Prospective clients – the cheek!
I grab my mobile and not even bothering to calculate the time zones, dial Gabe’s number. ‘Gabe?’
‘Hmph…?’
‘Gabe! What’s going on?’
‘Wha…?’
‘A couple of estate agents came to show someone around the house!’
‘What? Blimey. That’s got to be my manager’s fault. He’s adamant that I should sell the place and move to London. I’ll sort him out once and for all. Don’t worry, Babes.’
‘Good to hear it. I’ve prioritised you so my team are coming in on Monday to start the renos and the last thing we need is strangers letting themselves in.’
‘Sure, sure. What happened?’
‘They just came in while I was swimming naked in the pool, can you believe it, and—’
‘Naked…?’ he says, fully awake now. ‘In the pool? That’s a first.’
I can feel my face turning hot. ‘I – I thought to let my hair down.’
‘I like you with your hair down,’ he murmurs and my whole body starts doing that usual tingling thing despite my best resolutions to take it slow.
‘C-can you sort them out, then?’
‘Only if you tell me you were thinking of me in the pool,’ he murmurs.
‘Gabe—’
‘Come on, no use in being coy with me, Babes. What were you thinking?’
I bite my lip. ‘You know what I was thinking.’
‘Tell me all the same, Babes…’
I can’t do it. As much as I try, I just can’t do phone sex, especially if he’s on the other side of the planet. Besides, it’s too soon. As much as I still love him, I need to bide my time to get back to where I was.
I think long and hard before I open my mouth, lest my frustrated libido play a prank on me. It has been six months, after all. ‘I was thinking… of how to make this house a home again.’
‘Oh. Good thought.’
‘So I can start the renos?’
‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’
‘Okay, then. I have to go now,’ I lie. I know me – the longer I stay within the sphere of his charm, the faster he’ll crack me.
‘Love you,’ he says and I put the phone down, a sense of relief washing over me. The cheek of Harry and Travis. This has been our house for more than three years. It has my blood, sweat and tears. And my mum’s.
And now the next step – to recuperate part of our past that I had thought lost forever. Grabbing the storage unit keys from Gabe’s desk drawer where he said they would be, along with the blank cheque (what a daft boy; darling, but daft) I rush downstairs to finally locate my suitcase from which I retrieve some clothes and then I go out front to empty my Kia of all its samples and swatches in order to make space for our stuff. It will be literally out with the new, and back in with the old. Finally, and slowly but surely, life seems to be slotting into place again.
*
The storage unit is just outside Porthleven, and as I make my way down row 14, I can’t help but feel I’m going through a portal of some sort, back to my past, when life was much, much better.
When I open the door and step in, my heart in my mouth, the first thing I see is our duck egg settee, haphazardly thrown upside down atop a pile of furniture as an afterthought, and barely visible under a heap of throws and blankets that have been irreverently tossed there without being wrapped up or even folded. Every single object we owned had told a story of love and kindness – from the sofa cushions Gabe bought me because they depict thatched cottages with bright blue doors, to the guitars, straps and music sheets gifted to him from yours truly.
Everything else is in pretty much the same state and I can almost hear Vanessa growling, ‘Get rid of all this crap.’ I’m sure that if it hadn’t been for Gabe, our entire life together would have found its fate at the bottom of a huge landfill.
Determined to not let that hurt me, I start trawling through our possessions, every single one bringing back memories, like the ceramic school of fish lamp we had bought in St Ives. That day we’d also been oohing and aahing at the Tate Modern, and I had felt so blessed to be in such a wonderful corner of the world with my beloved man’s arm around my shoulders.
As I scrape through a pile of bath towels and tea towels thrown together, I find our very first white cotton bedspread that Elsie Lock, the owner of Lock, Stock & Barrel down in the village, had made for us a few years back.
A bit more digging produces the Christmas mugs we used to pull out on December first to pretend it was already Christmas. And the dolphin-shaped hot water bottle that Gabe gave me when we first moved in.
All these bits and bobs had made up our home, our love, our life, some even from my childhood, which I had tried to piece together through random objects. Even a tea towel was not just a tea towel, but a memory of a rare caress from a passing foster parent. A fluffy dolphin from the Garsons, a new diary with locket from the Mundleys, or a scarf from the Talbots. Nothing to each of them who have probably forgotten Hope and me completely. But to us, every single trinket meant the world, because it had meant that, even briefly, we had been part of a family.
