A summerhouse was fun; it was meant to be for kids to play in, teenagers to skulk away to, maybe a place for a for couple to escape to. I started to pull away any wood that looked rotten, figuring in my head how I could add an extension or create a bunk room with hammocks. The ideas were there, appearing like bees bringing nectar to the hive.
“You’re completely oblivious right now to the fact I’ve been standing here for nearly five minutes.”
The words made me jump and I dropped a hammer, just avoiding my toe.
Anya stood in the doorway, holding a glass and a jug that appeared to be full of lemonade.
“Sorry. I really wasn’t trying to encourage you to maim yourself. Nan told me you were working out here and needed watering, so I brought homemade lemonade.”
She entered and sat down on the bench I’d created. It needed sanding and painting, but that would be a job for in a few days.
“Thank you. I’d forgotten how long I’d been doing this.” I held the glass as she filled it. “Did you make this?”
Anya nodded. “It shouldn’t be too sweet. When my sister makes it you need to see a dentist within five hours for four fillings. I like a bit of bite.”
I tried it. It was as she said, but not too tart either. The rest of it went back in two gulps and I held out the glass for another helping. “Can I have all that?” I was suddenly thirsty.
“Sure.” She passed me the jug. “I’ve made a couple of gallons of the stuff.”
“How was the beach?” I wanted to keep her there for longer, talk to her, even if it was about nothing at all.
“It was good. So good to catch up with Cat. And get some proper sun and fresh air. I have no idea how I’ve stayed in London so long without coming home.” Her expression changed, a shadow crossing over her. “Actually I do know.”
“You want to talk about it?”
It was almost as if lightning had struck me down. I wouldn’t say anything about the crash, scared to relive what had happened, too afraid to acknowledge how I survived and they didn’t, but I was more than happy to have her confide in me. As long as reciprocation wasn’t required.
“No. I’ve talked about it enough today.” She leaned back against the wooden wall. “Tell me what you’re thinking of doing to your house.”
I laughed. She hadn’t even excused the change of conversation. “Part of it’s still liveable. It just needs modernising. That’s the old bit, which I guess was from the eighteen hundreds or maybe a bit before judging by its style. The rest needs to be dropped and rebuilt.”
“Tell me how you’d do that.”
It had been a long time since I’d talked buildings with a woman. It had been a long time since I’d talked buildings with anyone.
“Seriously? You want to hear drivel about what I’d do, including all the environmentally friendly shit I’m into?” The beast that was insecurity came out of its cave. The women I picked up in bars I rarely held a conversation with; that wasn’t what either of us were in it for.
“Tell me. I’ve had a morning and a piece of the afternoon talking about me to Catrin. I need to hear about something else. Tell me about your house.”
She looked young. I’d figured she was in her early thirties, given the ages of her brother and sister and what I’d heard about her childhood, but she looked younger. Innocent.
“I want to make it self-sufficient in terms of power. The obvious source is solar, so I’m looking at a roof that can support enough solar panels. Then I’d like to use glass for pretty much the whole of the front, maximising the view.” As I explained, the ideas became concrete and I started to see the elevations I would draw later, the dimensions. I told her about the master bedroom, trying not to picture her in it, and the master bathroom with its large bath and walk through shower.
Anya nodded and asked questions, not about the interior design but about the shape of the building and the elements, telling me about the island and how features of it could be incorporated.
By the time the lemonade was finished she had a hammer in her hand and was helping place new boards in parts on the summerhouse. She was sweating, working in the sun. Her vest was a different one than she had on earlier, tighter, and I kept having to be aware of where I was looking, finding myself becoming bad-tempered when she almost caught me.
It was almost sunset when we finished, more completed than I thought we’d get done today. Her sister had brought out a couple of plates of food for us, and more of the lemonade, then a couple of beers.
“I should go get some sleep.” Anya stood with her hands in the pockets of her shorts, eyeing the summerhouse. “This was great. I needed to tire myself out.”
“So you can sleep better?”
I knew the answer to that; it was the same for me.
“Yep. Then my mind will stop running a marathon before I try to sleep.” She gave me a very faint smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the barbecue?”
“You will. It’s my attempt this week to be sociable. I aim for once every seven days.”
