Page 4 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

Isabella

A few days later, Tutto Mio was so busy with tradespeople that Isabella was lucky to get ten minutes on her own from the moment they turned up in the morning until they all left for the day.

She had to fight to even have enough time to go to the toilet without being needed to answer a question.

And usually, like now, it was on the loo that she’d find a minute to reply to her mamma’s messages begging for updates.

Mia Famiglia WhatsApp group

Mamma : How’s it going?

Isabella : It’s going! Ten people on site today.

Papà : Show them who’s boss, Isabella!

Isabella : They already know, Papà!

Mamma : Send me a picture?

Isabella : I’ll send progress pics tonight.

Mamma : Have you eaten?

Isabella : Of course, Mamma. Don’t worry!

She grimaced at the white lie, pocketed the phone again and grabbed a ciabatta roll on her way back downstairs.

She’d spent the first few days, music speaker blaring, cleaning the flat above the restaurant from top to bottom.

It was her new home. She washed walls, painted a few even, and steam cleaned the carpets.

She had now moved her furniture in and although she didn’t have a lot, it was all her taste, her choice.

She’d not wanted to bring the old sofa where she and Daniel used to snuggle, or their marriage bed where they slept and dreamed and made love.

Once she’d calmed down enough not to want to set it on fire, she’d sold that on a local website, along with everything else Daniel left behind.

She found that she didn’t have much emotional attachment to things when the heart had gone out of her marriage.

The atmospheric pictures they’d bought together at a market on the Thames now looked bleak.

The cabinet they bought in a junk yard and upcycled to look shabby chic now looked just shabby.

Everything went apart from her clothes, her photo albums, her kitchen utensils, her TV and her portable speaker.

The proceeds had been enough to start over and the flat upstairs was already homely, if a bit sparse.

She’d added lamps and throws and cushions and rugs; the front room and the bedroom were comfortable, cosy.

She sent photos to Jesse, who replied immediately with a thumbs up or a love heart.

Not that she’d had any time to invite anyone around yet.

But at least it was welcoming at the end of a long day when her back ached and she only had enough energy, ironically, to heat up a ready meal before falling into bed.

The team’s focus today was on clearing the cabinets and sorting the new electric sockets in the kitchen.

Isabella would start stripping wallpaper, a steamy, sticky job.

She pushed her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head and secured it with a bright blue scarf.

She wore an old cropped white T-shirt and faded jeans that were already paint speckled, perfect for the job.

She snapped a selfie for Gabi, flexing her muscle as she held the wallpaper steamer in the air.

Gabi : Girl power!

Isabella : You know it.

She couldn’t wait to see the back of the floral paper.

And she needed it done now so that the plasterer could come next week to skim the walls.

Walls first, then reclaimed wooden flooring, then décor.

The list was endless. She fired up her steamer, turned on the radio, picked up her stripping knife and got to work.

An hour in, she’d found a rhythm. It was a strangely satisfying job. When the music stopped between tracks, she heard someone shout from the kitchen. Then another voice joined in, then swearing and more shouting. She slammed the off button and ran towards the noise.

The door opened to chaos. Water sprayed from a pipe on the wall at waist height.

One builder was already soaked and trying to remove electrical tools from the area, while another guy in overalls was trying to block the hole with his thumb, which just made the water jet in different directions.

It was him that was swearing like a trooper.

He stopped when he saw her and said, with a shake of his head, ‘Hit a pipe taking out the cabinets.’

The third tradesman had his head in the cupboard under the sink, the crack of his buttocks showing where his jeans hung low.

‘It’s not here. . .’ he shouted before pulling his head out and spotting Isabella. ‘Ah! Where’s your stopcock, love?’

Isabella frowned for a second, trying to think where she’d seen it. Then splashed across the wet floor tiles and yanked open the door to the utility area, where the washing machine used to be for the café. She opened the cupboard in the corner and pointed triumphantly. ‘There.’

Phil slip-slid his way towards her, belly hanging out the bottom of his T-shirt, and once more stuck his head in a cupboard with a spanner. She heard him grunting with effort and then, ‘FUCK!’