Well, perhaps I may be on my way again to rebuilding my broken home once and for all. And, should it work out between us this time, any children we may have will be loved to pieces. They will have a warm, welcoming, happy home to live in and will grow up knowing that they belong to someone, and they won’t have to ever feel lonely or sad. Because Gabe and I will cherish them.
Although my team will return to this storage unit with a lorry to take everything back home, I haul as much as I can into the boot and the empty seats of the car, trying to take back as much as I can of our old life.
Once at home, in five armfuls, I drag everything into Gabe’s music room, the only place that had been untouched by Psycho-Vanessa. I would put it into my own former office but it has been transformed into Vanessa’s, complete with steel desk and waterbed.
For the first few weeks I will camp down here on Gabe’s sofa until I can get a bedroom decent again.
I change into my overalls and start deconstructing the slaughterhouse that is the master bedroom, not because I want to get back in there anytime soon, but because I have promised Gabe. But when he gets here we’ll have that talk.
As it turns out, on my own, the task proves to be ghastly work, as Vanessa had insisted on huge, heavy props, and it takes me an entire jumbo-sized roll of bubble wrap left over from our previous job and three hours of back-breaking work just to pack away the frames and statues and odd objects hanging from the walls and ceiling, including the red and black striped pterodactyl hanging right over the bed.
It would be much easier to rent a skip and dump the wretched things, but my work ethic stops me from doing just that.
It’s incredible how nothing of mine has remained, and I’m surprised how Gabe had been involved with two completely different women. He would appeal to just about anyone with those blond, boyish, half-angel, half-bad-boy rock-star looks and that Rod Stewart Circa 1978 voice that drives women all over the world crazy.
At eight p.m., unable to do anymore, I collapse onto the zebra sofa in the living room and look up at the mirror on the ceiling. And I can’t help but think of the two of them together on this very sofa. So I slide down onto the carpet, only to realise with horror that it reeks of Vanessa’s expensive perfume and I jump to my feet. Is there no surface in this house that she hasn’t touched? I begin to wonder how long it’s going to take to erase all trace of her, just like she had done to me.
*
The next Monday morning, bright and early, with my back hurting from all the lugging and pushing, I feed Jawsy. She seems to have adapted to her new environment quite well. This, undoubtedly, because I have moved every menacing statue of predators out of her line of vision. She forgets things every other second and I don’t want the poor little soul to be scared out of her wits every time she wakes up.
In the stuffed and unattended mailbox there are several white business-looking envelopes addressed to Mr Gabriel York, and some utility bills. And a catalogue for a local furniture company. I leaf through it, studying the kitchens, living rooms, bedrooms and suddenly, there they are, just what I was hoping to resist – beautiful heart-warming nursery rooms. No. Throw it away. Don’t tempt fate. You don’t need it. At least not yet.
I make myself a cup of coffee, which I pour into Gabe’s Jimi Hendrix mug and, just like clockwork, revert back to my usual habits of when I lived here, i.e. opening the sliding glass doors to sit down and drink my coffee out on the patio facing the sea.
It’s another gorgeous day, with cobalt blue skies and not one cloud in sight. Is it bad, to be this happy, when Vanessa is probably in tears right now? We had been friends during the first year in college, sharing lots of secrets. But then, in the second year, she simply gave me the cold shoulder, often making fun of my work in a very loud voice so everyone would hear. And after that, our initial friendship had rapidly gone downhill.
So maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad for her after all. She was horrible to me for years. Rumour has it, she got a hold of Gabe’s number and asked to see him to talk about me. I can only imagine how she would have manoeuvred herself into his bed and into his life.
But enough of that. Now it’s definitely time to be happy again.
Down on the beach a woman is playing fetch with her dog, whose tongue is lolling out of its mouth in sheer, canine joy. She, too, has that relaxed, beach walk stance as she looks about her, completely content with the world. I wrench my own shoulders from under my ears as she turns and walks the other way.
I instinctively take a deep breath of cold sea, salt and my own fearful resistance to happiness. Here, where the land ends, marks the beginning of endless possibilities. The surf and the gulls sing a song of infinity and this is only the first morning of the rest of my life. Perhaps of our lives.
