Bricking It (24 page)

Mitchell is insisting I come with him to look at the chimney breasts from a more obtuse angle (he seems to love that word more than any other) when Sally Willingham butts into the conversation to ask the flamboyant architect what he thinks of the new veranda her team have erected over the repaired patio.

I throw her a grateful look as she neatly steers Mitchell around to look at her team’s work.

This leaves me with Mischa and her tendency to bore my arse off with her talk of concrete columns and granite flooring. She is wearing a nice tight jumper today though, so maybe I can stave off brain death by staring at her boobs.

Thankfully, something then homes into my field of vision that will give me an excuse to steer the conversation away from building work.

‘Look, Mischa!’ I exclaim, pointing one finger down to the bottom of the garden. ‘It’s Pat The Cow!’

I have been extremely neglectful of my bovine friend so far today. Usually Pat The Cow is the first person I visit when I get to the house of a morning.

Yes, I described her as a
person
. Get over it.

Today is an odd day though, what with all the people crawling over the house for the auction and everything, so greeting my rescued milk-producing buddy has slipped my mind. Until now, that is.

‘Shall we go down and say hello?’ I ask Mischa.

Her face crumples, suggesting that she’d rather not. However, I am already walking off down towards my large, pasture-munching friend, so if she wants to continue telling me how good she is at her job, she’s just going to have to follow me.

As I walk down to greet Pat The Cow, I have to marvel at what a good job Sally and her team have done to what was once such a shit tip of a garden. Okay, it won’t win awards any time soon, but the grass is level, green and neatly trimmed. The few remaining apple trees have been trimmed so they look tidy and attractive, and all the tumbledown fencing has been replaced by stout, wooden panels that march in a dead straight line all the way down to the copse at the bottom of the huge expanse of garden.

Sally has also done right by Pat The Cow and the local wildlife. She’s left a large patch of garden just in front of the copse as a natural wildflower haven. This not only provides Pat The Cow with all the cud she can chew, it also does a big favour to all the local insects and other small creatures that inhabit the area.

‘Good morning, Pat The Cow!’ I cry in happiness as my masticating chum looks up to see me coming towards her.

‘Moo,’ she exclaims, giving voice to her unutterable joy at once again clapping those big, watery eyes upon me.

I give Pat The Cow her customary pat on the head, and smile at Mischa. ‘Isn’t she great?’

Mischa looks like someone’s just force-fed her a sweet made of boiled cow piss. ‘Ye-es. Lovely.’

Pat The Cow, sensing some reluctance on the part of my stunningly attractive Slovenian date, moves forward to offer Mischa the chance to give her a pat on the head.

Wonderful stuff!

Pat The Cow obviously likes Mischa. And Pat The Cow’s opinion is
very
important to me. Never have I met such an astute cheese-producing creature in my life. If Pat The Cow thinks Mischa is a worthy companion for young Daniel Daley, then so must I!

It matters not that the Slovenian is obsessed with her work, and I can even overlook her potential homophobia towards two of my best friends. Neither of these things is insurmountable, in my book. Pat The Cow obviously believes this as well, given how affectionately she approaches Mischa, head held high and ready for that all-important pat.

‘Eugh!’ Mischa screams. ‘Get away from me, you stupid, ugly monster!’ she wails, whacking Pat The Cow across the top of the head.

The sky darkens.

The temperature drops ten degrees.

In the trees, the birds sense what is happening, and take flight.

‘What did you just do?’ I hiss. ‘What did you just do to Pat The Cow?’

‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow says.

You can almost taste the betrayal in her voice, can’t you?

‘It’s so smelly!’ Mischa screeches, waving one hand in front of her face. ‘Get it away from me, Danny!’

I move next to my bovine companion. ‘She is not an
it
,’ I tell Mischa, voice dripping with disgust. ‘This is Pat The Cow.’ I place one hand on Pat The Cow’s head, giving it a stroke. As I do, I make up my mind about something. ‘And I don’t think we should see each other any more, Mischa,’ I tell her haughtily.

‘What? Why not?’ the girl asks, backing away from my cow and me.

‘I don’t think we have anything in common.’

