Gigi

It was one of those spring days that awakens both the memory and the possibility of summer. The chill had gone off the breeze, the sun had enough strength, at last, to warm your skin where it hit it and the winter only lingered in the shadows.

Gigi had the whole day off. She could do whatever she wanted. The freedom was intoxicating. There was no laundry to do because, for the first time in forever, she washed only for her, and the bin filled up much more slowly. There was no food either, but the only person she needed to feed was her and she didn’t care. The almost empty fridge rather delighted her after years of catering for a family, and, latterly, the memory of a family – a compulsion to have supplies to feed a small rugby team at a moment’s notice, when there were only two of them. She was free to lie in bed until noon, flicking through the interiors magazines for which she had developed a new fondness, or watching rubbish on the television. To bathe and dress at her leisure, or to stay dirty if she preferred. But none of that was what she had in mind.

What Gigi had in mind was nesting. This empty nest didn’t hold the same sadness as the one she had left behind. The kids had never been here – their laughter and their shouting didn’t lurk in the corners. This nest was being feathered just for her, and for now that was enough.

She’d taken down the ugly venetian blinds in the two bedrooms and hidden them away in the back of the wardrobe. She’d ordered ready-made curtains – diaphanous white things, too long, so they pooled on the floor in a nice, trendy way that would have driven Richard mad, all flowy and girly – and Olly had helped her hang curtain poles. He’d been her first visitor bar Kate, who’d helped her move in. He’d driven down, taken her out for brunch and then spent a few hours doing DIY for her, the pair of them listening to the radio and not talking too much about what was happening in either of their lives, which evidently suited them both just now. She loved him for not making her talk about Richard, and repaid the kindness by staying off the subject of Caitlin. He’d made it seem perfectly normal, this setting up his parent in a flat, and she was grateful for it.

Megan was no longer ignoring her, and she felt like things were almost, if not quite, back to normal between them. In the early days, Gigi sent her a WhatsApp most days, keeping her tone light and breezy, using more emoticons than was judicious for a woman of her age. Most went unanswered; some received cursory replies. Megan wouldn’t be drawn. When she’d sent something longer and more emotional, her daughter had snapped back that she needed time, and wanted Gigi to leave her alone while she concentrated on her exams. After that, Gigi forced herself to send a message only every few days, always telling her she loved her. She knew Emily was checking in with her, knew Oliver messaged her too. She knew she was safe and well – at least as much as you ever knew your child was when they weren’t with you – but that was all she knew. It hurt, and it still felt odd, those negative emotions sitting uncomfortably with her contentment at being here. Distracting her from the self-belief that had made this happen. But she knew she had to give her time. Accepted that things might never be exactly the same between them. She knew she’d pulled a rug out from under her daughter. She might understand it one day, better than she did now. But she would still always have done it to her, and she had no choice but to own that.

So not talking about any of it was best just now. And not thinking about it too much either …

The curtains had made both rooms much nicer, and she didn’t mind that they didn’t keep much light out. It was nice to be woken up by the early sun, even if you put a pillow over your head and went back to sleep again. They might lose their appeal in the winter, but it was spring, and winter was a long way off. Gigi had given up thinking in the long term. For now, they were just what she wanted.

And now, today, she was going to transform her sitting room. She’d seen it in a magazine and confirmed with the agent that she was allowed to do it. She’d hired a floor sander online the night before and collected it early this morning. A nice young man had carried it from the counter to her boot and shown her how to use it.

Sadly, he wasn’t here now. And the sander was surprisingly heavy and unwieldy, and already messing with her mojo. She’d wrestled it out of the boot, which she’d left open, and managed to lurch to her front door with it, but now she had to hump it up the stairs, which suddenly looked Himalayan. Kate was coming to help (or more probably to laugh at her attempts), but she wasn’t due for another couple of hours, and Gigi was eager to get started.

As she stood contemplating the task, she heard the door to the main part of the house open and close, and felt an immediate flush of embarrassment. She hadn’t met her landlord yet. Being caught in the act of DIY seemed a rude beginning. It implied criticism.

‘Do you need a hand?’

He didn’t seem cross, if this was indeed him. Maybe a bit perplexed. Gigi pushed her unruly curls back from her face and offered her free hand, aware that her cheeks were pink and that she was far from presentable.

‘Hi. I’m Gigi.’

‘Good to meet you, Gigi. I’m Adam. Welcome.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Settling in okay?’

‘Yes, thank you. It’s a lovely flat.’

‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘I’m just trying to get this bloomin’ thing inside …’

‘Shall I close your boot for you, firstly? Then help you get that contraption upstairs.’

‘That’s kind. I’m okay, really.’

‘It’s fine. I’m happy to help.’

‘You’re on your way out –’

‘To nowhere important, not in a hurry.’ His voice was slow and kind.

‘Thank you.’ There didn’t seem to be anything else for it. He seemed to have made up his mind to help her. She might avoid a prolapse if she let him.

She watched him walk over to the car. He was tall enough to have that slight natural stoop, and thin, with an enviably thick head of silvery-grey hair. Scruffy, but in a vaguely intentional and trendy way, rather like his house, she thought. Good bones. As he walked back towards her, she saw thick, wild eyebrows, and kind eyes to match the voice.

‘Right. Let’s get this upstairs … blimey. It’s heavy. It’s got to be a hundred pounds.’

But he lifted it easily enough.

‘You go first …’

She skirted around him and went up the stairs, wondering why she felt self-conscious.

Inside the flat, he put the sander down gently. ‘That’s very kind of you. Thanks.’

He didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. He looked around. Then leant against the doorframe.

‘So you’re settling in okay?’

She nodded enthusiastically. ‘I love the flat.’

He nodded. ‘Good. Good.’ He was looking at her now, for a second longer than convention demanded. His gaze was hard to interpret and just a tiny bit unsettling.

Then he gestured at the sander. ‘Have you done this before, then?’

She wondered whether to lie, decided against it.

‘Nope. I watched a tutorial online, though, last night, on YouTube. It looks easy enough.’

‘Well, then …’ His eyes were laughing at her, but not in an unkind way. His mouth twitched. She didn’t feel demeaned, though. Not the way he did it.

‘Looks like hoovering. Just way, way more fun. And it comes with all the instructions …’

He’d missed several cues to leave now.

‘I have some time, if you’d like a bit of help. I have done this before. Not that I’m suggesting you’re not perfectly capable.’ Again, the slightly mocking tone. Gigi wondered what it was about the way he said it that meant it wasn’t offensive, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She hoped it wasn’t because he was handsome: that would be just too pathetic of her. But she definitely felt – well, a tiny bit girlish were the only words for it. And Gigi couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel that way. The thought that Kate would be rolling her eyes furiously now ran through her mind.

‘Well it’s your house …’ Was she flirting? It had been so damn long, she didn’t actually know if she was or not.

He interpreted her hesitation exactly as he seemed to want to, taking his jacket off and laying it across a chair.

‘So … where are these instructions?’

Which is how, two hours later, Kate, walking through the still open front door and up the stairs unnoticed, found them both, hot and tired, sitting close together on the partially sanded floor with their backs against the wall, drinking mugs of coffee and admiring their work, which had rendered the floor stylishly matt and pale.

Gigi felt strangely as though she’d been caught at something. She scrambled to her feet.

‘Kate – this is Adam. He owns the rest of the house.’

Adam stood up and shook Kate’s hand. ‘Good to meet you, Kate.’

And now, suddenly, he took the cue to leave.

‘Your friend has this completely under control, so I’ll leave you two to it … I’ll see you, Gigi.’

After he left, Kate raised an eyebrow.

‘What?’

‘What indeed …’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. He was just helping me. He found me trying to wrestle it up the stairs. Stayed to help. That’s all.’

‘Okay.’ Kate was grinning at her.

‘Kate! Seriously. It’s his house. He probably just thought I looked completely incompetent and wanted to save his floors.’

‘If you say so.’ She bumped her hip against Gigi’s, who shoved her playfully in return.

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘You’re being disingenuous. He’s gorgeous.’

‘He’s all right.’ She wouldn’t have said gorgeous. Nice-looking, definitely. Very nice-looking.

‘I hate you.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve been alone for years. Not so much as a sniff. You’ve been alone for all of five minutes, and you’ve got silver foxes showing up to sand your floors … which is, I’m sure, merely a euphemism. Can’t remember the last time my floors had a good sanding …’

Gigi laughed. It was so stupid. ‘Don’t be daft.’

The eyebrow had a mind of its own and refused to lie flat.

Gigi ignored it and poured another mug of coffee.

‘What does he do, then, your “landlord”?’

Gigi realized she had no idea.

‘We didn’t really talk. Other than about this machine. We were in fact actually sanding the floor. As you can see.’

She gestured theatrically.

‘Hmmm. If you say so …’

Gigi punched her friend’s arm. ‘I say so. Now shut up, drink this and give me a hand. I’ve got to get the machine back by 4 p.m.’