And now back to my task. I am so obsessed with anything home-related, I have to stop myself from buying house-shaped candles, house-shaped soaps, comforters with cottages – the lot. Even my shower curtain in my flat has multi-coloured beach huts on it, while the wallpaper behind my headboard features rows and rows of Gustavian homes.
After I’ve drained my cup, I go upstairs and slowly ease my aching muscles under the jets in the wet room. I’ve got a meeting in precisely forty minutes with an amazing joiner, Turner & Cooke, for our new kitchen, followed by my staff to debrief them about Project Homecoming. All I’ve told them so far is to come to the beach house. I can’t wait to see their faces! I hug myself, still unable to believe it myself. Yes, the future is looking bright.
At five to nine the doorbell rings. I straighten my navy blue business jacket and fling open the door, only to find the dark-haired estate agent from yesterday on the threshold, with two coffees and a pink box from Cornish Born and Bread, wearing a dazzling smile. Gone is the suit, replaced by a pair of jeans and a blue and grey check shirt. I had almost failed to recognise him without his suit. But as long as he’s here to apologise, I can put up with him. Just about.
‘Morning!’ he says cheerfully. ‘I thought we could start on a clean slate and a good cup of coffee.’
‘Casual Friday started early this week,’ I comment.
‘Or not,’ he murmurs as he offers me a cup and wipes his shoes on the outdoor mat. ‘But please – don’t look too happy to see me, you’re embarrassing me with all that warmth.’
‘I haven’t got time for warmth,’ I say, steering him towards the living room. ‘Tell me why you’re here again?’
‘Work.’
I groan. Again with the house sale! ‘Listen, I haven’t got time to argue with you again. I’ve got a meeting in exactly four minutes with my joiner and you’re in the way, so you can go and eat your breakfast in here – enjoy – and don’t make any noise! We’ll talk later.’
‘No problem, I’ve got a few pieces to finish.’
Make that three minutes now. I go back into Gabe’s office, shuffle a few stacks of receipts in an effort to calm down, but it’s not working. The thought of the beach house being sold gives me hives. I wait another ten minutes, checking my mobile over and over. He’s obviously not coming.
The doorbell rings again and this time it is Thea, Gothic biker chick/my PA extraordinaire. She is as smart as hell and could run a country on her own given the chance. Underneath all that make-up, she is absolutely beautiful, her Italian origins shining through her dark eyes and olive skin. She is as confident as can be, but it doesn’t come from the knowledge of her beauty, which at times I think she is trying to hide.
Behind her is the rest of my full-time, core crew who are always early and never a second late, which today is a particularly good thing.
I don’t know what I’d do without them all – Rudy, my PR/tech/payroll guy, eternally in love with Thea; or my muscle men Bob, Bill, Mike and Paul, respectively my plumber, my electrician, my builder and my gas guy. All of them are local, living in the surrounding villages of Little Kettering, Penworth Ford, Wyllow Cove and Starry Cove. Only Thea and Rudy live below in the village of Perrancombe. We are working on six different projects at the moment, but with them I’m always in good hands.
‘Morning, folks,’ I chime. ‘Come in and please try not to have a heart attack.’
They follow me in, six mouths dropping in awe as they take in the place that they haven’t seen since before Vanessa took over.
‘Bloody ’ell,’ Mike exclaims. ‘It looks like a mad circus in here.’
‘Blimey – I saw the pictures on her website – but it looks even worse in person,’ Thea says in anguish. Believe me, when you read anguish on Thea’s normally cool face, it’s serious.
I lead them into Gabe’s personal office, which is right next door to his music room (I’ve got one hell of a commute, haven’t I?) and which will be our boardroom. Here, his mahogany table has been replaced with a glass table that has been covered with no less than a layer of resin in which a gazillion insects have been set. After a moment of disgust, they (my crew, not the insects) look up to the ceiling and begin to snicker at the Japanese anime-shaped chandeliers.
Thea, whose eyes bulge at the gold-plated rhinoceros in the corner by the window, sits down opposite me, now in work mode, pen poised to take notes without a further word. Good girl.
‘So, uhm this is why we’re here today. Gabe has asked me to renovate the house and take it back to exactly how it used to be.’
Six sets of eyes criss-cross around the table in search of help.