Now Mischa looks like someone has replaced the boiled piss sweet with a mouthful of fresh cow dung. ‘You go to hell!’ she orders me. ‘You and your stupid, smelly cow!’

‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow says, the menace dripping from every syllable.

Yes, I know
moo
has only one syllable, but Pat The Cow laughs in the face of your stupid grammatical rules.

‘Moo,’ Pat The Cow repeats, moving forward, this time with her head down.

‘I suggest you go back to the house, Mischa,’ I tell the Slovenian. ‘Test not the patience of Pat The Cow.’

Mischa gives the cud-chewing heroine one last look of loathing before turning and striding back towards Daley Farmhouse.

I am surprised to find that I feel extremely relieved by this turn of events. Pat The Cow has set me free. She has shown me the error of my ways in continuing to pursue the wrong woman simply because she looks like a catwalk model.

There is no doubt a better woman for me somewhere down the road, but I will not be finding her this day.

Until then, I will just have to be happy as a single man. A single man, who in a few short minutes, may find himself richer and far, far better off.

Yes, someone is going to buy this house. They are going to buy it, move in and—

Oh God, no!

What about Pat The Cow?

Where will Pat The Cow go?!

She’ll be
homeless
!

The new owners won’t want her around any more, will they? She’ll have no home. And we all know what happens to cows with no home, don’t we?

I picture the McDonald’s logo in my mind’s eye, and I really start to panic.

Hayley, I must get to Hayley as quickly as possible!

We can’t sell Daley Farmhouse! We must keep it! Pat The Cow needs somewhere to live!

Giving my yoghurt-producing ally a last, hurried pat between the ears, I leave her and rush back towards the house as fast as I can.

Mischa sees me coming, and misinterprets completely. She smiles at me as I come closer. ‘Oh Danny, I knew you couldn’t—’

‘Get out of the way, Mischa!’ I bellow at her, barrelling past her and nearly taking her off her feet. ‘I must save Pat The Cow!’

Through the house I go, past Baz, Spider and Fred and all those prospective buyers. They don’t get a cheery smile from me this time. They want to separate me from my cow goddammit, so they can all go fuck themselves!

Outside by the front door, Gerard is now speaking into a camera being held by Pete. He’s obviously recording a piece for
Great Locations
– probably the introduction for the show.

This introduction does not need a full-grown man frantically bursting into shot to ask where his sister is, but it’s going to get one anyway.

‘She’s upstairs, I think. In the bathroom,’ Gerard says, looking pretty damn annoyed that he’s been interrupted mid-flow. ‘What the hell is the matter, Danny?’

‘Pat The Cow, Gerard! I must save her!’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Thanks!’

I turn and run back into the house, taking the stairs two at a time. I narrowly avoid crashing into a Middle Eastern couple as I reach the first-floor hallway. ‘Sorry!’ I apologise, swiftly moving past them to find myself in front of the bathroom door.

‘Hayley!’ I cry, knocking loudly. ‘Are you in there?’

‘Sod off, Danny!’ I hear her say to me from the other side. She’s been crying. I can tell from her tone of voice. You don’t spend hours on the phone with your sister after she’s been dumped by her piece-of-shit husband without getting to know the sound of her voice after she’s been crying.

My demeanour and voice instantly soften. There’s more afoot here today than my cow.

More ahoof, even.

‘Hayles? Are you okay? Why don’t you let me in and we can talk?

There’s silence for a moment, before I hear the lock being drawn. I open the door and go in to find my sister, red-faced and blotchy sat on the edge of the roll-top bath, looking miserable as hell.

She looks up at me. ‘I want this bath, Danny!’ she cries in misery. ‘I don’t want anyone else to have this bath!’

I don’t know what to say.

Yes, I do.

‘I have to save Pat The Cow,’ I say to my sister, echoing her misery. ‘If we sell this house, she’ll be made into hamburgers!’

Hayley gets up, comes over to me and throws her arms around my neck. We both start to cry. It’s a horrible, horrible scene.

Hayley is distraught at the idea of losing a roll-top bath, and I’ve just thrown away a potential relationship with a stunning Slovenian girl in favour of a cow.

