Chapter Nineteen
Fin
I’d started workthe following Monday, peddling Nat’s old pushbike over the causeway after collecting the keys to Tremaine House from the local real estate agent. I’d received an email package of my duties and responsibilities the week before, the codes to the alarm system, along with the cell number of someone called Anna. She’s my one contact with my employer in a job that’s a very solitary one. Not that I’m complaining. Not at all. In fact, over the last few weeks I’ve come to relish the peace, spending less and less time at the salon, though I still manage to man the reception desk on Saturdays. It’s the least I can do, even if it feels like some sort of penance having to face everyone.
But I’ve enjoyed my solitude, even going as far as to move into one of the little cottages, sort of. It’s an unofficial move, though I had mentioned in an email to Anna that it may be prudent for me to stay on the property from time to time. As it happened, one Friday afternoon three weeks ago I’d become engrossed in inventorying a delivery of glassware when I’d missed a brewing storm. Faced with the prospect of crossing the causeway in high waves and torrential rain, I’d decided to hole up in one of the cottages. It wasn’t so bad, especially as it seems someone had the idea to convert the old stable block into holiday cottages at one time. I’d found linen in a cupboard to make up a surprisingly new bed. The small kitchen housed a tiny fridge and a hotplate, though I’d brought nothing to eat beyond my small packed lunch. More useful still, I’d found an electric heater to plug in. As the wind howled and the rain pounded, I’d eaten what I had left of my lunch and slept as soundly as I ever do these days. The following week, after telling Ivy that I was needed longer hours on the property, I sort of moved in.
The main house looked as though the builders had left in a hurry, and I’d spent some time trying to make sense of what jobs were complete and prioritizing those next in line. As I understand it, the builders have pulled out due to some kind of legal dispute. I have no idea when work will begin again, but after speaking to Mac, he’d recommended some local construction companies and I’ve begun contacting them for quotes as a sort of Plan B. While I’ve previously experienced the management of large projects, construction isn’t where my experience lies, though I suppose one project is as much as another, at the end of the day.
Peace. Solitude. Productivity.
These are my healing words right now. That, and sort of furious bout of masturbation, which is what, apparently, occurs after your sexuality is switched back on.
Honestly, that shit’s like a fused faucet, fixed by the Rory experience.
They say you never forget your first, though Lord knows I’d tried hard to over the intervening years, succeeding mostly. And I could stick with that line—say I don’t think of him often these days, but it seems a little pointless lying to myself. Especially as I think of him regularly. And mostly when I crawl into bed at night.
But there’s no harm in imagining.
Except in the occurrence of a repetitive strain injury, I suppose.