‘Are you back together again, then?’ Bill, the oldest with his shock of white hair and black moustache, asks, folding his arms.
‘Not in a manner of speaking,’ I reply, fully aware that he, Bob, Mike and Paul were never Gabe’s most dedicated fans while Thea and Rudy thought he was the coolest of the cool. They’re like bloodhounds, my peeps, always ready to pounce on anyone who wants to shaft me, from rude furnishers to unprofessional tradesmen. Thanks to them and their contacts, I now only work with the best of the best. Although I’m rather disappointed by Turner & Cooke who still have not, as of yet, either showed or even called to let me know they’re running late. Not a good start. Still, Turner & Cooke is Turner & Cooke. So I decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. I always give people a second chance. And I wish my crew, whom I regard as part of my chosen family, would do the same with Gabe.
‘Maybe some time in the future.’
More stunned silence follows. I roll my eyes. ‘Guys – I know what you’re all thinking, but I need you on my side. Okay?’
‘We’re just lookin’ out fer ya, Faith,’ Bill says with a shrug.
‘And I love you all to pieces for it. Truly, I do. But I’d really appreciate your support.’
Another silent criss-crossing of eyes around the table, and then six heads nod, the downturned mouths and creased foreheads slowly shifting back into place for my sake.
‘Brilliant, thank you. Now – to business. I have the keys to a storage room in Porthleven where all our stuff is, so down to the last tea towel, we’re going to bring this house back to exactly as it was before—’ before Gabe dumped me are the words that hang in the air, unsaid.
‘He’d better behave this time,’ Bill finally says, followed by Mike, Bob and Paul who nod vigorously, while Rudy and Thea turn to me with apologetic smiles. I know they had been fans of Gabe and were disappointed when we broke up.
‘It’s going to be one hell of a job, so I’m depending on you lot completely.’
‘Okay,’ Mike says, listening and resting his hairy forearms on the table that reflects his kind but weather-beaten face. ‘So what’s the plan?’
I lean forward in my chair. ‘We need to book a huge storage unit for everything here at the moment. It all has to go – every single piece.’
‘Why not throw it all into one huge skip?’ Rudy suggests roughly.
‘Because we simply don’t do things like that,’ I answer. Although, deep inside, I know exactly where I would shove all of Vanessa’s precious herd of animals. ‘This is a business. The client is entitled to have her belongings back.’
Mike snorts. ‘Client. The cheek of her.’
‘Well, like it or not, we’re doing things by the book. And, guys – not a scratch on anything that belongs to her, okay?’
‘So I can’t accidentally behead any of her jungle statues?’ Paul wants to know.
‘No, you cannot. Please tell the movers I want everything wrapped up and moved out carefully, as if they were our own belongings.’
‘Right,’ Mike sighs.
And that is why we work so well together. We are a truly tight team and we all pitch in. When Bill our electrician is in charge, we all become his workers on the bigger jobs, and Bob’s when he’s in charge, et cetera.
‘I’m on it,’ Thea says, taking notes. ‘Ten large rolls of extra-strength bubble wrap to start with.’
‘It’ll take a couple of days to get rid of all Vanessa’s – I mean – the contents of the house,’ Rudy says as Thea gives him the hairy eyeball, which he returns with a What did I say? face.
‘Okay, brilliant,’ I say.
‘So, Thea, we’ll set up our work quarters in here for now until there’s room – and breathing space – for a couple of desks to work from. I’ll camp out in the music room for now. Whatever you need, you let me know. We’ll order breakfasts and lunches in and set up in the dining room. And oh – the master bedroom will be the first room to go.’
I figure I can live with a couple of ebony panthers for a week or so. Or, I could actually get rid of them myself. There would be a lot of satisfaction in that for sure.
‘Right, let’s get started,’ I say and everyone gets to their feet.
There is a knock on the pocket door that slides open and whatshisface – Harry – pokes his head in. ‘Hi,’ he says in my crew’s direction. ‘Sorry, Faith, can I have a minute when you’re done or are you expecting someone else?’
‘Come in,’ I sigh. ‘Guys, this is Harry – a, uhm, friend of Gabe’s.’ I hope he’s noticed the sarcasm in my voice. If he thinks that he and his mate can sell our home, he’s got another think coming.
