‘Don’t you need to read the instructions?’ asked Jasmine, watching as he screwed the joints of wood together without any hesitation.
‘Nah, I’ve assembled enough kitchens in my time.’
Jasmine had been impressed with the speed and efficiency Robin showed. So much so, she was beginning to feel a tad surplus to requirements.
‘Can you pass me those?’ He pointed towards a plastic bag containing metal hinges. She supposed it must be handy for him to have a fetcher and carrier so he could focus on the important stuff. Jasmine noticed he’d brought his own packed lunch.
‘I can make lunch, you didn’t need to bring your own,’ she told him, nodding towards his butty box. He looked up to face her.
‘It’s fine, you made me dinner last night.’
‘As a thank you, Robin,’ she explained in exasperation, as well as humour. ‘Seriously, I can’t just stand here doing practically nothing, give me a job,’ she insisted. Robin looked around.
‘OK, I’d love a cuppa.’ He grinned.
With a laugh, she headed for the counter. ‘Coming up.’
Whilst waiting for the tea to brew, Jasmine thought back to the days when Tom had fittedMoonshine’s kitchenette. It seemed a long time ago somehow. A lump formed in her throat which she tried to swallow. She blinked her eyes rapidly. The last thing she wanted was for Robin to see her getting emotional.
Taking both cups of tea, she handed Robin his.
‘Ah, thanks.’ He stood up and lent on one of the boxes. He could see her eyes were slightly red-rimmed. Was she tired, or had something upset her? Not knowing how to react or what to say, he looked away and concentrated on drinking his tea.
Jasmine chewed her lip. Then, not really knowing why, began talking about her narrowboat. Robin was instantly interested, eager to hear all about it.
‘We named herMoonshine,’ she said with a wistful smile, remembering that very first glimpse of the neglected boat, illuminated by the shaft of silver light. ‘I persuaded Tom to buy her. She was a wreck, in need of salvaging.’ She chuckled softly.
Robin stood and listened, hands clasped round his mug, head slightly tilted, absorbing her words. Truth be told, he’d been more than interested in Jasmine. After hearing about her from Bunty and seeing her for the first time, he’d searched the internet for her background. It hadn’t taken too long for the tragic story to appear. Newspaper articles had been in abundance concerning her husband, Tom Boyd. He’d read about the hit-and-run accident rendering him dead. It was sickening. How could anyone leave someone to die in the road after ploughing into them? It beggared belief. All the while he had thought of poor Jasmine, left a widow so young. How on earth had she dealt with it? Now, listening to her, he felt almost privileged to be privy to her memories – they must be so precious.
‘I’ll never forget our first night on the boat,’ continued Jasmine, now in full flow, as if an emotional dam had burst within her and all the pent-up tension was spilling out. ‘It had been a full moon that night and we drank champagne under the stars, bathed in its light.’
‘Obviously meant to be,’ murmured Robin. She looked at him, a touch surprised, like she’d forgotten he was there in the kitchen with her. It was almost as if she’d been talking to herself.
‘Yes, yes it was,’ Jasmine agreed. ‘Everything was meant to be. Meeting Tom, getting married, buying our narrowboat, all of it…’ Her chin quivered.
Robin froze. Hell, please don’t say she was going to cry; he’d never felt so bloody useless. Except he wasn’t useless, was he? He was here, offering his services, putting her kitchen in. Still looking at her, he finally offered some sort of comfort.
‘Jasmine, I think you’re incredibly brave,’ his voice was hoarse and he gulped.
Her gaze rested on him. ‘Thanks.’ She gave a sad smile.
‘If there’s anything I can do…’
‘Apart from renovate my cottage you mean?’
He gave a half laugh.
‘Only your bathroom and kitchen.’
‘Only?’ Her eyebrow rose.
‘That aside, I mean…’ he puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I mean really.’ His brows furrowed in confusion. ‘I guess… if you need to talk, I’m only next door.’ He blinked at his own words, not quite believing the conversation had taken such a dramatic turn. He certainly hadn’t been expecting it and suspected that neither had Jasmine.
She let out a sigh of gratitude.
‘Thanks, Robin.’
The rest of the day was spent constructing the rest of the units, putting on the doors, then lastly, fitting the oak worktop. Robin had used his jigsaw to cut it into shape for the sink area, which took time and precision. Jasmine watched his face, etched in concentration. He really was a master craftsman. For the second time that day, she’d been hugely impressed with his work. As she looked round the kitchen she was delighted with the result. Solid oak cupboards ran round two sides of the room. A white ceramic butler sink with brass taps stood under the window. The wooden worktop finished the look off beautifully. It was clean, practical, stylish and gave the country feel she wanted. Choosing not to have wall mounted cupboards, just floor ones, meant the room felt more spacious too. Jasmine planned to hang her copper pans and fancy crockery from sturdy oak shelves, adding to that country look.