You see? Property renovation. It’s a piece of cake. And it has no effect on you psychologically
whatsoever
.

HAYLEY

February – Auction Day

£173,765.97 spent

I
hate you.

Yes,
you
. The man in the expensive sunglasses. Standing over there by
my
living-room mantelpiece, sipping on that glass of champagne that
I’ve
paid for.

You want my lovely house don’t you, you bastard? Yes. That’s what you want. You want to take my precious, precious Daley Farmhouse away from me.

Grant says you work in the video-game industry, and you’re looking for a place in the country as a retreat from the city. Well you can just piss off back there in your Aston Martin, you Ray-Ban wearing twat. This is my house!

And you can take that bloody Saudi couple with you.

Oh, they might be very friendly, and complimentary about all the work we’ve done, but Grant says that they’re in the property development game, and that they hinted to him they only really want to buy the house for the land that comes with it. Grant says they may have plans to knock Daley Farmhouse down and build some kind of modernist monstrosity on the site.

Evil, evil
bastards
!

And oh look, what a surprise, you’ve found a friend to talk to, haven’t you, Sunglasses Twat? Or should I say another rival? Yes. That’s it. Laugh and joke with the nice couple from Essex who are looking to move closer to their eldest daughter. I hope you all choke on your champagne!

‘Hayley? Are you alright?’ I hear Gerard say to me. ‘You’ve gone bright red, and I think you’re about to break the stem of that champagne glass.’

‘I’m fine,’ I snap back at him, slamming the glass down onto the table beside me.

‘I was thinking we could do a piece to camera with you and Danny? Set the scene for the auction?’ Gerard asks.

I look at him daggers.

I’m irrationally angry with Gerard right now. If it weren’t for his stupid TV show this auction probably wouldn’t have anywhere near the attention it has. There would be no Sunglasses Twat or Saudi property murderers for me to hate from across the living room. The beautiful, beautiful living room that the bastards want to knock down and replace with a big stupid glass-and-steel shit palace!

Okay, okay . . .

I probably need to get out of the house for some fresh air. It’ll do me the world of good. So far this morning I’ve gone from sitting on the edge of the bath crying my eyes out, to wishing a slow and painful death on anyone who wants to buy my farmhouse out from under me
.

The living room feels very claustrophobic at the moment, which should be impossible, given how huge it is. But introduce an auctioneer’s lectern and several rows of plastic seating, and the room fast becomes cloying and very, very hot with all the bodies gathered in it.

I look at my watch. The auction is due to start in just half an hour. My breath catches in my throat.

Definitely time for some fresh air.

‘Alright, Gerard, let’s go get it over with,’ I say in a sullen voice to the TV presenter. I then make my way out of the room, and through the front door. The cold February morning air is extremely nice on my hot, flustered face.

I spot my brother leaning against the wall to my right, chewing on one of his remaining fingernails. While I can’t entirely understand the bond he has with that stupid cow, I can fully and completely appreciate his new-found reluctance to sell the farmhouse.

‘Danny? Gerard wants us to do a piece to camera,’ I tell him, as Gerard goes over to where Pete is filming a few people milling around the window outside the living room.

‘Do we have to?’ my brother replies darkly.

‘We did promise,’ I say.

Yes, we did promise. Idiots that we are. We promised to let Gerard feature Daley Farmhouse as much as he liked on his TV show, because it’d help us make more money when we came to sell it.

Idiots!

Blithering, blistering idiots!

‘Right,’ Gerard says brightly, coming back over to us. ‘Pete’s setting up just here, so we can have a chat outside the front door. Don’t worry, nothing too tricky. I just want your thoughts on the auction, and how, er,
excited
you are to be finally selling the farmhouse.’

‘Excited?’ I spit in disgust.

Gerard laughs nervously. ‘Well, let’s just say how
apprehensive
you are about it getting a good price, then.’

I manage to resist the urge to sneer. It’s a close-run thing.

Gerard shifts Danny by the shoulders so he’s stood in a suitable position, clears his throat a couple of times, and tells Pete to start filming.