‘It’s Henry, actually,’ he says good-naturedly.
‘Right,’ I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest as Thea and Rudy smile at him while my trade mob give him the once-over. Anyone connected to Gabe does not go down well with them.
Bill dips his head, immediately reciprocated by an amused Henry. No words are wasted, which is fine by me. The less time this bloke stays, the quicker we can get on with our work without anyone in the way.
‘Right, guys,’ I say with a clap of my hands. ‘Time to get moving. We’ll all report back here for lunch. Rudy will pick it up as usual.’
Henry waits as my mob clear the room. ‘Tough crowd,’ he says. ‘Thanks for finding time for me.’
‘Only because my new kitchen guy is late. What can I do for you?’
‘Actually, he’s not late. He was early. He even brought you breakfast.’
I look up at him as my face suddenly goes hot. ‘You…?’
‘Uh-huh,’ he says sheepishly.
‘But… aren’t you the estate agent?’
‘No. I’m your joiner. Travis is the agent. And FYI, he’ll be popping round at some time.’
‘Okay, uhm, Henry? I’m sure you’re a very nice bloke, but it’s time to make things clear here. The house is not for sale.’
His mouth opens and then snaps shut, his nose evidently put out of joint.
I nod. ‘I see we understand each other.’
‘Oh, I certainly understand,’ he assures me.
‘Good. And by the way, that table that you delivered? It needs sanding down badly.’
‘I’m sorry you don’t like it. Shall I take it away?’
Jesus, can I be any ruder? But it’s out now and I can’t take it back, nor have I anywhere to hide it. ‘No, that’s okay, thank you.’
‘In any case, it’s not finished yet. I’ve brought my tools with me and will be working out on the back deck every day. Or have you got a problem with that as well?’
I literally feel my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline. ‘Every day?’
Something akin to amusement flashes through his eyes. But there is nothing funny about this in the least.
‘Every day,’ he assures me.
‘Why don’t you just do it in your workplace? It’s busy here, as you can see.’
‘Because I am redoing the wainscoting as well, am I not?’
Crikey, I’d forgotten that. Where is my head? I stare him down, hoping he doesn’t realise my mistake. In this business, show a moment of weakness and hunting season opens. ‘Yes, of course. Fine.’
‘When you’re ready to discuss the kitchen, I’ll be out back.’
And with that, he turns and disappears out the front door. Absolutely sodding brilliant.
As I start on my spreadsheets, I can hear everyone already packing up Vanessa’s stuff amidst cackles of laughter.
I wipe the desk down, trying to ignore the dead insects staring up at me, but there’s no use, I’m too freaked out, so I go and fetch an oil cloth to cover it. Better. I open the window wide to the view of the sea and adjust my chair to make calls to my contacts. It’s always exciting, at the beginning of a new job. Everything is fresh and you haven’t even begun to wear down the furnishers and everyone involved in the job. I’ve got so much to do, like sourcing out new tiling, light switch plates, and even internal doors that have been replaced with this tat. And I have to discuss the new kitchen with Harry… Henry.
But I can’t concentrate. With a huff, I push my chair back and go in search of Henry who is sanding away on the deck.
There’s a lot of sawdust blowing around and the noise of the sander is incredibly loud. Henry is wearing goggles and doesn’t see me, so I wait patiently by the patio doors as I have learnt to never startle someone with a power tool.
When he finally looks up, he turns the sander off and removes his goggles. But the animosity I expected and deserve is not there.
I clear my throat. ‘I’m, uhm, sorry about earlier. Why didn’t you tell me you were the joiner?’
‘You didn’t give me a chance.’
‘Well, again, I’m sorry. I was really out of line. And the table – it is truly lovely. I didn’t realise it wasn’t finished.’ Which is another faux pas on my part, of course. He must think I’m a fool.
‘That’s quite all right,’ he says amiably. ‘I meet lots of arrogant people in my line of business.’
I stare at him, waiting for him to smile and say he was joking, but he doesn’t. Apparently I’ve made a real arse out of myself.
‘I’m kidding!’ he says with a huge grin.
‘Oh!’ I breathe. ‘Right!’
‘And, for the record,’ he adds, ‘the reason you never came across me is because Isaac does the PR part.’
