36
Damian Ridgeley was a medium-sized man, about thirty years old, with hair the colour of Lucozade and a grey French Connection T-shirt on. He had an accent of some description, a lazy Hicksville twang, could have been West Country, could have been East Anglian, flattened out, either way, by a few years in London. He wore a ring on his wedding finger and a chain round his neck. On his forearm there was a tattoo of a mermaid. He was standing on Toby’s doorstep, but Toby had no idea why.
‘Leah sent me,’ he said.
‘Leah?’
‘Yes, you know, Leah. From over the road. She said you had a job for me.’
‘She did?’
‘Yes. Didn’t she tell you?’
‘Well, no. But then I haven’t seen her for a few days.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘do you? Have a job?’
‘Well, that depends, really. What sort of job are you qualified to do?’
‘I’m a project manager. I renovate old houses.’
‘And you’re a friend of Leah’s?’
‘I’m her second cousin. Or her half cousin. Or something like that.’
‘Oh, I see. Right, well, then, why don’t you come in?’
Damian perched himself on the edge of the Conran sofa and sipped a cup of peppermint tea (Toby liked that he’d asked for peppermint tea).
‘So,’ he said. ‘What do you think? Is it the sort of job you’d want to take on?’
Damian nodded, slowly. Damian did everything slowly. There was something a bit Zen about him, Toby thought. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find that he meditated in his spare time, did a spot of Tai Chi in the mornings. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sure. There’s no restructuring, no building work. I mean, essentially you’re just looking for a facelift, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool.’ He pulled a notebook and an expensive-looking pen from the inside pocket of his denim jacket and made some notes. ‘I’ve just had a cancellation, a pretty big job, so I’ve got some guys at a loose end. I could get some people in next week. When are the bathrooms and kitchen coming?’
‘Well, I haven’t actually bought them yet.’
‘Cool. No worries. We can crack on with the plumbing, the roof. Get on with the kitchen and stuff once you’ve chosen them. I can get you what you want at trade if you’d like.’
‘Sure. You go shopping, tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah, of course. I can get you all your white goods, too. Whatever it is you need, just let me know. I’ll charge you for my time, but it’ll still work out much cheaper.’
‘God, that would be great. I seem to have got into a bit of a habit of overspending on things for the house, so it would be great to save a bit of money.’
‘Make up for the extra you’ll be spending on me, then.’ Damian smiled and Toby breathed a sigh of relief. Damian was clearly from a different school of tradesmanship. Damian was clearly a professional.
‘Will you require a deposit? Something up front before you start?’
‘I’ll put a quote together, put it through your door later on today. If you approve, I’ll let you have a schedule of works. Once the boys are in and we’re all happy, I’ll ask for 20 per cent of the invoice. Total payable at the end of the project. Simple. Easy. No room for complications. Just how I like it.’
He took Damian’s hand at the door a few minutes later and shook it warmly and strongly, and perhaps for a split second too long. He felt like a man who’d just met the girl of his dreams and was already feeling paranoid that she wasn’t really interested and that he’d never see her again. He carried Damian’s mug through to the kitchen, tenderly, trying to prolong the sense of connection to him. He balanced Damian’s beautifully designed business card against the kettle and stared at it, wistfully. Then he went upstairs and slowly, deliberately and, he hoped, not prematurely ran a line through items 6, 7 and 8 on his to-do list.