6
Love & Friendship
Even though Libby had made him his favourite breakfast, and then had climbed into bed afterwards and had her wicked way with him, Ant was prickly when she asked him to drop her home.
‘It’s Saturday morning,’ he said with a pout – that wasn’t particularly becoming on him. ‘We always spend Saturdays together. Usually in bed. Or walking on the beach or going for a boozy pub lunch, followed by more time in bed.’
She knew Ant liked their weekends together. They rarely saw each other during the week due to Ant’s crazy work hours, but surely he knew she had to devote as much of her time as possible to the shop now that she had the keys in her hands. She’d also be working to the timetable of the tradespeople, knowing that getting the right people in for the job was vitally important.
Her relationship with Ant would have to go on the back-burner until it was all under control. She’d hoped he’d understand that, but by the petulant look on his face, it wasn’t something he was happy about.
‘We’ve talked about this,’ she said. ‘I know we usually spend the weekends together, but you do understand, don’t you? There’s so much to be done. More than we thought. It will be worth it, though, when it’s all done. The shop and the flat. We’ll be able to make up for lost time.’
‘If you say so,’ he said, his voice dejected.
Libby leant across to kiss him softly on the lips. ‘Don’t be cross, Ant. You know you’re important to me. You know how much I like you.’
‘I like you too,’ he replied, kissing her back. ‘That’s why I want to spend so much time with you.’
‘We’ll be able to do that. Still. You could always come and help out?’ she asked.
His face clouded a little. ‘Well, I was thinking, if you’re going to be working, I might as well do the same. I’ve a lot to catch-up on.’
He was huffing. She knew it.
Well, she thought, he’d just have to learn to live with their new dynamic.
Libby nodded, told him it was okay. Kept any hint of disappointment from her voice. ‘It’s not forever,’ she reassured him. ‘But I really should get ready,’ she said as she glanced at the clock. ‘I can get a taxi back if you want to get on with your work,’ she added, in the hope it would appease him a little.
‘No. It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop you home.’
‘Thank you,’ she told him, kissing him gently before she got up and jumped in the shower.
Jess was waiting outside the shop when Libby pulled up. She was leaning against the window, arms crossed, dungarees on and her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. For all intents and purposes, she looked like she had just stepped out of a soft drink commercial – and not like her usually perfectly groomed GP persona, rarely seen out of pencil skirts and three-inch heels.
Against the shop window sat two large shovels, brushes and a bucket containing sponges, cleaning materials and rubber gloves.
‘I know you said you had people coming to do a proper clear out, but look, every little helps, doesn’t it? And I’ve brought some dust masks. You never know what moulds and spores might be flying around in there.’
That was Jess, Libby thought. Always a doctor, even on her time off. Health was her primary concern, but even with her over cautiousness, Libby was so grateful to have her friend by her side.
Jess continued: ‘I’ve a spare set of clothes in the car, plus a flask of tea and sandwiches. And by “flask of tea”, I actually, on this occasion, mean actual tea and not wine, like that time we went on the train. Although I figured if we got finished up here early enough, we could enjoy a late lunch with your new neighbours across the street.’ She gestured to The Ivy Inn – and Libby cringed.
‘I’d rather not,’ she said, the passage of time doing nothing to lessen her embarrassment at having stood on Paddy’s tail, scaring the life out of the poor creature, not to mention turning up looking like something out of a horror movie. The Creature from the Black Lagoon, perhaps.
‘It looks like a nice place, and that barman looked like a very nice barman. Please, Libby?’ Jess pleaded.
Libby felt a little guilty. She knew her friend was dying to get a closer look at Noah, and she also knew she’d have to make an effort to get along with her neighbours as she had plans to be a fixture on Ivy Lane for a long time to come.
‘Okay. We’ll see how we go, sure,’ Libby said, before a white van pulled up and a man, who introduced himself as ‘Terry The Spark’ as if it was his actual given name, said hello.
Libby had no sooner let Terry The Spark in than another van arrived. This time, a short, squat man in jeans and a white T-shirt that didn’t quite cover his rounded belly, arrived. ‘Are you Jim’s girl?’ he asked, without introducing himself.
‘I am,’ Libby said.
‘Grand so. He asked me to have a look at your pipes,’ the man said.
Libby heard Jess splutter and laugh behind her.
‘You’re the plumber then?’ Libby asked, doing her best to ignore Jess’s wiggling eyebrows.
‘Well, what else would I be?’ the man said, sniffing and hoisting up his jeans. ‘I’m Billy O’Kane. Your da’s a good man,’ he said. ‘So anything Jim Quinn wants, Jim Quinn gets.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ Libby replied, and she turned to find her father getting out of his own van and walking towards them – his hand outstretched to Billy to shake it.
‘Cheers for doing this,’ he said. ‘It’s a big deal to us, you know. Our Libby here, taking on her grandad’s dream.’
‘Another good man there,’ Billy said with a nod. ‘Ernie was a character.’
As a lorry rattled loudly into the street, carrying a large skip, Libby felt a buzz of excitement at the lane coming to life. And all of it was to help her dream become a reality.
As she turned towards Jess, she saw her friend hastily brush a tear away. ‘This is brilliant,’ Jess said. ‘Really brilliant.’
‘You might not think that so much when you see the number of traps the rat catcher left!’ Libby laughed, but she did feel it was pretty special all the same.
She felt it was a little less brilliant several hours later when her T-shirt was damp with sweat, her skin itching with dust and the electrician was outlining his plans to rewire the place.
The bill was staggering, and that was without any bespoke work in the shop such as extra outlets and wiring in her new lighting. It was just to make sure the power (which was on, to be fair to him) was up to code, safe to go for the foreseeable, and both her shop and her home would be future-proofed.
‘I mean, it’s not the worst I’ve seen,’ Terry The Spark had said. ‘You’d get away with less, but it’s only a matter of time before the whole lot needs rewiring. You’re better doing it now when you’re ripping the bones of the place out anyway.’
He was right, of course. As was the joiner, who priced replacing some rotting joists and the rotten window frames and hanging fireproof doors. And the plumber, who said there was little of her current arrangement that was salvageable and she’d be better updating the pipes as well as the fixings.