Page 48 of The Do-Over

We stand and watch as nothing continues to happen. I’m just beginning to hope that maybe Ernest’s diagnosis was wrong and the whole mechanism is seized after all when the wheel suddenly lurches and starts to turn. We all crowd round Ernest’s phone to see what’s happening inside, and I can clearly see the massive cogs turning and meshing with each other. Ernest’s face lights up.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announces. ‘We have a runner!’

Fuck.

22

‘Now what?’ Rebecca asks gloomily once the others have left and it’s just the three of us once more. After its successful trial, Ernest got George to shut the mill down again fairly quickly, and they’ve promised to return next week to inspect the wheel more thoroughly and perform any adjustments needed, including dressing the stones, whatever the hell that is. I think this is probably Ernest’s equivalent of winning the lottery, and George seemed pretty excited too. In my mind, the only upside of this disaster is that we might see more of George, as he’s assured us that he and Ernest will help with any work the mill needs, and HIBT will be on hand to make sure we’re aware of the various grants on offer. What HIBT absolutely won’t give us, however, is the one thing we really wanted, namely the certificate that would have enabled us to proceed with the conversion.

‘I don’t know,’ I sigh. ‘I mean, we’ll have to finish the renovation of the cottage, because nobody will buy it in its current state, but if the council and HIBT slap a preservation order on the mill, which Ernest seems to think they might, that’s literally a millstone round the neck of whoever owns the property.’

‘Ha ha.’ Rebecca smiles grimly. ‘I see what you did there.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,’ Ben offers.

‘What have you got to be sorry for?’ Rebecca asks him.

‘I feel kind of responsible. It was me that sold you the mill, after all.’

‘It’s not like you forced us to buy it,’ she tells him reassuringly, laying her hand on his forearm. ‘Thea and I jumped into this hole all by ourselves.’

‘Maybe George would like it,’ she continues after a long, morose silence. ‘He’s into all that kind of thing, and he could keep his traction engine in one of the barns.’

‘I don’t think George is going to be able to give us the return on our investment that we’re looking for,’ I say sadly.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Unless he’s a secret millionaire, I very much doubt a charity like HIBT is going to pay him the kind of wage he’d need to buy this.’ In the silence that follows, I do allow myself a brief fantasy where George is in fact a secret millionaire who buys the cottage, declares undying love for me, and I spend the rest of my days watching him hurling sacks of wheat around in the mill as effortlessly as if they were filled with feathers, his muscles rippling as he does. I’m just getting to the bit where he picks me up as if I’m similarly weightless and takes me upstairs for some thrilling sex when Ben’s voice punctures my reverie.

‘Maybe it would be more attractive to a buyer if you could find a way to make it earn its keep,’ he suggests.

‘But how would we do that?’ I counter. ‘It’s not commercially viable; it’s basically a museum piece.’

‘Exactly,’ he replies. ‘Open it as a working museum.’

‘Sorry, Ben, but I think that would make it even more unattractive to a potential buyer. Even if the council let you do it, it would be a load of aggro. You’d need to provide car parking, you’d have strangers permanently wandering around the placeand, oh God, you’d probably have to have some sort of gift shop selling overpriced tat. Plus, and this is the killer, this is just a two-bedroom cottage without the mill conversion. Who’s going to want to pay top dollar for that, even when we’ve renovated it?’

‘You could extend the cottage in another direction. It might even be cheaper than converting the mill and it’s not like there’s a shortage of space.’

For the first time since Ernest pronounced the mill operational, a flicker of hope stirs in me. The mill itself is still a problem, but if we got permission to extend the house in another direction, we could still make something desirable out of it.

‘Do you know what, Ben?’ I tell him. ‘I think you might be on to something with that.’

‘You’re a genius,’ Rebecca agrees, giving him a kiss and earning herself a dark smudge on the cheek to go with the one on her nose.

By the time George and Ernest return the following Wednesday, it feels like we’re back on track. The architect has visited and is drawing up new plans for us to extend the house backwards, which will include knocking through the current rear wall to create the all-important open-plan kitchen-diner, with space for the extra bedrooms that were originally going to go in the mill above. As a bonus, it means we’re going to be able to install bifold doors that will not only let in a lot of light, but also give a beautiful view of the pond. I hesitate to say it, but I think it might even be better than our original plan. Plumber Chris, despite being initially frustrated that his original piping diagrams for the mill were going to have to be redone, is now also on boardand trying to persuade us to install underfloor heating in the extension.

We’ve looked at the possibility of splitting the plot into several subplots and applying for permission to build multiple houses, with the aim of selling it on to a developer, but Rebecca was right that there’s a covenant to stop us doing that and, having done a quick straw poll in the pub, Ben told us that there would be quite a lot of objection from the village as well, so we’ve abandoned that idea. We do have an extensive list of questions for Ernest and George though, and I’m looking forward to sitting down with George and grilling him. Rebecca has agreed to distract Ernest because she thinks I deserve a bit of one-on-one time with George, although she’s admitted that she still thinks he’s gay and she’s also worried about listening to Ernest drone on about tentering and all his other strange little milling terms. I have done my absolute best to resurrect enough of ‘old’ Thea to remind me that mooning around over men is not what modern, self-sufficient women do and I’m not some fifties housewife who isn’t complete without a man. It hasn’t been a complete success.

‘Morning, ladies,’ Ernest says happily after he’s wriggled free from the driving seat of the Volvo. ‘Have we got some treats in store for you. Any chance of a cuppa first, though?’

Without waiting for a response, he strides through the open door into the house, carrying a large folder under his arm. ‘Doesn’t look like you’ve made a lot of progress in here,’ he observes, staring at the blank walls where the kitchen units used to be.

‘Yeah, we’re having to adapt our plans because of the mill,’ I tell him, trying not to sound annoyed as Rebecca and I set about making the tea. ‘So everything’s up in the air a bit at the moment.’

‘That mill is a real beauty. I’ve been telling everyone at HIBT about it.’

‘I bet that was a delight for them,’ Rebecca murmurs in my ear, causing me to snort with laughter.

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