The doorbell went just as Rachel was lathering her hair over the bathroom sink. ‘Shit shit shit … You’re early!’ she shouted through the closed door, even though there was no way the builders could hear her all the way downstairs. She wedged her head under the tap to rinse away as much shampoo as she could. Then, dripping all over the floor, she bolted down the stairs, tying her dressing gown as she went.
‘Hi, come in,’ she said to Nate.
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Where’s Sarah?’
‘She’s at her sister’s doctor’s appointment. I’m working from home today.’ She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain her presence. She did live there. ‘I’m Rachel.’
She couldn’t shake his hand without flashing him, so she settled for a polite nod. ‘I’m just getting cleaned up. There’s coffee in the thingy on the hob and tea in the cabinet. Do you know where everything is?’
‘Oh yeah, we’re right at home, aren’t we, lads?’ he said to the boys crowded behind him. ‘Don’t worry about us. You won’t even know we’re here.’
She stepped aside to let them all in. Instead of going downstairs to the kitchen though, they made their way upstairs.
But she wasn’t finished in the bathroom yet. And she didn’t like the idea of strangers on the other side of the door.
She rushed to the bathroom as soon as they were safely on the top floor. Poor Sarah! She’d had to be up and ready for Nate every morning for weeks. Yet she’d never complained. That wouldn’t be her style.
Quickly she re-rinsed her hair. There’d be no time for conditioner, she thought crossly. And she’d so looked forward to working from home today. Laying out her coloured pens and tracing paper on the big kitchen table. Drinking gallons of coffee. Having a luxurious nap when she felt sleepy after lunch.
There was no way she’d be able to nap with builders in the house.
She jumped when someone knocked on the door. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you gonna be long?’ The boy’s voice cracked.
Nate definitely got his workers from the local primary school.
‘Erm, well, a few minutes, yes.’
‘Okay, I’ll wait.’
What did he mean, he’d wait? Outside the door? She crept over to listen. She could hear him shifting around out there.
And if she could hear him moving, then he’d be able to hear her …
She wasn’t about to poo with a stranger listening. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore her intestines. Summoning all her self-control, she left the bathroom.
‘It’s all yours,’ she told the boy who squeezed through the doorway before she’d even left the room.
Within a few seconds she heard him crapping with abandon. He clearly didn’t share her worries about noise travelling.
Just lovely.
She plopped on the sofa with her coffee to answer her emails. The plumbing knocked and rattled as the cistern filled. There was a courtesy flush. Then she heard the door opening.
It immediately closed, and the faecal orchestra began its next movement, with a new conductor.
An email from James popped up.
James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.02am (7 minutes ago)
To: me
Hey, I saw Sarah on the website. She wasn’t that hot the last time I saw her. Are you up? Or slacking?
Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.09am (0 minutes ago)
To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk
I’m up. Builders are here. They’re shitting in my bathroom.
James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.10am (0 minutes ago)
To: me
Where do they usually shit?
Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.11am (0 minutes ago)
To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk
It’s just rude, no?
James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.12am (0 minutes ago)
To: me
Needs must. So back to Sarah. Is she having luck online?
Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.12am (0 minutes ago)
To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk
Why the interest in Sarah?
James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.13am (0 minutes ago)
To: me
Just making friendly conversation.
Rachel.Lambert@DDR.co.uk 8.14am (0 minutes ago)
To: James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk
Go back to work.
James.McCormack@DDR.co.uk 8.15am (0 minutes ago)
To: me
Am working. Typing with one hand, drawing with other.
She closed her laptop as one of the boys came down the stairs. ‘’Scuse me,’ he said. ‘Nate wants you.’ He picked up two sawhorses that were nearly as big as him and struggled back up the stairs. They bounced along the wall most of the way.
‘Can you be a little careful with those?!’ They hadn’t budgeted to redecorate the ground floor.
He was startled into a spin, where he bashed the horse into the landing wall. A shower of plaster rained from the ceiling. ‘Sorry.’
