Page 40 of We Live Here Now

39

Emily

Merrily Watkins, an earthy, rosy-cheeked, cheerful, solid woman in her early fifties, and her husband, Pete, a no-nonsense, quiet man, tanned and weathered from a life working in the fresh air, turn up midmorning on Monday in a battered old Land Rover with mud-splattered tires.

“There’s a lot of work to be done.” I’m stating the obvious as they’ve already trampled round the wet ground and measured up spaces and taken photos and so have seen it for themselves. The garden is massive and a mess.

“That’s how we like it. I love a project.” Merrily has her camera out, constantly snapping different areas. “And Pete’s happiest when he can get the digger out.” They both seem impervious to the cold. Pete’s only in a T-shirt and jeans despite the rapid drop in temperature this morning, and while Merrily has a jacket on over a jumper, I’m in three layers, wrapped up in my quilted Uniqlo coat and still shivering.

“Obviously we want to keep the orchard, and we want it to still look like a countryside garden,” I say. “But it would be great to do something with those outbuildings. A home office in one or a gym. A summer house maybe. And the paths need leveling. A patio and barbecue area would be wonderful. And a fence around the pond.” Even if we don’t stay here for very long, we’ve got the profit from the London flat and getting all this sorted will add value, I’m sure.

“It’s big enough that we can make four separate areas, each with its own style, don’t you think, Pete?”

Her husband nods, the quieter one in the couple.

“Not sure how much you want to spend though?” she continues.

“I know it’s not going to be cheap, but if you send me a quote I’m sure we can figure it out. If it’s too much, I guess some bits will have to wait.”

“I’ll get some designs over to you, then we can decide the level of cost for the materials. Don’t worry.” She smiles, her head already in the project. “We’ll get this space looking amazing.”

“I’ll get that septic tank emptied out first,” Pete says. “Fill it in and level the ground. Then dig out the paths. But leaving the two buildings aside, I reckon we could bring it in at around twenty-five grand. Going with middle price options for paving slabs and decking. I’d go composite. It looks as good and you won’t slip. A lot of places I end up laying new lawn but yours just needs some refreshing.”

“Sounds great. Will we have to wait long?” Even in the bitter cold with my toes going numb I’m feeling fired up about the changes. We can redecorate inside too. Get rid of the suffocating flock wallpaper. I might even try to get up to the third floor this week. Take some air fresheners and dispel my fears. Face them at least. If I can get through a few more days without any strangeness, then maybe I’ll fully relax. I’m already looking forward to Pete and Merrily starting work. I won’t be alone here.

“A week or so? Depending when Merrily gets you a quote you’re happy with.”

“I’ll send that over to you tomorrow. Doesn’t take me long.”

“Great. And how do you work? Upfront or…”

“No, weekly. You pay at the end of each week’s work. It’s a small town. We rely on trust.”

Before they leave, Pete brings in a stack of logs and Merrily builds a fire in the sitting room to make sure I’m cozy even though I’m capable of doing it myself, and it’s not only the flames that are glowing. As I wave them off, I am too. I check the study, a frisson of nerves in the pit of my stomach, but the books are on the shelves apart from the four I threw away, and everything is normal.

A warm, normal, beautiful house. That’s all it is.

Still, I hope Freddie hurries back.