Page 50 of The Do-Over

23

Although we’ve been fantastically lucky with the weather so far, with a warm and dry September, October has decided to make up for it by being exceptionally cold and wet. Ben has pulled the boat out of the lake and put it in one of the barns to keep it dry over winter, much to the boys’ dismay. They’re both well on the way to becoming reasonably proficient rowers, although there is still a lot of splashing, which I suspect is now largely deliberate. It’s early on Saturday morning and we’re cooped up at Mum and Phil’s, with the boys plonked in front of the TV watching a children’s channel.

Mum, Rebecca, Saffy and I are sipping coffee in the kitchen and chatting about the latest developments at the mill when Saffy suddenly puts her hand on my arm.

‘I know it’s not going as well as you’d hoped, but I think this project has been good for you,’ she tells me.

‘How did you work that out?’ I ask.

‘You’re different, somehow. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was always a bit scared of you before.’

‘What’s the “right” way to take a remark like that, Saf? And why were you scared of me? You’re older than me, for starters.’

‘Yes, but you were…’ She tails off.

‘I was what?’ I prompt her.

‘I’m trying to think of the right word. Hard, I guess. There was a hardness to you.’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘You were very driven, love,’ Mum adds gently. ‘Always working, never taking a proper break. Even when you visited us here, we kind of got the impression you were only here in body, that your mind was somewhere else. And you were so thin and pale. Look at you now, you’re glowing with good health.’

‘What is this? Gang up on Thea day?’ I ask crossly. ‘Rebecca, do you want to add anything? Let’s get it all off our chests.’

‘Absolutely not,’ she says with a laugh. ‘I’m staying well clear. All I will say is that it’s been a journey. I don’t think either of us covered ourselves in glory when we first met, but now it feels like we’ve been friends forever. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.’

That’s enough to stop me in my tracks. I think back to our fierce rivalry over the parking space in Walthamstow, and I just can’t connect with it at all.

‘You’re right,’ I tell her, feeling mollified. ‘It has been quite a journey.’

‘We always loved you,’ Mum says, and I sense another well-intentioned but misjudged remark is on the way. ‘You’re just easier to understand now.’

‘And softer,’ Saffy offers, compounding the issue.

‘So what you’re saying,’ I tell them with my hackles up once more, ‘is that, rather than being proud that I was out there making a success of my life, you just saw me as a hard frosty bitch that you couldn’t relate to. Well, thanks for sharing. I feel so much better now.’

‘That’s not what we meant,’ Mum soothes. ‘Of course we were proud of you, even if we didn’t understand what you did. We’re just saying that your new life seems to suit you better.’

‘I don’t know. I thought it was quite a good summary, actually,’ Saffy interjects, nudging me playfully.

‘You can sod off,’ I tell her. I don’t know whether I’m annoyed because I feel attacked, or because I don’t want to admit that Mum and Saffy might have a point. Rebecca’s and my first foray into property development may not be the smooth sailing that we’d planned, but there’s no doubt that I’m way happier than I would have realised was possible when I was working at Morton Lansdowne. I’m sleeping better than I have in years and, although it would have been a lot easier if the mill had been beyond repair, the constant problem solving is certainly keeping me from being bored. And then, of course, there’s George.

Ernest may be boring and sexist, but George was right that he knew his stuff and, although it seems very noisy in there to me when we start the mill up, that’s apparently how it’s supposed to sound. Rebecca and I did a good job of feigning dismay when Ernest was called away to deal with a temperamental windmill in Norfolk, but we were both relieved, particularly as George promptly stepped up to fill his shoes. No sooner was Ernest out of the way than Rebecca decided it was high time I started to learn about the mill and disappeared to help Ben with other projects in the house, leaving George and me alone together.

Under his patient guidance, I’ve been sanding, painting and generally sprucing up the mill. We’ve retreated the water wheel, a messy job that I normally would have hated and done anything to avoid, but which turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable with George there. The only slight niggle is that, although we seem to get on well, he hasn’t given anything away about his relationship status, or whether he finds me even remotely as attractive as I find him, which is a bit frustrating. However, despite the factthat Rebecca swears she can’t see it and that I’m imagining it because I want it to be true, I reckon there are a few promising signs. I’ve caught him watching me a few times when we’ve been working together, and I don’t think it’s always because he’s making sure I’m doing it right. There was also the ‘sanding incident’ where he covered my hand with his when showing me how to rub down a tricky-shaped piece of wood in the mill. The warmth of his hand on top of mine made my insides melt, and I still feel a bit unnecessary every time I think about it, which I do a lot. It’s just a shame he doesn’t visit as often as I’d like. He has, at least, given me his phone number so I can contact him if I get stuck and need to ask him something urgently. So far, I’ve managed to resist. I’m not that desperate, yet.

‘Any progress with you and that young man?’ Mum asks, as if reading my thoughts.

‘Do you mean the gay one?’ Saffy adds.

‘Why do you all think he’s gay?’ I demand, getting ready for the next round of what appears to be ‘lay into Thea’ day.

‘I’ve no idea whether he is or he isn’t,’ Saffy says blithely. ‘I’m just going with what Rebecca told me.’

‘I know you really like him,’ Rebecca interjects, obviously keen to get her point across before I jump down her throat, ‘but I’m going to stick my neck out and say I don’t think he’s right for you, even if he isn’t gay.’

‘Why not?’

---