well beyond any sort of recognisable rush hour. Whether I leave earlier or later it's bumper to bumper, sharing the road with a lot of angry and stressed commuters. I find myself day-dreaming about my desk in the corner of the media room at Ash Cottage. Traipsing into my sparkling new country kitchen in off-white shaker style and flicking the switch on my new espresso maker…toot, toot. What is it with horns these days? Aren't they supposed to be used for emergencies only? Like warning people they are about to get run over?
"What do you think?"
Ryan continues to flick through the screens, scrutinising each page with a professional eye.
"Hmm…it seems pretty comprehensive." He sits back in his leather swivel chair and chews on the end of his pen. "Only two issues, as far as I can tell."
"Fire away." That sounded a little more confident than I feel. Two issues? Really?
"The first is in relation to the labour costs. I assume you will be doing some of the basic redecoration yourself, but even so, that figure is highly optimistic. The other thing is the contingency line. You really are leaving yourself wide open there, Maddie. With a cottage, you never know what problems you will encounter until you begin pulling it apart. With the conservative figure you've put in for labour costs, reducing the contingency to a mere thousand pounds is a huge risk."
I shrug, indicating that I don't really have a choice. I can't pluck money out of thin air. He sits forward, resting his elbows on the desk and flicks through the small pile of papers I put in front of him.
"I've used worst-case figures for the larger items of expenditure. I'm pretty sure I can come in at least two thousand under budget when I place the order for the kitchen. I figure I can add that into the labour costs. As I get a handle on the actual costs I'll be clawing whatever savings I manage to make on purchases into that contingency pot. This is something I do all the time." I feel uncomfortable under his gaze. He isn't smiling and I'm not sure if that's because it's been a hard day or my figures really are concerning him.
"There's a big difference, Maddie. This is your money, not some wealthy client who can afford to over-spend or cut costs at a stroke because of the size of the budgets. You're going to have to make sure you don't order with your heart instead of your head. No falling in love with the perfect bathroom suite that will blow your budget or the solid-wood flooring that costs the earth. You might be lucky and find there are no hidden problems, although I'll be amazed if that's the case. Plus you might manage to employ a guy who spends more time working than he does texting on his phone. But might is one of those words that make me very, very nervous. If this was a client's proposal I'd continue to poke holes in it until they agreed to up the budget."
I can't decide whether I'm grateful Ryan is being so honest, or I'm disappointed that he doesn't have more faith in my abilities. I'm not sulking: I simply don't feel like justifying myself. He's looking a little exasperated now.
"You're being creative with the budget because you need it to work. That hampers you in terms of being objective. Can I make a suggestion?" He holds my gaze and then suddenly winks at me. I burst out laughing.
"I think you're going to say what's on your mind, even if I say no."
"The main bathroom is a big chunk of the budget because of all of the re-plastering and plumbing work that will be required before the refit can be carried out. Don't place an order for any of the materials, or the bathroom suite, until after the kitchen is finished. By then you'll have a much better idea of how the costs are stacking up and if you have to find emergency funds, that's the budget to raid."
"So I'll have to wait for my leisurely soak in that fabulous slipper bath? No glass of wine and staring up at that inky, star-lit sky after a hard day's work…"
Now it's Ryan's turn to laugh, although it comes out as more of a snort.
"I'm trying to keep you grounded; it's the smart decision."
I nod, grudgingly, having to admit it does make sense. But order times vary and a ten, or twelve, week delivery time is quite typical. If I wait until the kitchen is finished, it could be four months before I have a bathroom I can relax in. The shower room is going to be convenient, but even something as simple as storage is going to be an issue in there.
"Okay, common sense will prevail. Aside from that, is there anything else there that bothers you?"
"One thing…"
Now I'm beginning to feel a little concerned; I think I did an amazing job considering the restrictions of time and cost.
"How long will you be taking off work, exactly? I'm not sure we'll be able to cope if you disappear for more than a few weeks."
He's serious and I feel myself blushing. I don't want him to think I'm being unreasonable and ignoring the fact that he has a business to run.
"I'll be there on call if anything goes wrong. The Anderson's project will be completed at least a week before moving-in day. That's plenty of time for me to tie up any loose ends. I was thinking of taking at least a month. After that I'll have to juggle work and the renovation for a while. It won't be forever, things will eventually get back to normal. I've already talked to the internet people and that will be connected the day I move in. The modem is due to arrive in about ten days' time."
It's the first item on the utilities checklist. Ryan nods.
“Well, now all you have to do is find yourself a man who will actually turn up on time and is capable of keeping up with your programme. Good luck with that,” he adds. My stomach does a backflip as it occurs to me that time is fast running out.
When the voicemail icon pops up on my phone I silently pray it's either Mr Chappell, the small building company who are based a stone's throw away from the cottage, or Aggie's 'man who can', a Mr Hart. I'm delighted to find two voicemails and immediately I perk up.
"Ms Brooks, this is Lewis Hart. Thanks for your call, but I'm not sure I can help. I'll be in the area on Saturday and will swing by to take a look if I have time."
In the area? I thought he was a local guy? The next voicemail is Mr Chappell.
"Hello Miss Brooks, this is Frank Chappell. We close for two weeks over the holiday period and in the New Year all of my men will be tied up on the new community hall project. It's unlikely I will have anyone free until the middle of April at the earliest. However, you mentioned some plastering work and there's a chance I could free up one of our guys for the odd half day here and there to help out, if that's convenient. Call me back and we can discuss it. Thank you for ringing Chappell and Hicks."
A sense of relief begins to roll over me like a wave. It's only a pinprick of hope, but it's better than two outright rejections. Mr Hart sounded rather lukewarm, but he wasn't totally dismissive. On the other hand, Frank Chappell sounds like a man with many years' experience; a consummate professional. Although he's only offering a plasterer, maybe I can convince him to divert a little more labour to Ash Cottage. I immediately re-dial, crossing my fingers as I wait for him to pick up.
"Mr Chappell, its Madeleine Brooks. Thank you so much for returning my call."
"Oh yes, Ash Cottage wasn't it? Lovely location, Miss Brooks. I hope you are going to enjoy living in the Forest."
He sounds sweet. His voice is deep and very friendly.
"Look, I'll be very honest with you, Mr Chappell. I'm desperate here. The cottage has been empty for over a year. It's cold and a little damp because the bank handling the probate case won't allow any of the services to be turned on. It's in case of a leak, or fire, apparently. I'm moving in on the nineteenth of December and I need a working kitchen installed before the twenty-fifth. Is there any way at all you can help?"
Again, that distinctly sharp intake of breath.
"I would love to be able to say yes, but the truth is that all our guys will be working