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‘Hi, Nick.’ Matt’s voice sounded thready over the airwaves as he answered Nick’s call.
‘Hiya, Matt! Have you had a chance to think about that favour I asked you to do for me? You know, the one I called you about yesterday, Sunday? To follow Gacela?’ Nick sat in his Fiesta in the supermarket car park and spoke into his mobile. He waited for a reply, but all he got was silence.
‘Hey Matt, can you hear me?’
‘Yeah, I can hear. Look, I’m sorry mate, but I can’t. I just can’t.’
‘OK, no need to get upset. Your voice cut out for a moment back there. You sounded... well I mean you’re all right, aren’t you?’
There was no answer and Matt’s silence irritated him. He doubted it was all down to poor reception, more likely Matt not knowing what to say. Why the hell couldn’t he just speak?
He changed his tone; ‘Hey, it’s OK, Matt. I suppose it was a bit weird me asking you to follow Gacela for me. Anyway, forget it. Subject closed. See you in the Nags Head on Friday, or before if you fancy a pint sooner.’ Nick ended the call, but instead of feeling some kind of closure, he was overwhelmed by a tide of frustration.
Perhaps it was just a response triggered by a long Monday in the Willows workshop. He’d been working on the French oak staircase. The stringer he’d started on Friday required finishing and another identical one cut, and then there were the treads and kickboards for the steps. By the end of it he felt as if he’d cut a pile of oblongs for a fiendish puzzle or giant parquet flooring, and the stringers looked like a pair of massive frame saw blades with over-sized teeth.
‘I see you’ve been busy,’ Dave had said when he’d poked his head into the workshop at the end of the day. Nick had responded by grinning and throwing a polishing rag at him.
The memory made Nick smile as he slipped his mobile back into his pocket and started the Fiesta.
He’d dropped by the supermarket on his drive home from Willows. He needed to stock up with essentials: a box of a dozen bottled beers, a loaf of bread, a slab of cheese and a readymade meal for the microwave. He hadn’t thought about Gacela all day, at least not until he walked past the flowers and newspaper stand on his way back to his car. The sight of them brought her crashing back and hence his call for an update from Matt.
So, he thought as he eased the car out of its parking space, the situation hadn’t changed. Matt wasn’t going to play ball and follow Gacela for him. It was hardly a surprise. He reckoned he’d just have to play it cool until he’d worked out what the girl was up to. And playing it cool meant he needed to rethink the trinket box project.
Making something from wood for her was personal; it was supposed to be a statement about wood, carpentry and his skill. Did he really want to spend his time on something like this simply to impress someone he didn’t understand?
Furthermore, incorporating a design of inlayed blackberries, silver dragonflies and leaves, similar to the ones she wore on her necklace, suited Chrissie’s skillset better than his. Wouldn’t it be quicker and easier if he simply went to the shop in Woodbridge and looked for something with blackberries on it? He was tempted. Why even make a trinket box, he asked himself. And why drive all the way to Woodbridge when he might be able to buy something featuring blackberries much closer to home?
His thoughts flew around as he headed for Woolpit and his garret bedsit. It was only as he carried his box of beers up the outside wooden steps and unlocked his door that he realised he had a very good reason to go to Woodbridge. How else would he know if Gacela had lied to him again? If the shop didn’t exist, had never existed, then he’d have his answer.
