Page 8 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
I cashed up and helped clean as soon as the restaurant closed. As was becoming the norm, we divided the leftover food among us. I took my bag and headed home. Monica would have been that evening and put Grandma to bed. I knew I’d pop my head into the living room and she’d be snuggled with the blanket pulled up to her chin. She’d knitted the blanket years ago, and itneeded a wash. But like a child, or a dog, she wasn’t giving it up just yet. I’d have to sneak it into the wash while she was asleep.
I set off on my journey home, flicking my hood up and knowing it was getting closer and closer to needing that winter coat. I shivered and shoved my hands into my pockets. I had arrears on utility bills that needed to be a priority. I didn’t have enough left over each month to even pick up a decent coat in a charity shop.
I heard nothing from Mr. Wolfe for a few days, although the boiler man had returned to install a new heating system. That was a bloody nightmare, and I was at the point of either pulling my hair out or contacting him myself. The house was cold, and Grandma was getting affected by the noise and activity. At no time in their training had any of the plumbers learned to shut a bloody front door, either!
“Close the frigging door!” I shouted. “There is a poorly elderly woman in this house.”
Apologies were abundant and the door would be closed until the next time someone needed something from their van.
A day and half later, we had heating and hot water. And both at the same time! New windows would benext, then a repaint of both the inside and out. Apparently, the entire street was getting a make-over. It was about time. It looked like a slum most days. If people took pride in their homes, it might help and I hoped that a fresh coat of paint, that might encourage them.
Later that evening, I dug out my lease agreement. Mr. Wolfe had said that he owned the company that owned the street. His name wasn’t listed anywhere, but I didn’t expect that. I circled the email address, making a mental note to write with some form of thank you.
Years ago, I used to love writing letters. My grandma would encourage me to write a thank you for any birthday and Christmas presents I received, and I used to enjoy doing it. I guessed, as life got harder, those things, and most that gave me joy, went out the window. I sighed. Nostalgia wasn’t worth the effort or the upset. My focus was simply on the here and now and paying the next bill.
Despite my thoughts, I emailed, and the following day received a response from Mr. Wolfe thanking me for thanking him! I wasn’t sure his response was necessary and once again wondered why he’d received my communication, and not an employee at a lower level.
I was contemplating a reply when my mobile rang. I stared at it and the unknown number for a while before I picked it up. I wasn’t even sure it would answer, the screen was so damaged.
“Hello?” I asked, tentatively.
“Ruby. I wanted to see if you had received my email.”
He didn’t announce himself; he didn’t need to.
“You just this minute sent it and this is creepy.”
He chuckled. “You do like to insult me, don’t you?”
“Not intentionally, but you often deserve it.”
I found it strange that I wasn’t mad. I settled back in my chair with a smile on my face. If I was honest, I liked the banter. There was something about Mr. Wolfe that I enjoyed, and his voice was nectar for my broken soul.
“I’m sure I do. You offered your mobile number up when you signed your contract. I think, if you read the small print, it says we may need to contact you by telephone.”
“Mmm. Is it normal to call someone to check they received an email?”
“In my world, yeah. How is the heating?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Warm, on constant, for once.” I still couldn’t help with a jibe. “What a shame it took you drowning me for that to happen.”
His laugh rolled over me, stopping at my core.
“You amuse me, Ruby.” His laugh had stopped, and his voice dropped a notch.
“I’m glad I do.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Sleep well, Ms Montando.” He pronounced my surname perfectly.
“I will now,” I replied, then switched off my phone.
I sat for an age, thinking about him. I had no idea how old he was, where he lived, what he did for fun, nothing. But there was something compelling, for sure. Perhaps I just needed to get laid, not that there were many offers on that front. I sighed. A couple of guys had shown an interest in me at college, but I was too tired, too moody to take up any offers of dates. All that would have to wait, I’d decided.
I went to bed that evening frustrated, and much to my annoyance, had wild dreams about him ravishing me. I woke annoyed and more frustrated.
Chapter Four