‘I know Isaac Cooke. He’s a good man. So you must be the Turner part?’
He smiles, like you do to idiots. ‘I’m the Turner part.’
Of course he would be. Oh, shit. He really is. Turner & Cooke. Which is the name in kitchens. And I’ve made a complete arse of myself. ‘I love your company.’
He dips his head graciously. ‘Thanks. We like it too.’
‘I’m sorry. I had no idea. When you came in with that couple—’
‘Trixie and Bopper?’
‘Yes – I just assumed you were both estate agents.’
‘I’m not. But they are very interested in buying the house.’
I flinch as the mere thought repels me. ‘Well, I’ll leave it with you and Travis to clear that misunderstanding up with them,’ I conclude.
He blinks, probably wondering how the hell he’s going to get them off his back. ‘Right.’ He runs a hand through his dark hair. ‘So, are you going to make this house liveable again?’ he asks.
‘Absolutely, I am.’
‘Brilliant.’
We spend the next hour or so discussing the style of kitchen I have in mind and going through the scrapbook I’d collated years ago before we’d even seen the beach house. The one I like is a normal shaker kitchen but extremely well made, with two ovens, a grill, a microwave, a pop-up socket tower, a heating drawer and many, many small, personal details that make all the difference.
‘Are we on the same page?’ I ask him as his fingers caress the old crinkly paper of my scrapbook of dreams.
‘I’d say so. This is one of ours.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I built the original one, too.’
I sit back and look at him. ‘I’ve been doing this for years. How is it that our paths have never crossed before?’
He shrugs. ‘I told you, Isaac mainly does the PR; I do the physical labour. And besides, your original kitchen was already in when the… previous owner moved in.’
My mobile rings. It’s Gabe. ‘Excuse me,’ I say as I go into the boardroom for some privacy to take the video call.
‘Hey, Babes!’ he chimes, a smile on his face so huge it barely fits the screen of my phone and my heart leaps at the sight of him.
‘Hey, yourself,’ I answer, my eyes hungrily taking in every detail of him – the high forehead, the piercing blue eyes and the sexy mouth. Today he’s wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt.
‘How’s it going?’ he says, peering into the screen. ‘You look tired. Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ I assure him above the din of my staff throwing ideas (and Vanessa’s stuff) around.
‘Jesus, it sounds like a full-on war site there.’
‘It is,’ I agree. ‘It’s ghastly work already. Speaking of ghastly, I’ve sorted your friend out.’
‘Who, Henry?’
‘That’s the one. He won’t be bringing any more prospective buyers around here.’
He chuckles. ‘Did you read him the riot act?’
‘That I did.’
‘Right. Well, it looks like you’re on top of everything.’
I roll my eyes. ‘As if. But I can assure you it’ll be great.’
‘I know it will be. But, Faith, all that matters is that I have a chance to win you back. Nothing else is important to me,’ he assures me as his band members pass by in the background, sticking out their tongues and pulling his hair.
‘Hiya, gawjus!’ Stu, Gabe’s drummer, calls out to me.
‘Hi, guys!’ I call back, but they’re gone.
‘Babes, some news,’ Gabe says. ‘Mark’s broken his arm.’
‘Oh, no! Is he okay?’
‘Yeah, yeah. The poor sod walked off the stage during his solo last night and is lucky to be alive. But a few dates have been postponed, so I’ll be coming home for a few days sooner than I thought.’
‘Oh my God, really? Will you text me your flight details?’
‘Not on your life! I want it to be a surprise,’ he says. ‘Gotta go now, luv!’ he calls, blowing me kisses.
‘Oh, wait, Gabe, I—’
But his image winks off, and I’m staring into black space as a feeling of emptiness invades me. No matter. A little while longer and he’ll be home, even if only for a few days.
It might take a little getting used to again, with his hectic schedules, the manic, unsustainable rhythms he has to keep that drove me bonkers. And then I ask myself for the umpteenth time: Can I do it all over again, not see him for days, sometimes weeks and even months on end, only to have him back in my life as things used to be?
A knock comes at the door and Henry pokes his head in.
‘Sorry, Faith? Shall we have a walk-around with the rest of the team to see exactly what we’re doing?’
I look up. ‘What? Sorry, yes, of course,’ I say, rising to my feet to join him and my crew.
