‘I’ve got the tools. I can walk home, grab them and be back in ten minutes, the job will be done quick enough.’
‘I can sort it.’
He quirked an eyebrow.
‘All right. Please help… is that what you want to hear?’
‘It’ll do,’ he grinned and as he passed her again, his arms brushing against hers in the hallway he leaned closer and whispered, ‘I won’t make you beg, don’t worry.’
He headed across the village green and back to his dad’s. He’d only had half a pint at the pub as he’d intended to go back in his workshop this evening, so he was fine to drive after he’d grabbed his tools and found some better screws. He kept a whole range in a special tray, so it wasn’t hard. And he found a couple of better brackets too. That was the great thing about having a workshop; it meant you could collect things over time and they came in handy when you least expected.
He was back at Forget-Me-Not Cottage quicker than he’d anticipated and as he went inside, he noticed the book about Scotland beside the phone.
‘Getting yourself ready for the big move?’ He nodded towards it.
‘Something like that.’ Morgan noted the toolbox he was carrying. ‘You should let me pay you for this.’
‘What, for putting up a single shelf? I think I can stretch to a favour for a friend.’
The wordfriendfelt nice but strange to say out loud. It was kind of what they were, he supposed. And it would have to do if it couldn’t be more.
He moved the sofa out with her help so he could get to the wall and measured up using a pencil to mark where he’d drill. ‘I’ve got some better brackets.’ He showed her their size compared to the ones previously used. ‘They’ll take more of a load so it’s less likely to fall down again.’
‘Then I’ll definitely pay you, for your time and the materials.’
He picked up the drill, ready to make the holes. ‘Really, no need, I found them in the garage, couldn’t even tell you when I bought them, let alone how much they cost.’
She scrunched up her nose. ‘Should I be worried? I mean, do they go off after time?’
‘Do they have a shelf life, you mean?’ He winced. ‘Sorry, terrible joke.’
But she was laughing and it lightened the atmosphere. ‘I thought it was funny.’
When he’d made the holes and secured the brackets, Morgan handed him the shelf and once it was in place, she put the pot plant, which he’d noticed was the fake kind so no earth had poured out, back on top first.
He passed her both photo frames. ‘That’s a nice one.’ He pointed to one with her with another little girl and a woman who he assumed was her mum.
‘It was taken on a holiday in Norfolk. We had one of those beach huts right by the sand. We went to the beach every day that week.’ She looked happy reflecting.
‘Mum hated the beach. Too much sand, apparently.’ Again, she laughed. He liked that: that he could make her happy.
‘Tegan hated the sea. Too much seaweed.’
‘Each to their own. Can’t say I’m a fan of it myself; always feels like some creature wrapping around your legs.’
He wondered how long it would be before she showed him the door, but she offered him a cup of tea or coffee. ‘Or I’ve got cold cans of cola in the fridge,’ she offered. ‘My sister stocked up as she loves fizzy.’
‘Your sister’s here?’
‘We’ve been sorting through Mum’s things, but she’s headed out to the cinema with an old school friend. I don’t think she gets much time to socialise at all, so I almost had to push her out the door.’
With a smile, he accepted the offer of the cold drink. ‘Do you have a vacuum?’ He indicated the mess he’d made behind the sofa.
Morgan got the vacuum, he insisted he cleaned up while she went for the drinks and once she was back, she set the cans on the coffee table.
‘Sit down,’ she urged, pointing to the sofa. ‘That way if you did a rubbish job, the shelf falls on your head first.’
‘Thanks,’ he laughed, flipping open his can of cola. ‘Hmm, that’s good, needed that.’
