“Well, you’re dressed like a bloody plumber,” he said.
I looked down at my boiler suit. “This isfashion. This is my signature look.”
The plumber looked exasperated. “This is insane. I’m going insane. If you’re not the plumber, then who are you, and why are you up here badgering me about needing a plumber?”
That was it. If my whole future in TV depended on this job going well, I wasn’t going to fail in my first ten minutes on set.
“Who am I?” I raged. “I’m the bloke who’s going to report you to Trading Standards, bruv.”
The plumber frowned. “Now listen here?—”
“Yeah, that’s got you worried, hasn’t it?” I felt myself grow two inches taller. “Got your attention now, haven’t I? You’ve got no business calling yourself a plumber if you’re not even qualified.”
“I never claimed to be a plumber.”
“Look, I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “If you immediately pack up your things and leave quietly, I won’t call the authorities. But if you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to get my boss up here to sort you out—and she’s a very angry Scotswoman with the temper of a chain-smoking Chihuahua. Believe me, that’s the last thing you want.”
The man’s face cracked into an enormous, shit-eating grin. Then he roared with laughter. I couldn’t believe it.
“You must be one of the crew!” He stepped down from the toilet and extended a hand. “I’m Wi?—”
“You’re a con artist, mate,” I said. “I’ve got your number.”
The plumber was grinning like an idiot. “Actually, I’m Will?—”
“You think this is funny? You’re putting a two-and-a-half-million-quid production at risk,” I growled. I was in full flight now, giving him a real piece of my mind. “That’s it. If you don’t leave this property immediately, I’m calling the police. You’ve got no business being here.”
“No, you’re quite right,” he said, leaning against the wall of the toilet stall. “Please, be my guest. Do call the police.”
“I will!”
“Oh, good. This should be fun.”
I pulled my mobile phone out of my pocket.
“Oh, there’s no coverage anywhere in the house,” he said, smiling. “You’ll have to use the landline. It’s in the kitchen. You go out this door, turn right, go down three flights of stairs, turn left, go all the way down the hall, and the kitchen is on your right. The phone is on the wall by the refrigerator. Alternatively,the Wi-Fi code is ‘Buckford1485,’ with a capitalB. But at this time on a Sunday, the cops will have to come all the way in from Leicester, so it might be a bit of a wait. We could always go direct to the local magistrate to sort this out instead, I suppose. Although as she’s my mother, she might need to recuse herself from passing judgement. Alternatively, how about we, you know, sort this out like gentlemen?”
Oh God.Realisation dawned. Heat flushed my face. The silence between us was so far beyond pregnant it had already been sewn back up and was cracking on with the breastfeeding.
“You’re… not a plumber, are you?” I said, swallowing.
“Afraid not.” A disarming smile lit his face, and his grey eyes sparkled with mischief. He was staring at me through the silence, smirking. His skin was unbelievably clear and smooth. A vision of ruddy good health. His auburn hair was bouncing into curls as it dried. His lips were plump and pink. He was built like he’d spent his whole life on a rugby field. Which, I now realised, he had.
“You’re… going to make me ask, aren’t you?” I said.
“Oh, I absolutely am.” He threw the wet cloth he’d been holding across the room and into the sink. It landed with a splat.
My courage failed me. I decided to build up to the inevitable humiliation, bit by bit.
“So, do you…livehere, then?”
“I do!” He folded his arms and leant against the stall wall, a broad smile across his face.
“Is this…yourgaff?”
He shrugged. “We’re only ever custodians of the house for our lifetimes. It’s never reallyours, you know? We keep it in trust, for the next generation… and the nation.”
I swallowed so deeply my Adam’s apple plunged all the way into the pit of my stomach and had to take the elevator back up.