Once everything is packed up and after the master bedroom is done, one of the first things on the list will be to renovate one of the guest bathrooms, which has chequered gamboge wallpaper. If you think that’s distasteful, it’s because you haven’t seen the vinyl border featuring unicorns. Still not enough? They are sporting punk-rock-style hairdos (or mane-dos) and tattoos.
‘What the hell was she thinking?’ Rudy groans, shaking his head as we survey the damage up close.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Thea answers. ‘She was planning on drowning Gabe in her psychedelic zoo – and of course, debt.’
‘How the hell does she even stay in business?’ Rudy says, voicing my own thoughts.
‘There’s always a sufficient amount of wealthy chavs to keep her going,’ Thea answers, and I can’t help but agree.
‘Right,’ I say, climbing atop the bidet and then the sink to reach the ceiling. ‘There’s nothing to salvage here, so let’s get on with ripping this crap out. Somewhere under here should be the wooden cladding.’
I give it a good yank, but nothing happens, so I try again.
‘Maybe we should steam it first?’ Thea suggests.
‘Here,’ Henry says, and in one swing of his mighty legs he jumps up onto the sink next to me. ‘Let me have a go.’
He pulls out a Stanley knife from his back pocket and slits the edge open, then easily pulls some off in one long draw as Thea and Rudy below collect the slack.
‘It will need to be steamed indeed,’ he sentences.
‘Hang on,’ I say, scratching at a corner, only to reveal another design of multi-coloured rows of electric guitars, but there is only one strip as if someone had changed their mind.
‘Looks like Gabe lost that argument,’ Thea says with a snicker.
I ignore her comment. Anything to do with Vanessa and Gabe’s past relationship is theirs; I don’t want to be reminded of it. And once Vanessa’s imprint is gone from our home, it will, hopefully, be gone from our minds. It’s all I can hope for in order to get a clean start.
‘Get Mike and Bill to steam this up and start scraping this mess off,’ I say to Thea. ‘The cladding must be under all that. Let’s check the master en-suite bathroom.’
Which, instead of the gorgeous white and grey-veined marble I had sourced straight from Carrara, Italy, turns out to be a palimpsest of every composite material man has ever put together, from Bakelite to satin to, believe it or not, pleather.
‘Oh my God,’ Henry says, stepping back to take in the entire scene, then turning to look at me in shock. ‘I always thought her stuff was a bit OTT, but this… this is beyond all my wildest expectations.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Thea says, pulling back the satin shower curtain to reveal a huge wet room with a leather swing.
I gasp involuntarily and instantly feel my face burning as everyone tries not to look at me. Yes, okay, I know it’s not a normal swing, and the thought of Vanessa and Gabe having their fun in this very bathroom that had once had a claw-footed, cast-iron bathtub (where Gabe and I had started – or ended – many a happy night) is too much to bear.
It looks like what for me had been happy nights were merely a vanilla version of what makes him happy. I had no idea he’d wanted more. But he’d felt comfortable telling Vanessa. Or maybe it was all her idea. So much for knowing your partner.
Maybe I’m not the right person to do this. Maybe I should not be here for the demolition. Maybe I should leave it all to my team and just come back when all traces of Vanessa and her sex life with Gabe are gone. Because it feels much too intimate to wander around the ruins of someone else’s relationship, even if it’s over.
The areas of our love are still a little grey as far as I’m concerned. But I just can’t bring myself to talk to Gabe about her. I figure that the less I know, the better it is. But the sex swing is the proverbial pink elephant in the room that is very difficult to ignore.
Henry glances at me furtively, then takes my elbow. ‘Actually, Faith, if you wouldn’t mind, can you just walk me around the other rooms to where you want the wainscoting reinstated?’
Grateful for the rescue, I lift my head high. ‘Absolutely.’ There was nothing to salvage here, much less my dignity.
‘You all right?’ he whispers as we go down the stairs together.
I huff and square my shoulders. ‘Tickety-boo, thank you.’
‘If it’s any consolation, you’re far better than her,’ Henry offers generously.
I bite my lip. ‘That’s very kind of you, Henry, but you don’t have to cheer me up. I’m not the jealous type.’ Too much information?
