have one week. Either he goes or I go. And as for your new bathroom – do whatever you like.’
***
‘Where do you want this to go, Stella?’
I look from Paul to the box and back again. The fact is, I’ve got no idea where I want anything to go – but then, as I have so little I don’t suppose I’ll have to make too many of these decisions just yet. The box Paul is holding contains some of the basic kitchen equipment I’ve begged and borrowed over the past week (I’m drawing the line at stealing for now), so I ask him to stick it in the kitchen.
‘Hey,’ he calls, ‘it’s looking so much better in here.’
He is lying, but I appreciate the gesture. The old kitchen cupboards have been stripped out and dumped, and I’ve washed down the walls and bashed off the old tiles and ripped up the floor. So basically it looks like an empty room after a fire, but I guess that’s a few steps up from a bomb site.
It is exactly a week since I delivered my ultimatum to my mother, and if there’s one thing every parent knows it’s always to carry out what you threaten to do. I’m sure Lipsy would be even further off the rails if I hadn’t been firm with her, and now my own mother is suffering the same treatment. Oh, she’d cried a little, and begged me not to go, but I stood firm. Even when my daughter announced she wasn’t coming with me. That was a tough moment, I can tell you. But then I figured that Lipsy might be better off staying behind for a while, at least until her own home had a functioning kitchen and bathroom. I can rough it. I have no choice. I know I shouldn’t expect Lipsy to rough it with me. Although, it would have been nice.
Anyway, as soon as she sees what a great job I’m doing here she’ll be dying to come back. That’s the plan. Paul is being a rock as usual, and having the use of Smart Homes’ handyman, Ray, is a real bonus. He’s coming tomorrow to sort out the bathroom, which is a bit of a priority. Being able to wash always helps, I find.
‘Paul.’ I grab his arm as he walks past with the last of the boxes.
‘Huh?’
‘Just wanted to say thanks.’
‘Go on then.’
‘What?’
‘Say thanks.’
I laugh and nudge him in the ribs, knowing he can’t defend himself. ‘Thank you very much, O great one,’ I say, bowing a little and letting go of his arm. He grins and carries on by me. ‘Seriously, Paul, I really am grateful. I couldn’t have got through this week without you. And letting me use Ray to do some of the work, well, I don’t know what to say. You’ve saved my life.’
‘You don’t have to say anything, Stella.’ Paul comes back out of the kitchen and sits on one of the garden chairs I “borrowed” from my mother’s garage. ‘And I haven’t saved your life. Yet,’ he adds, fixing my eyes with his. ‘Although I may do, one day.’
I don’t know quite what’s been happening between us lately. Actually, when I say ‘between us’ I really mean ‘to me’, because Paul is just being Paul, joking around and play-flirting, same as he always has. I know it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that lately – lately, I’ve started to wish it did.
He’s my oldest friend, and it’s no secret that I had a crippling crush on him as a kid. I thought I was over all that long ago. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’s the way he’s so attentive and caring, the way that whenever I talk he makes me feel as though I’m the only person in the room. He does that with everyone, of course, not just me. He’s that kind of guy. Which makes it even harder to ignore the feelings that are pushing themselves up mercilessly from a place I thought I’d buried them years ago.
I look at him now, leaning back into the deckchair, flexing his shoulders a little but looking perfectly relaxed and at home. He’s wearing jogging pants and an old washed-out T-shirt but still looks like he’s just walked off the pages of a catalogue. We’ve spent a lot of time together
***
‘Where do you want this to go, Stella?’
I look from Paul to the box and back again. The fact is, I’ve got no idea where I want anything to go – but then, as I have so little I don’t suppose I’ll have to make too many of these decisions just yet. The box Paul is holding contains some of the basic kitchen equipment I’ve begged and borrowed over the past week (I’m drawing the line at stealing for now), so I ask him to stick it in the kitchen.
‘Hey,’ he calls, ‘it’s looking so much better in here.’
He is lying, but I appreciate the gesture. The old kitchen cupboards have been stripped out and dumped, and I’ve washed down the walls and bashed off the old tiles and ripped up the floor. So basically it looks like an empty room after a fire, but I guess that’s a few steps up from a bomb site.
It is exactly a week since I delivered my ultimatum to my mother, and if there’s one thing every parent knows it’s always to carry out what you threaten to do. I’m sure Lipsy would be even further off the rails if I hadn’t been firm with her, and now my own mother is suffering the same treatment. Oh, she’d cried a little, and begged me not to go, but I stood firm. Even when my daughter announced she wasn’t coming with me. That was a tough moment, I can tell you. But then I figured that Lipsy might be better off staying behind for a while, at least until her own home had a functioning kitchen and bathroom. I can rough it. I have no choice. I know I shouldn’t expect Lipsy to rough it with me. Although, it would have been nice.
Anyway, as soon as she sees what a great job I’m doing here she’ll be dying to come back. That’s the plan. Paul is being a rock as usual, and having the use of Smart Homes’ handyman, Ray, is a real bonus. He’s coming tomorrow to sort out the bathroom, which is a bit of a priority. Being able to wash always helps, I find.
‘Paul.’ I grab his arm as he walks past with the last of the boxes.
‘Huh?’
‘Just wanted to say thanks.’
‘Go on then.’
‘What?’
‘Say thanks.’
I laugh and nudge him in the ribs, knowing he can’t defend himself. ‘Thank you very much, O great one,’ I say, bowing a little and letting go of his arm. He grins and carries on by me. ‘Seriously, Paul, I really am grateful. I couldn’t have got through this week without you. And letting me use Ray to do some of the work, well, I don’t know what to say. You’ve saved my life.’
‘You don’t have to say anything, Stella.’ Paul comes back out of the kitchen and sits on one of the garden chairs I “borrowed” from my mother’s garage. ‘And I haven’t saved your life. Yet,’ he adds, fixing my eyes with his. ‘Although I may do, one day.’
I don’t know quite what’s been happening between us lately. Actually, when I say ‘between us’ I really mean ‘to me’, because Paul is just being Paul, joking around and play-flirting, same as he always has. I know it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that lately – lately, I’ve started to wish it did.
He’s my oldest friend, and it’s no secret that I had a crippling crush on him as a kid. I thought I was over all that long ago. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’s the way he’s so attentive and caring, the way that whenever I talk he makes me feel as though I’m the only person in the room. He does that with everyone, of course, not just me. He’s that kind of guy. Which makes it even harder to ignore the feelings that are pushing themselves up mercilessly from a place I thought I’d buried them years ago.
I look at him now, leaning back into the deckchair, flexing his shoulders a little but looking perfectly relaxed and at home. He’s wearing jogging pants and an old washed-out T-shirt but still looks like he’s just walked off the pages of a catalogue. We’ve spent a lot of time together
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