.

He realised how much he was looking forward to seeing her again.

There was just something about her. Not just how she looked, although she was undoubtedly attractive.

Tousled blonde hair, a pretty heart-shaped face with piercing blue eyes and a very nice figure.

This time Joe bounced his head off the steering wheel.

Ouch! Since when did he describe women as having ‘heart-shaped faces’?

He was a chimney sweep, not a frigging Mills and Boon author.

And she was clearly quite a bit older than him.

Maybe fifteen years or so? He’d always been rubbish at guessing people’s ages.

‘Go on, how old do you think I am?’ some female he got chatting to in a bar would ask, giggling coquettishly.

Joe usually erred on the side of caution, pitching his estimate much lower than the evidence before him suggested, for fear of having his pint poured over him if he went too far in the other direction.

This wasn’t how his day was supposed to pan out. He quickly typed a note to remind him to order the part, checked the address for his next call, and started the engine. With only a fleeting glance behind him he put the van in gear and sped off.