Once in the living room, I make a dash for the pleather stick-on panels that have covered the wainscoting. But when I peel one off, there is only bare wall. Henry eyes me, and peels back another strip, closer to the door. Still no wainscoting to be seen. We then try the dining room and a guest bedroom. Still nothing.
‘It’s all gone,’ I moan, trying to hold it together but not doing a very good job of it. ‘All that beautiful, beautiful workmanship…’
‘Okay, don’t panic,’ Henry whispers, rubbing both hands over his face. As a joiner himself, he is aware of the extent of the damage that has been done to the house. ‘We can still fix this.’
‘How?’ I almost wail. ‘How can you fix what’s no longer there?’
He chews on his lower lip, obviously in deep thought. ‘Maybe the builders sent them to the local reclamation yard. Anyone who knows the trade would not have discarded such a valuable item, I’m sure.’
‘And what if they have?’ I insist.
‘We’ll find a way, I promise you.’
‘It all has to be exactly the same…’ I say, close to tears. ‘I promised Gabe everything would be exactly the same as… before…’
‘Forgive me, but if someone should be keeping promises, it’s him.’
I look up at him through misty eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’ He knew about the split? Of course he did, they were friends.
‘Faith – I know. Sorry, maybe I should have mentioned it earlier.’
I take a deep breath to recollect myself. Why does it still hurt, even now that Gabe wants me back? Why does the humiliation feel like it will always be there, waiting in the wings? Once again, I am not like my mother. I can move on.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, dragging an index under my eyes. ‘It was all in the bloody papers. Rock star leaves fiancée to shack up with the punk mistress of Interior Design: Vanessa Chatsbury. I had to lie low for weeks to avoid the pity parties. Ugh, sorry.’
He smiles. ‘It’s okay. Break-ups are always bad. I’m divorced myself.’
‘Really? I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks. It’s not so bad anymore. I was too busy building the business. But my son is the one who paid the price, and now I’m trying to make it up to him. No easy feat, as you can imagine.’
‘Well, at least you didn’t abandon him or anything. As long as you do your best, and you’re there for him, he’ll eventually understand.’
At least I know I would have. But all Hope and I have are a faceless father and a dead mother.
‘Yes, well. Right,’ he says, changing the subject and clapping his hands together in a Let’s get to it gesture. ‘Let’s peel all of this off and see exactly what we’re dealing with.’
‘I can get someone else to help,’ I say. ‘It’s not on your job description, and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do rather than peel pleather off walls.’
‘I’m happy to help,’ he says simply.
Which is crazy-generous. He’s a very busy joiner. And a father. How does he find the time to waste? Perhaps I’ve been a bit too hasty in judging him? ‘Okay,’ I answer. ‘Thank you.’
We spend the next few hours on our knees, working in silence, until he leans back on his haunches, hands on his thighs, and hastily puts the strip he’s just removed back into place.
‘What have you got there?’ I ask, straightening my aching back and moving towards him.
‘Nothing,’ he says guiltily, leaning on the wall to hide whatever he’s unearthed.
‘Let me see,’ I say, brushing past him.
It can’t be any worse than the sex swing in the loo.
Or so I thought. Because there, wedged in between two strips of pleather, obviously fallen through a gap of the shoddy workmanship, is a snapshot – a selfie of Gabe and Vanessa, taken from their bed, both with blond hair standing wildly on end. Our former bed. They are both bare-chested and she is raking her silver nails across his belly, sticking her pierced tongue out at the camera.
‘It’s just a silly selfie,’ Henry says. ‘Besides, it’s all in the past.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I agree as the boulders begin to pile up inside my throat. I believe that before these renos I might have needed an emotional rehaul. ‘No biggie.’
He clears his throat as he scrunches the picture up and throws it onto a pile of debris in the corner. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’ he asks.
It’s a lame attempt to distract me, but I can’t help but be grateful.
‘I’ll make it,’ I volunteer and traipse with false light-heartedness across the room and to the kitchen, acutely aware of his eyes on my back as he follows me, probably wondering whether I’m going to have a bawling session or not.
I put the kettle on and open the cupboard. There, I notice a mug that says Vanessa. Reaching past it, I inadvertently (honestly) brush against it, and it crashes down to the counter in a million pieces as if it were thin glass. Too bad. If it had landed on the fur flooring, it might have saved itself. This is the first object to go into the skip of Goodbye, Vanessa.