Page 60 of The Do-Over

As I round the side of the building, I see that Ernest is not in the mill, but doing something by the side of the pond.

‘Everything OK?’ I ask him.

‘Yes, just trying to get a feel for the depth of the water,’ he tells me. ‘I’m going to recommend dredging, just to be on the safe side. The downside of these ponds is that they do tend to silt up over time. If the river is flowing fast, it brings all sorts of stuff with it, which then sinks to the bottom the moment the water slows down in the pond. Best to dredge, I think. Right, do you want to show me what you’ve been up to inside?’

By mid-afternoon, my mood is at rock bottom. Partly because Ernest isn’t George, and I have a constant George-shaped dull ache in my chest today, but also because I’ve spent most of it at the kitchen table with Ernest, filling in forms. We’ve done an application to Natural England for the dredging of the pond, one to certify the mill for food production and now Ben and Rebecca are taking us through their high-level plans for the farm, which I was a little alarmed to find were considerably more advanced than I’d expected.

‘They’re the ones Ben originally drew up when he was thinking of doing it himself,’ Rebecca explained when I queried it. ‘We’ve just tweaked them slightly. Ben’s also done a completeset of cost and revenue projections, which we’ll take you through another time.’ She flicks her eyes surreptitiously towards Ernest; she’s obviously keen not to have him listening in for that part.

Despite my misgivings, I have to admit that the plans are impressive. Although he hadn’t included a soft-play area or café, Ben has obviously put considerable thought into the types of animals to keep and how they would best be housed. He’s also put together a detailed map of the whole plot including car parking, fences and paths.

‘This is just the start,’ Rebecca tells me, and I can tell she’s trying not to let her enthusiasm run away with her again. ‘I’m thinking we could do rowing boat hire on the pond, “adopt an animal” schemes and I’ve set aside space in the top barn for something that might bring a smile to your face, Thea.’

‘What?’

‘You know how George said the industrial unit was costing a fortune? I was thinking we could offer them this area for their traction engine. It’s win-win. They pay rent, the public get to see a restoration in progress, and they can do demos and stuff with it when it’s finished. Plus, you have George on site regularly.’

‘Assuming he’s speaking to me,’ I murmur quietly, so Ernest doesn’t overhear.

‘Yes. I admit I had the idea before he was taken ill.’ She makes air quotes when she says the word ‘ill’ but they’re lost on Ernest who has closed his eyes again. She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine once you’ve talked to him on Saturday, if you don’t hear from him before.’

I hope she’s right. God, I hope she’s right.

27

Saturday and still not a peep out of George. I’m actually a little irritated with him now; how dare he make this all about him, as if I was just a passive object he unwittingly kissed? Don’t my feelings deserve to be taken into account too? Still, as Rebecca said, there’s no doubt where he’ll be today, so I’m on my way to Tenterden to confront him.

Despite being a little distracted by the whole George thing, we have made progress on going through Ben and Rebecca’s plans, and I am gradually starting to come round to the idea. The way they see it is that Ben will be the animal expert, I’ll be in charge of the milling, and Rebecca will sort out the soft play and the gift shop. We have no idea who’s going to run the café yet, but they’ve made a start on putting together our application to the council based on Ben’s original plans with a few updates. I’ve made it clear that I’m not totally sold yet, but I’m happy to explore the idea a bit further. I think, for me, the thing that has reassured me the most about it is that we still have the mill and the land if it all goes wrong and, although we’d probably have to sell it at a loss, we should still get enough to revert to a slimmed-down property development scheme if we needed to.

My heart is banging in my chest as I pull up outside the industrial unit where George’s traction engine lives. Although I’ve rehearsed this moment several times in my head, the reality of what I’m about to do is just beginning to sink in. If I make a complete fool of myself, it won’t just be in front of George, but presumably his friends as well. I’m just about to get out of the car when my phone pings with a message. I grab it eagerly, as I have done every time it’s made even the slightest chirp since Monday, hoping that George has finally decided to get in touch, but to my surprise the message is from Alasdair.

9 months quarantine is officially over and we’re allowed to talk again!!! Just been to your house with flowers and champagne to celebrate, but the door was opened by a very angry man who accused me of having designs on his wife! Took a bit of straightening out. Anyway, where are you? Champagne is starting to get warm… Ax

I stare at the message for a few minutes, trying to think how I feel about it. On the one hand, it’s nice to hear from Alasdair, and to know that he hasn’t forgotten me, but I also feel a tinge of annoyance that he’s just rocked up with flowers and champagne, presumably expecting that I’d let him in and we’d just pick up as if nothing had changed. Knowing him, he was probably expecting sex. To be fair to him, I probably would have been up for that if it wasn’t for George. That’s enough to re-focus me and I slip my phone back into my bag and open the door. Alasdair will have to wait; I’ve got more important things to deal with right now.

There’s a surprising amount of activity going on when I slip through the door of the industrial unit. Two guys are applying black paint to some part of the traction engine, and there’s a regular metallic clanging coming from the other side. Neitherof the two guys I can see is George, and they obviously haven’t heard me over the din.

‘Hello?’ I call, but my voice is lost in the noise, so I slowly approach the guys who are painting. They have their backs to me but, once I reckon I’m close enough to be heard over the clanging, I try again.

‘Hello?’

‘Bloody hell!’ one of the guys exclaims, whirling round. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

‘Sorry. I did call from by the door but you obviously couldn’t hear.’

‘I know,’ he says, softening his tone. ‘It’s enough to give anyone a headache.’ He raises his voice and bellows, ‘Oi, Bob! Knock it off for a minute, will you?’

The clanging stops, much to my relief.

‘So, can I help you with something?’ the man asks.

‘I was looking for George. Is he here?’

The man studies me for a moment. ‘Are you Thea?’ he asks.

‘Yes. How did you know?’

‘I’m Trevor,’ he says, holding out a paint-spattered hand. ‘George isn’t here today, but he left something for you.’ Once again, he raises his voice. ‘Bob, where’s the letter George gave you?’ he calls.

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