‘Fallen down?’ Tilly turned her head to look at me. I hadn’t even realised I’d spoken aloud. The situation must be really getting to me.
‘Just thinking.’ I tried to sound dismissive. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ But my mind had filled with a worrying confusion, as often happened when I slipped back into thinking about my previous life. I’d been happy with David, we’d had Tilly and he’d changed so suddenly into a man I didn’t recognise, as though he’d been body-snatched and replaced with an alien, turned into something thatlookedlike the man I’d loved but whose behaviour had… had…
My mind ran into the swamps of disbelief again. I reflexively checked over my shoulder but nobody seemed to be following and I wondered when, or whether, this habit would leave me.We’re safe. You just have to believe it now.
Tilly sat quietly for once, which was nice, tucked up snugly under the rain cover, one thumb in her mouth and Brass making the cover bulge around her midriff, as though she’d gained two stone. The streets were colourfully smeared with leaves of all colours and it was like walking through an impressionist painting, weaving through the umbrella-wielding people and the sticky snatches of drifting vegetation. However, as soon as we reached the park her energy returned and she wriggled her way out of the straps, kicked herself free and was gone, hurtling across the muddy grass towards the pond where geese were pecking threateningly at the ground.
‘Tilly!’ I began to run towards her, the buggy – which was ancient and had been donated to me by Tia – scuffing sideways over the pockmarked ground. A few mothers, or nannies more likely from their impeccable clothing and Boden-wearing charges, raised their eyebrows as I fled along, arriving at Tilly just in time to stop her from paddling in after the now fleeing wildfowl.
‘Tilly! You stay away from the water!’And the geese,I wanted to add, but was still mindful of not putting my phobias onto her. ‘Look, there’s Ross sitting over there by the swings.’
The wordswingsdid it and I managed to get her over to the small play park, where Ross was indeed sitting on a bench. He looked like a down-and-out who’d found the back door to Next unlocked: slumped forward seemingly asleep in a good black coat, decent walking boots but with his hair at so many different angles that he could have been a lesson in geometry.
‘Good morning,’ I said as we passed him so that I could put Tilly onto a swing. The backwash of my recent memories must have remained in my voice because I sounded hesitant, as though I was slightly uncertain about the goodness of this particular morning.
The jolt he gave told me that hehadbeen asleep. Things must be bad if he was sleeping on park benches. ‘Ah,’ he said, obviously trying not to look as though he’d been woken abruptly. ‘You’re here.’
‘Yes. And I’ve got about half an hour before Tilly starts screaming about food or being cold or wanting to watchOctonautsor any other personal inconvenience she may be suffering.’ I tucked Tilly into the seat of a baby swing. She protested lightly that she was a big girl, but she’d fallen face first out of swings too many times for me to give in to that. I needed to concentrate on what Ross had to say without fielding a toppling toddler every ten seconds. ‘So start talking.’
Ross came over and leaned against the swing post while I pushed Tilly. ‘Have you ever seenThe Great British Build?’ he asked, hands thrusting deep into his pockets as he spoke. ‘On TV?’
‘If it doesn’t contain cartoon figures and an opportunity to sell me plastic play sets every five minutes, almost certainly not.’ I pushed gently again. Tilly swungmetronomically back and forth but seemed happy. ‘I don’t get to watch much adult TV.’
‘It’s a competition for architects,’ Ross said, sounding rather miserable.
‘Wow. Bet the audience figures are out of this world.’
Now he smiled and again it was a smile that lifted him into another category. At least, it raised him from the somewhat depressed tramp status he’d been maintaining until he joined the rest of the population. ‘Don’t. It’s actually very popular for some inexplicable reason. LikeGrand Designsonly a bit more so. People like to criticise what other people with bigger budgets do with their money. Anyway.’ He cast a quick look at Tilly, who had begun to wriggle. ‘Long story very, very short. It’s filmed over two years. First year the architect submits plans, they’re judged on those, then the shortlist goes forward to be filmed constructing their proposed building. There are a few stipulations: they must already own the land and have planning permission – I guess that filming land registry transfers and planning officer visits is too tedious.’
‘For a programme that is basically about building,’ I put in. ‘For an audience of threeSchadenfreude-filled retired architects?’
Ross ignored me. ‘So last year I bought Elm Cottage and the land, got the permissions and entered my drawings. I’m shortlisted. This year I have to do the actual construction work. But, of course, I need to demolish Elm Cottage first and the TV people require it to be vacant possession. Which I thought it was. But it turns out not to be, and if I go in or send bailiffs in, then the occupant can start shouting and make it difficult. I have to be seen to actually have the ability to start building as soon as they are ready to film, you see.’
Things clarified. ‘So that’s why you have to be squeaky clean and have no contact with the occupant?’
‘Yep. Any hint of a legal challenge and they’ll drop me from the shortlist faster than you can say Norman Foster. He’s an architect,’ Ross said, seeing my lack of comprehension. ‘A famous one. And I really, really need this. Getting on the TV is good, actuallywinningis practically a career-making thing. Given that my business has been reduced to designing a public lavatory block in Scarborough and two independent house builds,The Great British Buildis my only hope for keeping the business going.’
‘I see,’ I said, slowly. ‘But you’ve definitely got five thousand pounds to pay me?’
Ross looked defensive. ‘I can get it,’ he said, dropping his head and looking at his feet. ‘Pretty sure the TV company will pay up for that sort of thing.’
‘What if theydon’t? I face certain death at the hands of a bunch of flappy birds and a woman who can’t or won’t speak, for nothing?’ I stopped pushing Tilly and stood in front of him. ‘Because you aren’t the only person who’s desperate around here, you know, and that money could get Tilly and me somewhere proper to live and a decent Christmas.’
Ross continued to stand with his back against the swing frame, hands in pockets and his coat flapping around him, so he looked like a deeply depressed tent. ‘I’ll get the money. I just need you to get whatever-her-name-is…’
‘Isobel.’
‘Yes, Isobel, out of the house. I need to send the construction teams in before the weather gets too bad, so we’re well under way before winter.’
‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘But I can’t do anything until next week.’
Brass flew out of the swing, over the top of Tilly’s head and was fielded by Ross, who stuck out a hand almost unthinking and caught the red felt of the tail. ‘Push, Mummy!’ came the imperative voice.
I pushed.
‘I’m not sure it will wait until next week. Can you fit it in any sooner?’ Ross held the toy dragon out to me.
‘I have to wait for Tils to be in nursery. I’m not going through yesterday again, and if she’s not in nursery then she’s with me, unless my neighbour Tia has a spare five minutes and I can’t rely on that.’
