‘Mizz?’
‘You call her Ms McDowell,neverMrs. OK?’
Again with the dramatics. Why was everyone in this town so awed by the woman? So afraid? Did she have everyone but him in her thrall?
‘Right-o.’ He’d hidden his amusement and left.
The job had been a straightforward one; a quick and easy rewiring. He’d checked and double checked his work – and taken a short film to show Carenza everything was as it should be in the unoccupied flat before he locked up, just in case, and he’d returned the key to the office, just as he’d promised. He’d submitted his invoice that day and been paid within the hour. Easy.
Last night, a text had come through telling him Ms McDowell had another job for him next week while a tenant was away on holiday, if he wanted it, and he’d wasted no time gladly accepting it.
Somehow, he had sidestepped the disaster at the school. All he needed to do now was continue to convince Carenza how reliable he was and he could easily become her regular electrician for all her rentals across the region. He had a feeling her patronage would hold a lot of sway with the people of Cairn Dhu who had just about written him off as a walking disaster. Plus, gaining her favour couldn’t hurt when it came to impressing Peaches.
Even though it was only half eight, he knew if he hung around the repair shop long enough, he might catch a glimpse of Ms McDowell’s daughter and, given the way he was feeling this morning, full of spring optimism, he fully intended to ask her out on a proper date.
Not that he had masses of experience in this regard, but having stood shirtless in front of her, what else did he have to lose? Of course, she might be seeing someone, or simply not be interested in him, but he was determined to find out if he had a chance. He’d watched enough Steve McQueen movies recently to know that there was a kind of heroic honour in crashing and burning. The trying was everything. Also, he’d make sure no one was snooping around them when he asked her. Damage limitation.
‘Are we no’ too early, son?’ Clyde asked Euan now, looking around at the shuttered repair shed and the silent mill house, but McIntyre must have been watching at the windows for their arrival as he shot out of the front door and across the gravel drive towards them.
‘Your sidecar’s under the tarp,’ he called out, pointing to a sheltered corner by the high boundary wall. He was in new blue overalls and wore his welding mask up, and he was rubbing his hands together. ‘Shall we get stuck in?’
Clyde and McIntyre had taken the lead in dragging the tarpaulin off the old sidecar and assessing what needed doing to make it passenger-worthy again, and although it was interesting to hear the men planning the repair – a case of cleaning off decades of rust and applying an inhibitor to stop it setting in once more, before a lot of welding went down – Euan found himself distracted, keeping an eye on the repair shed doors when they eventually opened at ten and the first of the volunteers and clients started turning up.
A good smell of baked goods and coffee circulated on this side of the valley after a while and just as McIntyre was suggesting they ‘might as well crack on with touching up the paintwork’, Euan found himself worrying that he’d somehow missed Peaches’ arrival amongst the coming and going of the repair clients.
‘I’ll get us all coffees, if you like?’ he offered, and Clyde had said something about his grandson being ‘flush with cash’ for once.
A quick glance around the big fixing barn told him not to get his hopes up.
Cary was sharpening garden secateurs and kitchen knives behind his workbench and had drawn around him a little crowd of fascinated clients. Roz looked like she was hemming lace curtains. Sachin Roy was chalking up the first of the morning’s repairs on the blackboard behind the triage desk, and the Gifford sisters were drinking tea behind the café counter, waiting for their first customer of the day.
He’d put in his order for bacon rolls and lattes and received his change before he heard the voice at his back.
‘Hey, you.’
He spun round to discover Peaches before him, only her pink hair was now streaked with bleached blonde and some darker coral-coloured lengths.
‘Oh wow, hi! You changed your hair.’
He might have expected her to touch a hand to it, or cast a shy glance at the ground, like the women in the movies he’d watched recently, but she only nodded as if to say, yes, she’d coloured it, and?
‘It looks great,’ he said, lifting a hand to his own shorn nape, feeling suddenly painfully goofy. ‘Do you, uh, do it yourself?’
Another nod, an ‘Uh-huh,’ and then a moment’s silence for their dead conversation. She awkwardly made her way past him to the back of the shed, muttering that she’d better get on with some repairs.
Dangit! The way he’d rehearsed this in his head he hadn’t fluffed the small talk, boring her so much that she wandered off.
He looked to Senga, who was holding out the three breakfast rolls wrapped in paper. She read his disappointment instantly, and jerked her head to indicate he should follow in Peaches’ wake. That woman didn’t miss a thing.
‘Right,’ he gulped, and hightailed it after her. ‘Um, Peaches?’
He found her at the very back of the shed in the soft light from the big glass wall; the same spot they’d stood late last Saturday when he’d had his torso bared and all his vulnerability on show, and she hadn’t seemed all that put off. Mind you, she hadn’t seemed much interested either.
She turned to look at him, surprise in her eyes. Maybe this was a bad idea?
‘You, uh,’ he began. ‘I… wanted to ask… uh… How’s your pal?’
Cowardice! Utter cowardice, his inner voice complained.