‘Hello, everyone! And welcome to a very special day!’ Gerard tells his audience enthusiastically. ‘It’s finally arrived – the day of the Daley Farmhouse auction, and I’m sure you’re all as eager as I am to know how much this lovely property will fetch today. I’m here with the property’s current owners, the two people responsible for renovating it so delightfully. Good morning, Hayley and Danny. How are you feeling today?’

Two grunts.

‘Aha, so nervous about what’s going to happen at the auction?’

A couple more grunts. We sound and look like a pair of sullen teenagers.

Gerard makes a throat-cutting motion. ‘Cut it for a moment, Pete.’ He looks back at us both. Rather than being angry, he actually looks quite sympathetic. ‘You two really don’t want to sell this place, do you?’

I shake my head.

‘Pat The Cow,’ Danny says in a quiet voice.

Gerard looks to the heavens. ‘I knew this would happen. I’ve seen you both get more and more attached as time has gone by. It happens a lot. Never easy to watch, I can tell you.’

There are tears forming at the corners of my eyes again. I start to feel quite, quite pathetic, but then I look at Danny and he looks like he’s about to cry as well. This makes us both pathetic, but we’re being pathetic together. I start to feel a fierce sense of sibling solidarity about the whole thing, and put one arm around Danny’s shoulder. ‘We’re not happy, Gerard. We’re not happy
at all
.’

Danny looks down the camera’s lens and his mouth forms a thin line. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ he says, and walks away, shrugging off my arm.

‘Danny!’ I call after him.

‘Let him go,’ Gerard tells me. He then turns to Pete. ‘Forget about this, Pete. Go get more covering shots and set up in the living room for the auction.

Pete, who can read a situation as well as his camera can film it, says nothing more and beetles away as fast as possible.

‘Come and sit over on the garden wall with me,’ Gerard tells me and makes off for the front left corner of the garden, away from the small groups of people currently wandering around us.

I follow him, knowing full well I’m about to get some kind of motivational speech that I could really do without.

As we near the wall I look down, remembering that this is the spot where they found the bomb. It disturbs me to realise that I’m thinking back on it with fond nostalgia. No one should ever think about the discovery of an explosive device with a sense of fond nostalgia, it’s just not good for the soul.

Gerard sits on the wall and bids me join him.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.

‘Weren’t we just doing that?’

‘I mean properly. Without a camera shoved down your throat. Just me and you, away from everyone else. You can be as honest as you like.’

Oops, here come the tears again. ‘I don’t want to sell it, Gerard! I know I have to, but I want to keep it.’

‘Yes, I know you do.’

‘Why did I ever agree to get involved with this stupid project? If I’d have known it would end like this . . .’

‘You would have done it anyway.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. Because you’re the type of woman who needs a challenge in life.’

I frown. ‘No, I’m not. I’m the type of woman who needs a brand-new extension and roll-top bath in her life.’ My brow furrows further. ‘My brother is apparently the type of person who needs an unwholesomely intelligent cow in
his
life, but we’ll try to gloss over that for the moment, I think.’

Gerard chuckles. ‘He does seem very attached, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh, it’s not just the cow. He loves this house too. It’s changed him, for the better. He has new friends, a new job and a new life. I . . .’

I trail off. Danny has found a new purpose to life with Fred Babidge’s building company, but
my
purpose is about to be wrenched away from me for ever. What the hell am I supposed to do when it’s gone? Go back to work in my underpaid and undervalued teaching job? Blow all that money on a round-the-world cruise like Mum and Dad? Invest in the renovation of another property that will just remind me of this one?

I look at Gerard as a tear courses its way down my cheek. ‘This place makes me happy, Gerard.’

‘I know.’

‘My grandma left it to me, because she knew I’d lost my way after Simon. And she was right do it. This is the happiest I’ve been in years!’ I wail miserably.

Gerard wraps his arms around me. Again, this is a very pleasant experience, despite the current circumstances. This time I can’t smell paint thinner either, just the faint aroma of his aftershave. ‘There, there,’ he says, patting my back.

I pull away slightly. I might as well be completely honest with him. ‘And it’s maybe about you a little, as well.’

That takes him by surprise. ‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have met you without this silly bloody house, would I?’

