‘Hang on a tick, problem with the electrics,’ she hollered to her new guests. ‘Let me get the master key.’
She rummaged around in the key safe, sending the keys rattling against each other but couldn’t find the right one. Emily went back outside, wracking her brains for ideas. Walking towards the guests, an apologetic smile on her face, she heard a melodic whistling. The door to the little borehole hut was open, a torso bent forward at the waist.
‘David, have you shorted the electrics to our gate?’ she asked.
A face peered out, a picture of innocence. ‘Could be a power cut?’
‘Nope. Kettle’s just boiled.’
‘Ah,’ said David.
The sunglasses were flapping again, their owner peering through the front gate bars, shuffling her weight from one foot to the other. ‘Could we hurry up please? I’m bursting for a leak.’
Emily approached her guest. Why hadn’t Mark had a serious conversation with David about the borehole, and where had he gone?
Emily watched the Fiat 500 accelerate through the gates. Mark retrieved two carrier bags from the boot, slammed it shut, and staggered up the steps. She held the door wide. He marched past without a greeting.
‘You missed a spot of drama while you were out,’ she said,jauntily. ‘Mr Fixit shut off our electrics while playing with his toy, the borehole. Our new guests had to climb over the fence to get in.’ She laughed, but Mark didn’t seem amused. He was scowling. Again. Was she supposed to be a font of positivity as well as money?
‘Where am I meant to store this lot?’ he asked, lips drawn into a sneer.
She opened a carrier bag. ‘Mark, we’ve got plenty of milk.’ She pulled out a wedge of cheddar. ‘And cheese.’ She peered into the carrier bag. ‘And butter. What did you buy all this for?’ she raised her eyes; his arms were crossed over his chest. ‘How am I supposed to know what’s in the fridge?’ he sneered.
‘Well, open it?’ she said sarcastically.
‘I can’t, can I?’ He pointed at the fridge. ‘Not when it’s trussed up with a pink ribbon!’
‘Oh, don’t be so childish. I offered to chill a bottle of wine for the couple staying in the room next to ours. I didn’t want you opening it.’
‘Well why not just tell me? You knew where I was. And was there really any danger I would open a bottle of wine in the middle of the afternoon?’ He stormed out, leaving the carrier bags of food on the floor.
She shouted after him, ‘Instead of skulking back to your study, why not do what you promised for a change and go have a word with David about the borehole?’
Mark was so ungrateful. It was always Emily solving the problems, and him complaining.
Emily unpacked the bags, stowing everything in the fridge, lining up the packets of milk in date order. She chose a magazine and settled herself on a lounger. A few minutes later, Mark flopped onto the lounger next to hers and pulled the ring on a can of lemonade. He’d been in the fridge despite the pink ribbon. She tutted to herself and flicked over a page. Glancing sideways,she saw him swatting at a fly buzzing around his can. His eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed, and he was throwing karate chops at the insect, his shoulder juddering with the effort. She held her magazine up, pretending not to notice.
He gave a load huff, then announced, ‘You need to stop giving refunds and spend less at Aldi.’
Flicking over her page, she replied, ‘You need to start helping and stop criticizing. You can start by taking over the shopping. I can’t get to grips with that silly little manual car.’
‘You want to take over the accounts?’ he jeered.
She arched her eyebrows. ‘Trade you the accounts for the toilets.’
‘I’m just saying, you need to treat this more like a business and less like a hobby.’
‘Ahobby?’ She hurled her magazine at him. Mark raised his hands deflecting it. ‘You think Ienjoymanaging a B&B?’ she cried, her face flushed.
He picked up the magazine and handed it back to her. ‘I’m just saying, try to be a bit more cost-conscious. Economize.’
‘Christ, how Ihatethat word! You expect me to survive on less than I used to give Alex for pocket money! And on the topic of money, Miguel has offered me a part-time job.’
He sat upright. ‘Does it pay as much as we get from running the B&B?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. ‘If we only rent one room.’
‘Well,’ he said smugly, dropping back onto the lounger. ‘It’s a no then, isn’t it? Because for the next few weeks there are at least two rooms booked.’