The stopcock had split in half. Water sprayed out directly at Isabella, a jet that soaked her T-shirt and her face. Great.

‘What now?’ she asked his upturned bottom. He withdrew his head and the water sprayed straight at her again, full on. He tried to block it with a cloth, but it was no good. Water was everywhere. Even dripping off her chin.

‘Call a plumber, I guess, love. An emergency one at that. Unless you know where your mains stopcock is.’

Isabella stared at him for a split second in disbelief then stalked back into the restaurant.

She picked up her phone and googled ‘where to find your mains stopcock’. She scanned the top few listings and they all concurred: mainly outside, sometimes shared with a neighbour. Can be on the pavement outside the home rather than inside the premises. It was worth a try.

Isabella ran out onto the square. The chill of the September morning hit her skin and she realised how flushed her face was from steaming the walls.

She checked immediately in front of the restaurant, but wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.

A tap? No. A cover on the ground with a tap beneath it? Probably.

There was nothing to the right of the door under the windows, and she ran to the other side.

The weeds had taken hold there and she had to pull up a few handfuls of straggly grass to get a proper look.

Yes. That could be it. A square metal cover, like a mini manhole.

She prised her fingers in the side but there was no way of lifting the lid. She needed a tool. Dammit.

Knowing that every minute this took to resolve, the more damage was being done to her restaurant spurred her into action. She shouted back in through the front door.

‘Anyone got a crowbar? Or a lever?’

Muttering, and more muttering, and she could hear someone looking in a toolbox, but the shout came back as a no. She turned around again in frustration, looking for help. A movement caught her eye.

The guy in the restaurant opposite was in his doorway again, watching. Isabella decided that now was the time to meet her neighbour, but it wasn’t a cup of sugar she needed. She sprinted across the square towards him and saw his eyes flash wider as she approached.

‘Hi. Don’t suppose you’ve got a crowbar, or a lever of some kind?’ He blinked and then shook himself as though trying to concentrate. ‘I need to turn off my water at the mains before I flood the whole place!’

She flashed a smile, trying to show she was friendly but in desperate need and he jumped into action.

‘Hold on,’ he said and turned inside, returning a moment later with an assortment of tools that might do the job. He held them in his hands for inspection and she threw him another smile.

‘Thanks.’

‘Come on,’ he said, pulling a hoodie on over his head. ‘I’ll help.’

She was surprised by the offer but didn’t have time to decline as he set off in front of her across the square. Men! Always needing to be in charge.

They knelt on the ground side by side, but she budged him slightly, putting her hand out for a tool.

This was her job to do. The cover came up easily and, sure enough, the stopcock was beneath.

The restaurant guy pushed a wrench towards her and she managed to clasp the tap in her hand and turn it closed.

When she was sure it was firm, she ran to the front door and called through.

‘Has it stopped?’ There was a split second of silence inside followed by cheers, and her shoulders dropped as she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, beaming to the restaurant guy.

‘Done!’ she said triumphantly, walking back towards him. ‘Thanks so much for your help.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said. ‘You did it all yourself.’

He stood, brushing his jeans at the knee. As he faced her, his eyes widened again, the same look he’d given as she ran across the square towards him. A flash of appreciation. It made her feel curiously naked. In a good way.

‘But without your tools, I’d be flooded by now.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Isabella.’

A slow smile spread across his face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Shit. He was extraordinarily attractive. Green eyes and dark brown hair were a striking combination. Not that much older than her. Nearer forty and all man.

‘Etienne,’ he said. ‘I own The Bistro.’ His hand dwarfed hers as they shook, holding it momentarily before they both let go. Steady there, girl, Isabella thought, tucking her hand back into her pocket.

‘Have you been here long?’ she asked.

‘About four years,’ he said. ‘It’s a good spot. Near the theatre and bang in the middle of town. I saw the planning permission for this place. So– a new restaurant.’

‘You worried by the competition?’ Isabella challenged.

‘Nope.’ Etienne chuckled and it made her smile in return. ‘I think it could be a good thing for the square. Bring more people in for the evenings. So, is it your family taking this on?’