Page 67 of Not in a Million Years

I followed Andy’s pointing hand and the faint hum of some sort of machinery to a door on the far side of the kitchen, and pushed it open. The workshop was large and bright, one long wall of steel-framed windows letting in the late-afternoon sun, which spilled in even squares on the polished concrete floor. Each beam of light looked almost solid, because of the sawdust that hung suspended in the air. The fresh smell of wood and the chemical smell of varnish was everywhere.

Around the perimeter of the room, pieces of furniture were arranged. There were elegantly proportioned sideboards, their polished surfaces glowing in the golden light. There were graceful bentwood chairs, each strip of timber evenly spaced, their curves so sinuous I wanted to stroke them. There was a drop-leaf dining table, its sides lowered to save space, leaving the marble-like grain of the walnut clearly visible.

At the far end of the room, Daniel was working. He was wearing paint-spattered overalls, the top down and the arms tied around his waist. I could see the contours of his back, chest and arms clearly in the low sunlight, the dusting of hairs on his chest glinting gold, his Turkish tan making him look as if he, too, had been carved from some rare wood.

The urge to run over and fling my body against his was as powerful as it was sudden. But I resisted, instead strolling over with a casual, ‘Hey. How’s it going?’

He lifted his head from the workbench. He’d been bending low over what looked like a chair or table leg, carefully smoothing its tapered surface with fine sandpaper. He pushed down the mask that covered his nose and mouth, and I could see that the skin surrounding it was lightly coated in sawdust.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m almost done here, then I’ll grab a shower and come and join you guys. Andy tells me you’re cooking for us?’

‘Well, strictly speaking he is. He chose the recipes and sent me the shopping list. I’m just doing what I’m told. Kind of like one of those robots that performs operations, controlled by a surgeon on the other side of the world.’

‘Quite the dream team. Everything all right at home?’

‘Not really. That’s why I messaged you at stupid o’clock to invite myself round today. Turns out the next-door flat’s been turned into an Airbnb, and it’s party central.’

‘Fun times.’

‘I had Barbara Dickson and Elaine Paige blaring through my bedroom wall at four in the morning.’ I don’t know what possessed me, but I heard myself break into song – the bit about it being madness he couldn’t be mine. Then I tailed off abruptly. ‘Sorry. It’s been going round in my head all day.’

Daniel laughed. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘No idea. My neighbour says the tenant he let the place to isn’t living there – clearly she’s decided she can make a fast buck renting it out. He’s sent her a cease and desist but there’s not much he can really do apart from give her notice, and that could take months.’

I moved a few steps closer to him – close enough to smell his body over the scents of wood and beeswax. I felt as if every cell of me was reliving the memory of our night together, every muscle longing to reach out and touch him again.

Instead, I reached out and touched the piece of wood he’d been working on, tracing my finger lightly over its hard length, from base to tip.

‘This is pretty,’ I said. ‘All your stuff – it’s stunning. I had no idea this place was so…’

‘So what? Dusty?’

‘Nah, I was expecting it to be dusty. But it’s… I don’t know. Like being in another world.’

‘That’s kind of how I feel, when I’m working,’ he said. ‘Like nothing really exists except me and the wood. It’s got a life to it, even though some of it was last alive eighty years ago. When a piece has been hanging around in someone’s garage or loft or whatever and it’s knackered and warped and basically only good for the scrap heap, and you get the chance to restore it, it’s… Well. Pretty amazing.’

‘A bit more rewarding than drafting prudential risk frameworks, anyway,’ I said.

Daniel laughed again. God, the way his white, even teeth flashed in his tanned face and his grey eyes sparkled almost silver. I wished I could bottle the way that laugh made me feel.

Then his face became serious again and he said, ‘Is everything okay? Did you sort the… you know? The thing.’

‘The emergency contraception?’ He could pussyfoot around it if he wanted to, but I wasn’t going to. ‘Yes. It’s been freely available in pharmacies for over twenty years.’

‘And did it…?’

‘Work? I assume so. I mean, I won’t know until…’

Now it was my turn to be coy.

‘Are you feeling okay? You’re not – I don’t know, sick or anything?’

‘Actually, I feel rough as a bag of spanners. But two hours’ sleep will do that to you, morning-after pill or no morning-after pill.’

‘Kate, like I said, I’m so sorry about what happened.’ He gave the piece of wood a final caress with the sandpaper and laid it down on his workbench, then untied the sleeves of his overall and wiped his face with one cuff before shrugging it back over his shoulders. ‘I feel responsible.’

‘You don’t have to. There’s nothing to feel responsible for. It happened, it won’t happen again. It’s done. End of.’

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