It’s Gerard’s turn to look a bit emotional. He does it with a lot more grace and style than I can muster. ‘No, I suppose not. Do you think there could be something between us, then?’ he says in a quiet voice.

Oh, this is very confusing and hard. My emotions are volatile enough at the moment with the impending loss of my farmhouse. I just don’t have enough room in my head for romance. I should never have said anything to him. Maybe, just maybe when all this is over, and I’ve recovered from the loss, then I can entertain the idea of starting a relationship with this kind, understanding man. Right now, though, I just can’t deal with it.

Still, I’ve opened my big, stupid mouth now, haven’t I?

‘I don’t know Gerard. I’d like to think so. I really do like you, but with all this going on . . .’

‘You can’t deal with any feelings you might have for me?’ he finishes with a rueful smile.

I take his hand. ‘Please don’t take it the wrong way,’ I tell him.

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. I completely understand. There will be plenty of time for you and me later. Right now you have a house to sell.’

My face darkens again. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Just one thing, then.’

‘What?’

‘Kiss me. Kiss me, then forget about us for the rest of the day.’

How can I refuse that?

I lean forward and finish the kiss that started months ago, just before I discovered my grandmother was a brothel madam.

It was very much worth the wait, I can tell you.

Astoundingly, the kiss also lifts my spirits. The black sense of doom and loss I felt beforehand has changed into one of philosophical grief. I’m about to lose what is obviously my dream house, but maybe I’ve just gained something equally as valuable in return.

‘Thank you, Gerard. You’ve really helped,’ I tell him, as my lips part company from his.

‘My pleasure,’ he replies with a smile. ‘And hey, you never know how the day will end, do you?’ He squeezes my shoulder gently. ‘Things will be okay, Hayley, I promise.’

What Gerard can’t promise is that none of these bastards will bid on the farmhouse once the auction starts.

I stand at the back of the room, Gerard on one side of me, Danny on the other. Our parents are sat in the back row of seats just in front of us, as are Mitchell and Mischa, and Sally Willingham. Fred, Baz and Spider are lolling against the mantelpiece. I can’t help but notice that Spider is inspecting the mantel closely, and runs his hand over the top of it, checking for any signs of damage. I’m not the only one who will have problems letting go of this place.

Everyone is in attendance, then. About time we got this over with, don’t you think?

‘Ladies and gentleman, welcome to today’s auction,’ Camilla the auctioneer announces, from behind her lectern set just in front of the double doors that lead out onto the patio and Sally’s brand-new veranda. ‘I’m delighted you could all be here today for this very special occasion – the opportunity to buy this wonderful house. You’ve had plenty of time to look around, and you all have the detailed pack we’ve put together for it, so I’m sure you all know just how great a chance this is to own a slice of gorgeous rural England. I’m going to open the bidding at five hundred thousand, and we’ll see where we go from there.’

So here it is, the moment of both glory and misery.

I hold my breath.

‘Do I hear five hundred thousand from anyone?’ Camilla asks the room.

There is silence in return. Sweet, glorious, potentially bankrupting silence.

No one is going to bid! No one wants to buy the house! My grandmother’s legacy will be saf—

‘Five hundred!’

Bastard!

He’s not even taken his ruddy sunglasses off, the twat!

‘Thank you, sir. That’s five hundred thousand, then. Where should we go next? Can I hear five twenty-five from anyone?’

The male half of the Saudi couple raises his hand. My heart sinks. He’s the last person I want to win!

‘Excellent, that’s five twenty-five to you, sir. Any more?’

‘Five fifty.’ Sunglasses again.

‘Five seventy-five.’ Back to the Saudi homewrecker.

Sunglasses doesn’t respond. This is good. No, this is
great
. If he doesn’t bid again, then the house hasn’t reached its reserve and it won’t sell today!

‘That’s five seventy-five with the gentleman in row three. Do I hear any more?’

Camilla once again scans the room.

Still no one puts in another bid.

‘That’s going once at five seventy-five . . . Going twice . . .’

My heart is singing!

‘Six hundred,’ says the wife from Essex who wants to be closer to her daughter.