‘Just be careful please.’
They were wrecking as much as they fixed.
Now she knew what her dad’s clients went through. No wonder sometimes he didn’t even break even on his jobs.
The thought made her feel guilty. And sad for him, even though she doubted if he realised how bad he was. He never let on that he did. And they certainly weren’t going to tell him that he wasn’t in the running for Builder of the Year.
‘Ah, Rachel, I forgot to mention,’ Nate said when she went upstairs, ‘we don’t know how to use your coffee maker.’
‘Oh, it’s simple, really. You just unscrew the top and clean out the filter where the old coffee grounds are. Fill the bottom with water, put the filter in with two dessertspoons of coffee, then screw it back together and put it on the hob.’
He looked at her like she’d just explained nuclear fusion.
‘Sarah usually just makes it for us,’ he said.
‘Oh, right. Okay then.’ Because she didn’t have anything better to do than be their barista for the day. ‘White for everyone? I’ll bring up some sugar.’
She stomped downstairs to make coffee for her builders.
They were caffeinated to their back teeth by the time they finished in the afternoon. Between their questions and their banging and their wanton destruction, the day was a complete write-off, work-wise.
And now, thanks to Nate drilling through an electrical cable, they had no lights on the top floor.
She couldn’t wait to get to her parents’ house. She stuffed a dress into her overnight bag. They’d invited her for dinner but sometimes she just wanted looking after.
She knew she was a mama’s girl, though she did stay with them much less than she had in her early twenties. Then she’d slept in her single bed at least once a week, with Kylie Minogue smiling down from the walls in her over-the-knee socks. She’d tried the look, until Micky Flaherty said her thighs looked like chipolatas. The socks went in the bin.
She let herself into the house with her key. Dad’s rubble-covered work boots were on the rubber mat by the front door.
Her mum was hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table. ‘Is Dad in the bath?’ Rachel asked.
‘Whirling away,’ she said, brushing the strawberry blonde curls from her eyes.
They’d got him the whirlpool bath last year for his birthday after years of trying to convince him to put one in the downstairs bathroom for himself. It was like he was afraid to admit that doing manual labour every day took it out of a man nearing sixty. Which of course it did.
So they’d bought the tub and, controversially, hired a plumber to fit it. Mum had told him it was because he was too busy with his clients. It was sort of true. They only had to look around the house at all the half-finished jobs. The kitchen cabinets had been installed when Labour was in power. They might be in power again before her dad fitted the handles.
The whirlpool was a rare concession from her mum, who usually viewed such things as frivolous luxuries. She could design six-star hotels but would only paint the front door black in case it looked too fancy.
Design unto others what you would not design unto yourself.
‘How’s the project coming?’ Genevieve asked. She didn’t need to say which project. There was really only one in Rachel’s life at the moment.
Unlike the mothers who liked to wade into the dramas of their offspring, Rachel’s wasn’t interested in love lives or friendship troubles. Her dad was a better confidante there, as long she told him the Suitable For All Audiences version. But mention a project and her mum was all ears.
‘It’s good I think … James came up with a compromise that might work.’
‘Why didn’t you come up with the compromise?’
‘We’ve been working together to merge our designs, Mum, so it’s not really about who came up with what.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Rachel smiled. ‘Yeah, it totally is. I wish I’d thought of it, but as long as he doesn’t take the credit, it’s okay.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Maybe when it’s done.’
Genevieve shook her head. ‘I wish you wouldn’t be so cagey about showing me your work. I’m sure it’s fantastic.’
‘I will, Mum, I promise. Just not yet.’
This time she’d have to show her. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but what if she didn’t like it? Or worse: what if she pretended to like it and Rachel saw that telltale eye-slide that she did when she was trying to be nice? Then it wouldn’t matter if everyone else thought it was fantastic. It would make no difference if the client commissioned it or even if she won awards. Her mum’s judgement was what she really cared about.