Arthur’s Pass is a tiny, tree-lined lane that leads to a clearing in which stands what can only be described as a manor house. The house is made of pale stone, with wide stone steps leading up to the heavy wooden door, which is set under its own pitched roof. The house is magnificent, but it isn’t the only building on the land. Set back from the main house is a long, one-storey building, with three large windows and a smaller version of the wooden front door. Both buildings are angled so they’re facing the gorgeous, unobstructed view of the canal, and there are a couple of smaller buildings to the side. Clusters of trees surround the land, creating a barrier to the outside world.
‘Here you are.’ I’m so in awe of the building before me that I’d forgotten about my companion. She’s led me the short distance from the taxi to Vanessa’s place, chatting about the village and its amenities once she learned I was new to the area. ‘It’s such a gorgeous house, isn’t it? It’s been empty for years, though. I’m glad someone’s finally giving it the TLC it needs to bring it back to life.’ She starts to back away, whistling at the sheep so it follows. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you around, but if you need anything, I’m just along the lane.’ She lifts a hand in farewell and I copy the gesture briefly before I’m drawn back to the house.
Wow. I can’t believe I’m going to be staying here for the next month. I’d already decided that I wouldn’t be making the arduous journey back and forth over the next few weeks as I allowed the paranoid thoughts to attack me during the taxi ride over, but this just seals the deal.
Welcome to your new home, Rebecca, I think – rather smugly – as I make my way towards the front door.
Although the front door looks as though it’s an original feature, the lock is more modern, meaning there isn’t a rustic, easily identifiable key on the bunch I grabbed from Vanessa’s office earlier. The only way to gain entry is to try each key in turn until the lock gives and I’m able to push the heavy oak door open.
The door opens into a vast hallway, with a wide staircase opposite and light flooding in from the huge windows either side of the door. The space is bare, with exposed brick walls and stripped woodwork, but I can tell this is going to be an amazing welcoming area when it’s completed. I can picture smooth, plastered walls painted in a warm, creamy shade, a coat stand in the corner, perhaps a bench under the window with storage for shoes underneath, and there is more than enough space for a massive tree at Christmas beside the staircase, all lit up and festive. I get a warm, fuzzy feeling despite the freezing temperature inside the empty, unheated house.
My footsteps echo on the bare floorboards as I move across the room, slowly and carefully, as though I’m an intruder, which I very much feel like right now. I expect to hear noises within the house; hammering, drilling, a too-loud radio, voices at the very least. It’s already past lunchtime and there are a couple of vans outside, so I’d assumed the builders were here, but the house is eerily lifeless as I move from room to room. What was once a kitchen has been updated with bi-fold doors that look out onto the land at the back of the property, where there’s a humongous, overgrown garden lined with trees to give a feeling of seclusion, and another outbuilding that has definitely seen better days.
I back away from the sheet of glass, jumping at the sound my foot makes as it meets the concrete flooring. I tiptoe my way through the rest of the house, marvelling at the amount of space available. The ceilings are high and most of the rooms are larger than my entire flat. I make my way up to the top floor and open the door that leads to a small balcony. It’s cold outside but the view overlooking the canal is stunning, the air fresh and earthy and instantly relaxing. I can feel the stress of the surreal morning being plucked away as I close my eyes, taking deep, greedy breaths as I listen to the soundtrack of the countryside. Gone are the roars of traffic, the dozens of conversations mingling into one incessant hum, the busy lives and dramas of people packed in tight. Here, there is nothing but the mesmerising rustle of the wind tickling the leaves and the sing-song chirrups of unseen birds. A smile flashes onto my face as I take another lungful of the untainted air. Imagine living here, with all this space and beauty, instead of being stuck in a hovel with a semi-feral flatmate. I need this, or something reasonably close but still attainable. And to do that, I have to succeed with my new role as project manager.
*
‘Have you tried the pub?’
‘The pub?’ I sit down on the bottom step of the grand staircase and try to stop my teeth from chattering. It really is bloody freezing in this house.
‘Maybe they’ve gone for a skive since they’re unsupervised?’ Emma gives a throaty laugh down the phoneline. ‘I know I’d slope off for a gin if I could get away with it. Instead, I’m stuck at this reception desk as usual. I almost wish I could swap places with you.’
I’ve been in Little Heaton for over an hour and apart from the vans still parked in the driveway and a small digital radio perched on the cistern in the main bathroom on the first floor, there hasn’t been the tiniest hint of the builders.
‘Believe me, you don’t want to trade places with me.’ I rub at my nose. It’s so cold, it’s hurting. ‘It took forever to get here. I’m definitely staying here for the duration.’ If I can stand the cold, that is. Vanessa mentioned a guesthouse; I hope it has some sort of heating system installed. ‘Anyway, I’d better go and find the pub and see if they’re in there. We passed a couple on the way, so hopefully your hunch is right.’ And if not, I can at least warm up for a bit.
Pushing the phone into my pocket, I make my way out of the house, locking up even though there’s only a paint-splattered radio to nick. It actually feels a little bit warmer outside with the sunshine and the brisk walk to the nearest pub. I manage to find the Farmer’s Arms quite easily by retracing my steps over the footbridge. Being the middle of the afternoon, I expect the pub to be quiet, empty even, but I’m blasted by noise as soon as I push the door open. The jukebox is playing a George Ezra track, interrupted by the clunk of pool balls colliding, and there’s the general murmur of conversation. Emma was right. The builders are here, enjoying a day off by the looks of it as they sip pints around the pool table. There are three of them; one older, maybe mid-forties, one who must be early thirties, and a baby-faced kid who has to be late teens at the most. I obviously don’t know for sure that these are Vanessa’s builders – or builders at all – but with their heavy-duty boots and plaster-ingrained jeans, I highly suspect they are. Emma is a genius who is wasted behind that reception desk. She definitely deserves that gin.
‘Everything okay over there, duck?’
I’m still hovering by the door, but I make my way over to the barmaid, whose face breaks out into a friendly smile as I clamber onto one of the high stools at the bar.
‘What can I get you?’ The barmaid places her hands on the bar, displaying a rainbow of fingernails as each one is painted a different colour. I’m tempted to order something large and lethal, but I still have a job to do.
‘Just a diet coke please.’ I sneak a look at the builders as I reach into my bag for my purse. They’re still playing pool, ribbing each other as tricky shots are missed, completely unaware that I’m here. I should probably march up to them and demand they get back to work (after ascertaining that they are, in fact, Vanessa’s builders) but I find myself furtively observing them as I sip at my drink. The older one claps the youngest on the back before he ambles towards the bar, his hand fumbling in his pocket for change. He orders a round of pints before counting out the pound coins in his fist.
‘Won the jackpot earlier.’ He nods towards the fruit machine and my cheeks burst into flames. I hadn’t realised I’d been staring.
‘Well done.’ I offer a tiny congratulatory smile before I turn away completely, concentrating on my drink and willing my face to cool down. Just minutes ago I’d been about to succumb to frostbite and now I may as well be sunning myself on a Mexican beach in the midst of a heatwave. I should introduce myself, let him know the impromptu day off has